#because it ends up looking like the writers lack confidence

[chimaerakitten]

a lot of episodic media will have like...a tension between the nature of episodic media’s need to maintain the status quo and the need for events to effect characters to make them appear to be emotionally and psychologically coherent. The longer the status quo remains unchanged despite evidence that it should or would change, the more characters start to flatten into caricatures, especially when the story is structured around some single big secret or reveal. The superhero's family and friends’ memories of his secret identity can only be accidentally erased so many times before you start to wonder why the hell he can’t just tell them—after all, he remembers at least two incidences and they reacted well in both.

Everyone already knows this—it’s why a solid half of the body of fanfic for any show like this will be about the big reveal finally happening, and a third of those will go on after the reveal in an effort to prove that the status quo can change in this way without the entire premise of the show being moot. Sort of a, “We’ve proved we’ll all still watch a superhero show with reduced identity shenanigans, why the hell won’t the writers get on with it?” thing.

But then there’s a slightly less common tension that happens where instead of flattening into caricatures, characters under the sway of an episodic status quo will stay 3D, but in a way the writers obviously didn’t intend. The first time the hero intentionally erases his family’s memories of his secret identity in episode four, we sympathize, because at that point he doesn't know how they’ll react and he’s trying to protect them. When he does it again in episode 43 after he knows they’ll be ok with it and also that the villains will find out his secret identity and target his family regardless of if they know, he’s an irrational paranoid asshole. And sometimes of course that’s the intent, die a hero etc etc, but it fascinates me that sometimes it’s not and the writers were clearly expecting you to sympathize in episode 43 the same way you did in episode 4.

[astaroth1357]

My Incredibly Spoiler Heavy Thoughts on Nightbringer

TURN BACK IF YOU HAVE ANY INTEREST IN PLAYING THE GAME AT ALL. I MEAN IT.

Hello. I have completed all 10 lessons on the Normal difficulty. These are my thoughts:

First, a disclaimer. All of this is my opinion. If you feel differently about a character or plot point, that's fine. This is all just as I see it.

Holy hell, I love the setup here so damn much. The Nightbringer story so far is truly more than just a rehash of the OG plot, largely because of all the small stuff that keeps happening in background. Yes, we're befriending the brothers again, but we don't know WHY. Why are we in the past? Who sent us there? What do they want from us, or... what do they want out of somebody else?? 👀 I have to hand it to the writers for coming up with this premise, it's soild. Will they stick the landing...? We'll see.

The New! (Old) Cast

Lucifer:

Whelp, Luci is being colder to us than ever... But far more openly involved with his brothers than we saw previously. You can really tell that this is fresh off of the War and he's just trying his best to keep everybody corralled and (somewhat) comfortable.

He still holds onto his Celestial Realm prejudice against demons, so he doesn't trust MC at all which is an interesting turn on the dynamic from before. As a human, Lucifer saw us as weak and insignificant so he didn't give us much time of day. But as a "demon," and someone more knowledgeable about the Devildom than himself, he has to suck it up and rely on MC even if he wants them to stay away.

By the end of Lesson 10, it's safe to say whatever trust he had in MC is going to be shattered. MC has talked their way out of a lot, but even Dia looks shaken by their abilities this time... I'm curious to see if they can reestablish a relationship with him when he was already keeping them at arms length to start with.

Mammon:

Ah, Mammon... Once simp, forever a simp across time and space. Bless him. I guess he's just doomed to always fall first when it comes to MC. It DOES NOT take long for him to be down bad even if you don't romance him specifically (I would know because I'm trying to stay mono-Levi this go around).

Aside from his tsundere-ness, though, we do get a look into more of his insecurities. I find an interesting pattern developing in him where he just tends to latch onto a person and follow them unfailing. He did that with Lucifer before the Fall, he didn't even think about the consequences before going through with it. You could see him doing much the same with MC. I think it stems from a lack of confidence in himself and his own abilities, constantly relying on others to guide him through big decisions and provide him with validation. Add another poor thing to the list...

Leviathan:

I swear to God, the devs realized that Levi's charm lies in his pathos, so they went out of the way to make him EVEN MORE pathetic than normal. I still love him for it, of course. But seriously, Levi starts out practically afraid of his own shadow when the story starts. It makes sense, Levi would have probably one of the more negative impressions of demons of the seven, having fought them head on. He was a shut in before the War and now he's even more terrified to leave the house, let alone his room... (I can't be the only one who's wondering how the hell Dia's going to look at him and go, "Ah yes! I see Admiral material right there!" right?)

I do like that the writers took the time to show that he's one of the more empathetic brothers, right alongside Asmo and Beel, even if he's bad with people. Levi is quick to sympathize with beings and creatures who don't fit in and it's always very sweet to see. I also guess that Simeon wrote TSL in secret or after the War? You think he would know of it at least having lived so long with the author... Anyway. I digress.

There's a lot of... small things around Levi that I think hint at the inner feelings of the brothers, though (of all seven of them, he has the WORST poker face I swear). I may touch on those in another post because I need time to gather my thoughts on how it all connects there... Anyway, he's still my favorite and I'm going to try to see if there's any truth to this "you get a deeper connection if you stick to one brother" thing. Wish me luck.

Satan:

Okay, load your guns now because I think Satan is the real star of the show here. They're actually pulling way more than the "He's mad because he's seen like Lucifer" card. We're at a point where Satan doesn't even consider himself associated with the brothers AT ALL. That means something and has consequences on the story. He didn't even go with them to check on Beel, despite having enough fire power that he could have probably helped a lot.

Now before someone goes screaming at me that they've devolved him into comic relief, I'd first like to ask what did you think he was going to be? OG Satan told us himself that he used to feel nothing but anger. He's going to be pissed, irrational, and violent. He's Wrath.

What truly they're giving us under all of that is a look into a vulnerable guy who doesn't know anything about the world around him and is trying to pick it up on his own because his brothers can't (and maybe won't) teach him. They keep chaining him up (which I hate btw) and talk about him like he's a beast. But it's partially because they're such terrible communicators that he flies off the handle so often to begin with.

Satan is more alone than really anybody else is the Devildom. His brothers already have all this history together and memories shared during their time as angels, stuff he has no context for and could never experience himself. He's still an outcast among demons for his association with them, despite being a fully fledged demon in his own right, and he doesn't know why he has to be linked to them because he barely knows them anyway. He's taking baby steps to understand the world, but when he goes to his brothers to ask questions they lampshade him for even having clear thoughts. All they see him as is a roaring beast. This version of Satan is fascinating to me. How does he start here and end up the eloquent, emotionally-controlled bookworm with a planet's worth of connections? I gotta know!!

Asmodeus:

They FINALLY started giving Asmo his proper flowers! I still think it could have been more, but he's gotten way more depth than he had before. I know that Asmo part technically involved MC's input the least out of all of the brothers, but I think that was by design.

Asmo is a surprisingly introspective individual under his urge to perform. MC didn't have to give much input because he just didn't need as much. He knows himself very well (unlike some of the others). He's an emotionally intelligent guy who can sort out his own inner problems and remain empathetic enough to want to help his brothers in his own way. I wanted to hear more from this side of Asmo, honestly, but the game seems to make it clear that he's content with his spot of being the family's brightest smile. I hope it makes more appearances as we go on.

Beelzebub:

This one is tricky, because lesson 10 leaves off on a cliffhanger related to Beel... So I think Beel's feelings will have more consequences than the other brothers' on the story. Most of all that we see of Beel is, unfortunately, him being hungry or off being wholesome with Belphie but lesson 10 did give us some eye-openers regardless.

First, apparently if he flies off the handle, Beel is quite the challenge to handle. It takes Dia himself to restrain him, which is pretty insane for the sixthborn in the line-up. It's possible some outside magic is cranking up his power somehow, but we won't know until the next lessons are out.

Secondly, I find it very interesting that Beel's "heart-to-heart" moment with us is being saved for last... It was definitely the most surprising one of the secrets in the teasers (in my opinion). Beel and Belphie are glued to the hip and share everything together so for him to have a secret "not even Belphie" knows is pretty shocking. I hope it's not just that he saved Belphie instead of Lilith since we all already know that. It'd be a pretty cheap pay off to all this buildup... Not that I haven't been disappointed before or anything.

Belphegor:

Similar to Beel, Belphie doesn't get much attention until the end and it isn't much that we haven't heard before, unfortunately. You kind can't blame them, since plumbing out Belphie's inner trauma about the War was the entire climax of the first game. It's nothing we don't already know. That being said, I think there's some more interesting things that are being said about Belphie or left unsaid by the others that I find more fascinating to keep track of.

TLDR, I think there's some weird distancing going on between Belphie and the others. It doesn't seem super apparent, but Levi dropped some weird bombshells early on and I can't help but notice how he just never seems to be without Beel. Those two are close, yeah, but in this game they're practically a unit. I'm pretty sure Belphie is using Beel as a security blanket of sorts. He's also the ONLY one to mention Lilith in any great detail. Unsurprising, but it's worth noting that the others haven't really brought her up despite it (supposedly) starting the War.

Diavolo:

Somebody give this guy a vacation and a raise... So apparently, the brothers were cast down, the old King took one look at them and counted to seven, then conked out. Now our boy has to rule the kingdom. He's... the same really. As far as I can tell. You can really see how much he's taken to the brothers' antics though, which checks out in the other game too.

WAAAY more fascinating to me is apparently there's some kind of body called the House of Lords who think that Dia is too young for the job. What's the House of Lords?? Who are they? Are they like a council or advisory board...? Or is this a UK setup? Is there a Parliamentary board?? I dunno, could just be my Poli Sci talking but I'm now so lost on how the Devildom operates now...

Barbatos:

Oh my God, if there is any character I could live vicariously through, it was Barbs here. For whatever unnamed reason he is NOT having any of Solomon's shit right now and I'm living for it. Setting my delight aside, we don't get to see very much of him and what we do see doesn't really differ from the norm, which only makes his detest all the more shocking.

Through Barbs, we also see just how potent the power of the pacts can be when Solomon summons him and more or less forces him to do as he says. Nothing seems to stop him from retaliating after the fact, as he sent Solomon off who knows where, but seeing that kind of power wielded over a being who's almost unattainable to us is... Well. I feel bad for Asmo.

Simeon:

There's a lot to unpack with Simeon... and a lot of it is in the stuff that goes unsaid. First, I already found it strange that he didn't seem surprised to see Satan in the House. Or if he was, he didn't say it or bother introducing himself which is... telling for a guy like Simeon. He's back to being Luke's minder in front of demons, but I can't help but notice that he doesn't do much to counter Luke's tirades. He only indicates that it's impolite to say them, so he may still harbor the very same feelings.

Simeon and Lucifer have something of a heart to heart together that they never would in the OG title where Simeon admits his biggest regret. It isn't that he didn't follow Lucifer, as we might think, but that he doesn't feel like did enough to reach out to him before he made his decision. Lucifer dispells this, but I think it goes to show that Simeon stands behind his decision to stay and that it was the better option. Lucifer also confront Simeon on why he didn't take a high position (seraph) and instead settled for archangel. It's left open ended what his real motives for that would be, but I suspect that it has something to do with Simeon's troubling streak of going against the grain, even in subtle ways. Or he has too much anger about what happened to accept taking Lucifer's old position.

I found it interesting how easily these two seemed to talk about intimate topics together here where Lucifer barely even acknowledges Simeon's attempts to reach out in the OG story. I wonder what may have happened to sour their relationship so severely...?

Luke:

Luke the Racist Chihuahua returns!! Okay, I'm being a little mean but he's pretty much just self-righteous little kid the whole way through. I will admit, it is a little funny that the person who came up with the nickname was actually Lucifer. I think it's now retconned and confirmed that Luke and the brothers never knew each other before the Fall... though Luke seems to know OF their former selves in some capacity. I could be misinterpreting things though.

The Rat Bastard Solomon:

I swear to God this was me playing through the whole game tied to this guy.

He's lying. A lot. Constantly. And it pisses me off to no end. I was wondering why things he was saying and the stuff he was doing weren't lining up and OF COURSE it's because he's either working his own agenda or being outright deceitful. I hate him so much, y'all, you don't even know...

That aside, as an impartial observer Solomon is pulling a lot of work to support MC and you can TELL how down bad he is for them, which actually has significance for the plot I think. He's keeping them in the dark about something, but considering his feelings I say we can at least be charitable and assume it isn't to hurt them or cause them any suffering... intentionally. He's also as unscrupulous as ever, considering how he ordered a very angry Barbs around and more or less took advantage of a life or death situation to make a pact with Asmo.

So. At the end of the lessons, we're reintroduced to the mysterious Nightbringer. The character who actually sent us back in time at the start of the game. Yeah, it wasn't Barbatos... probably. At least not our reliable neighborhood butler anyway. They seem to be different entities but I THINK they might share some connection....

I have to wonder who disguised MC when they first arrived. The marketing made it seem like it would be Solomon but the marketing has been hit or miss on actual accuracy about the game we're seeing. If it was Solomon, then he had to have known where the MC was before he called. If it was Nightbringer then... well actually. We need to touch on that first.

Nightbringer:

Now, much of this is just me speculating so take things with a grain of salt. Nightbringer's name is blocked out, but it seems like it identified itself to us in the beginning before sending us to the past. It appears like it wants something from Solomon.... to fully corrupt him maybe? And it's using MC as leverage against him.

I suspect that all of the weird stuff that has been happening is tied to its meddling in some way, but to what end is unclear... Sending Levi and MC into TSL, tricking Asmo then trying to feed everyone to a spider, and, likely, whatever is going on with Beel. I can't tell if it's trying to push MC and the brother's closer together, or just making vaguely comical attempts at homicide by fictional characters, spider, and Gluttony incarnate.

The situation with Adam does give us a hint into its nature. It appears to be some kind of dark, trickster being that gives a person what they desire, but never the way they intended. A walking monkey's paw, if you will. Solomon says that Nightbringer made him what he is today, so perhaps he worked under it or is simply under the influence of one its "deals." Their relationship is adversarial, though. When they're speaking, they talk about the two supernatural sides, Angel and Demon, and Nightbringer seems to want to force Solomon to make a choice between them. Lose his humanity, maybe?

I'm not quite willing to say that Nightbringer is a demon just yet, at least not one of the ones we normally encounter. Something about it seems... older. More powerful than that. But we'll have to wait for more info.

My crackpot theory?

Solomon has made a deal with Nightbringer in order to go back in time and do... something. He's after something. Nightbringer agreed, but dragged MC along as collateral for Solomon to get it done within a certain amount of time or makes sure he honors his part of the bargin. Barbatos knows this, either because he is linked to in some way to Nightbringer or saw it happen in the doorway, and is disgusted by his actions but unable to speak about it due to the pact. Or, you know. That's our present Barbie also dragged along for the ride and he's pissed that he's been essentially hijacked and taken away from present Diavolo, but forbidden to speak about it.

[superblysubpar]

masterlist | the music

Chapter Warnings: spoilers for the movie franchise Star Wars | mentions of the holiday Halloween being celebrated by others and reader enjoying it | Leigh is not my character creation, a shared character who @sweetsweetjellybean originally created & I put a little twist on for this story with her permission.

Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

9.4k words | A/N: I can't begin to express my gratitude for those who've read this story & those that helped me get through writing it, especially my beta extraordinaire @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz for helping me break that pesky wall of self doubt and writer's block always. I have a big long A/N on the epilogue that's posting right after these two chapters with more sap. Thanks for being here, I love you immensely if you've made it this far from the beginning or you're just arriving 💛

In the movies, they like to make those big plot twists drag out for the protagonist to let it really sink in. Or maybe it's more for the viewers. Special effects, camera angles, flashbacks, and poignant music playing - all to make seconds feel much longer than they are. 

In your experience, these plot twists are usually predictable. Of course that guy’s the villain, it was the best friend all along, he’s Luke’s father, et cetera, et cetera. You’re utterly baffled every time by a character’s lack of intuition to see it coming. You’ve booed at writing and acting and told yourself that in real life, it’s so different. 

Sure, surprises happen. Reality does not care about predictability, the fragile state of the human heart, or what’s fair. You get that. People cheat, they make mistakes, they die, they lose - and there isn’t some fade-to-black-happy-ending guarantee when they do. There isn’t a countdown on the bottom of a screen letting you know there’s still time left to make it all back from whatever happened, no assurance that it’ll all work out. 

To call something real - something happening directly to you - a plot twist, seems horribly wrong though. Is there another word for it? Those moments that manage to catch you off guard, that come without warning or a build up. Moments that hit you repeatedly like a knife to a chest in a slasher flick. Or feel like the instant demise of oxygen leaving your lungs as a door opens to space. That sucker-punch from a red glove to the jaw when you think you’ve just won the big fight. 

What do you call that shit?

Robin’s voice is an echo, muffled and distorted as if you’re deep underwater. “Oh my god, hi! Wow, you are so much prettier than Steve mentioned.”

Who is with Steve?

Robin keeps going, putting her entire foot in her mouth, oblivious to the way Steve’s eyes haven’t left yours. You only stop staring yourself, after what feels like hours, to finally take in their intertwined hands as Robin babbles. “Wait, I mean…no, see…alright, he told us you were pretty is what I’m trying to say, but like you’re even prettier…”

Who the hell is with Steve?

Her laugh cuts through the fog and your eyes finally focus on the woman attached to the sound. 

She’s pretty, just like Robin keeps saying over and over again.

Dark, shiny hair, piercing eyes that you can see - even from this distance - are a hazel to almost match his. A hypnotizing smile, curves and a confidence radiating off of her… everything you wish you were but aren’t.  

She laughs again, assuring Robin she gets it (in an infuriatingly humble way), introducing herself as Leigh Kensington.

Nancy perks up at the name when Robin gasps and shouts, “Oh my god! Nance!” Robin looks back, waving her over, “Just like Legally Blonde!” Her voice attempts to lower as she sighs to Leigh, “She loves Reese Witherspoon. It is Vivian Kensington right?” The question louder and directed at Nancy again. Robin doesn’t even take a breath to let her answer though, “Which is hilarious because Steve’s mom’s name is Vivian and you’re dating Steve and you work in legal, right? And-“

Emerald glass shatters around your feet as the bottle of beer falls from your hand, the sharp shards scatter quickly, too broken to ever be put back together. Your legs turn to lead and muscles are no longer in communication with your brain as it finally makes the connection to what you’re seeing and hearing and what that means for you. 

“Shit! Jesus, woman-“ Eddie jumps back from you as the glass skirts across the pavement further. 

Robin finally turns in your direction at the commotion, her brows knit together in worry. Face progressively getting more concerned as it tightens. Her hand lets a bean bag fall to the board with an echoing thump. “Hey, you look-“

Not waiting to hear the end of her sentence, you will your legs to work and spin, taking off in search of literally any place that isn’t there. Your feet pound against the pavement, thuds that vibrate through the rubber of your soles all the way up to your eardrums.

It’s seconds, less than a minute, and it’s as if the entire stadium - hell, your entire world - has spun upside down. Roars to your left, the rumbling of fan’s excitement from the nosebleeds down to the field mingle and harmonize with the rapid beating in your chest. As you keep running with no real destination other than away, your shoulders bump stranger’s, meeting their frowns and scoffs with whispered and rushed apologies. The familiar sting behind your eyes forms, eyelashes growing damp as you suck in a sharp breath. No more running, you need somewhere to hide. 

You’re not going to cry about this. You’re not. How could you be so stupid? How could you let this happen?

The familiar long line all women are accustomed to grabs your attention and you’re off again. Disgruntled and shouted annoyance from everyone in line echoes across the dull gray tile as you rush past them, yelling something about an emergency. You slam a turquoise door, sliding the silver latch with shaking fingers as your forehead rests on the cold material of the stall. You focus on breathing through your nose and out your mouth, this is fine. You’re fine. 

A buzz in your pocket once, twice, and then a third time, and you don’t have to pull your phone out to know they’re texts from him. Despite your better judgment, you look:

It buzzes a fourth time and you lock the phone, debating just chucking it into the toilet. 

The sleeve of your sweatshirt presses to your mouth as you clear your throat. No tears are falling for him, not today, not ever. 

You hate Steve Harrington. 

This was always the plan.

You hate Steve Harrington. 

It’s not like you were in love with the guy. 

Even as you think it, the panic turns to defense inside of yourself - scrounging around for rocks and bricks, reinforcing the wall around your heart you had started to let crumble for a boy you thought was worth it. 

“Girl, what the hell?”

A familiar pair of red converse with writing and doodles covering any space they can, mirror your feet at the base of the stall. You step back, fingers hovering over the latch, ready to tell her it’s fine. Robin isn’t an idiot though, and you’re certain that despite your denial, she’ll take one look at you and make you spill your guts. 

Her feet move closer, the familiar clink of rings meeting metal hits your ears, letting you know she’s pressing her palms to the door. Robin’s voice is softer and for one brief, horrible moment, you think she knows. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

The guilt that’s hovered over you for months like a storm cloud, releases, engulfing you completely, the promise of sunlight no longer on the horizon. Funny how just hours ago, you were thinking about Robin finally knowing, about how she couldn’t be mad, not when you were both so happy. Your gut twists. You’ve lied to your friend for so long, and for what? 

“Just, um, cramps.” The lies keep on building, pushing at the dam you’ve created to keep it all from her. You’re just buying time now, the pressure is going to reach its breaking point soon and you’re worried your friendship with Robin will be washed away when it does. 

At the mention of cramps, the disgruntled voices of those in line turn to understanding - muted solidarity in the form of tampon and painkiller offerings. 

“Robin, why don’t you grab her some food or something? Maybe a ginger ale? I’ve got stuff in my bag and we’ll meet you all out there,” another familiar voice suggests. 

“But I can-“

“That would be really great, Robs,” you interrupt her protest, pushing out the words to sound as eager as you can. 

A pair of white tennis shoes sneak between Robin’s and the stall door - like Nancy is trying to put space between the two of you, shielding her girlfriend from any more of your lies. 

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Robin starts hesitantly, “I saw this gourmet grilled cheese stand thing and-“

“No!” Fingers curling over your mouth at the severity of your interruption, you take a beat before quietly continuing, “Uh, um, actually, just some chips please?”

Your eyes close, willing the memory of your last grilled cheese away. Now is not the time to remember the man you shared it with.

How he looked at you.

How he asked you to open up, how it made you feel when he said he knew you.

How he kissed you.

You hate Steve Harrington.

The initial shock has stopped sizzling and is now a full burn, anger releasing over your frazzled nerves. What else has Steve claimed, what other things could be ruined when all you can do is relate them to him? But as quickly as the anger for him forms, you have to glance down and realize there are three fingers pointing back at yourself.

Why did you give him the opening?

“Roger that, kitten!”

You’re sure she gives a salute to your closed stall door, the red sneakers turning on their heels, her footsteps fading away. The pristine white of Nancy’s twist slightly towards the door. Her voice is quiet as she asks, “Can I come in there?”

Clearing your throat once more, you try to brush her off, “Nancy, really, I’m fi-“

“Bullshit.”

Maybe it’s the way she says the word - that a girl you don’t know all that well can see through your lies, be so sure you’re not fine. Maybe it’s because you desperately wish that you could have opened the door for Robin, to leave the football game and go drown in margaritas and dissect every little thing that led to this moment and let her tell you it was all going to be okay and boys are stupid. Or maybe, it’s the fact that you’ll never get to do that, never allowed to tell Robin, that makes you slide the latch unlocked for Nancy Wheeler.

She slips in quickly, her brown curls that are clipped in a half up-do bounce as she tilts her head quizzically at you. Her arms cross over the embroidered team logo on her sweatshirt, her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She’s got this way about looking at you that, without saying anything, makes you want to tell her everything. An energy radiates off of Nancy, a quiet curiosity bubbling under the surface - or perhaps it’s frustration. You’re being studied, a puzzle she can’t crack. 

Her lips twist as she clearly debates her words before she finally settles on a simple, “You didn’t know?”

Nancy’s question makes your stomach drop, solidifying that she not only knows about you and Steve, but that Leigh is not a new or unknown development. Your mind swirls to their argument on the beach, Nancy finding you in the bathroom - how long has Steve been seeing Leigh? 

“No,” your response comes out in a half laugh, trying to cover up any feelings that attempt to sneak out and reveal too much. The toe of your sneaker scuffs at a knick in the tile as you avoid her eyes. 

She tucks a curl behind her ear and sighs. Her face pinches into that quizzical look again, huffing, “He’s an idiot.”

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. You don’t want to dwell on how she connected the dots about you and Steve or how you’ve all been lying to Robin, and you especially don’t want her pity. “Nancy, I really don’t need you to comfort me. I’m fine. Can we just go?”

At the clamp of Nancy’s mouth shutting and the purse of her lips, you regret the icy tone almost immediately. Squeezing your eyes closed, you try again. “I’m sorry, I’m just…” trailing off because where do you even start? You’re mad, hurt, confused, blind-sided, the list could go on and on and you don’t care to reach the end at this moment. You force a smile, changing the subject all together, “Don’t you want to get out there and hear how incredibly little Robin truly knows about sports?”

Nancy’s lips twitch and her arms drop to her sides with a sigh. “Right, well, if you change your mind, I like to think I’m a pretty good listener if you ever want to talk about anything.”

Sometimes, people say things to say things - like they feel as if they’re supposed to say a certain thing when a certain situation calls for it. One look at the kindness in Nancy’s eyes, the small smile on her lips, and you know that is not the case right now. She genuinely, truly means she’s there to listen if you need it. Despite lying to all of them, despite barely knowing her, and the realization has tears forming behind your eyes for an entirely different reason than earlier. 

“Thanks,” the word leaves you quietly. It feels small and inconsequential in return for a gesture you’re not even sure Nancy realizes the weight of. 

That is, until she turns from the door, her hand hovering over the latch as she faces you again. “I should mention though, that one of you is going to have to tell Robin. Sooner rather than later. And I make no promises it won’t be me, but she should hear it from one of you.”  Her tone is adamant with absolutely no room for arguing.  

Your guilt tugs you down harder now, only able to nod in response. 

Nancy’s head bobs once in return, silently agreeing to drop the subject unless you bring it up again, and she leads the way out of the bathroom. 

You hear Robin before you see them. She’s passionately arguing her case about a new musical group that Eddie is scoffing at. Leigh holds her hand up at Eddie’s argument and begins agreeing with Robin, who beams before sticking her tongue out at him. 

“Hey.”

The word freezes you and Nancy clears her throat as she makes her way towards the others. Steve pushes off from the brick wall as you turn to face him. 

You’ve seen many looks in his eyes before now. When they glint with mischief and charm as he flirts, how they soften as you tell a story. When they’ve turned darker as clothes are shed and they get to roam freely over your body, taking you in like an artwork. How they seem to melt like honey all over you when you’ve found them staring and they don’t care to appear ashamed he’s been caught. 

Now, they’re looking at you with far too much pain behind them that doesn’t seem fair. He shouldn’t get to look at you like that, he shouldn’t get to look sad. 

Steve extends his hand, a green can with beads of condensation running down the sides of it in his palm. You ignore how your fingers touch and they way his try to linger as you take the soda from him.

When you don’t say anything, he pulls the sleeves of his maroon sweater over his fingers, the toe of his boot scuffing the pavement as his brows meet in the middle. Several pieces of hair fall over his forehead that’s wrinkled with concern, letting you know he’s run his hands through it too many times to have already broken whatever products he’s put in it. 

“Can we go somewhere and talk for a sec?”

A sec. 

A quick conversation, one he just wants to get over with. To tell you what? Things you’ve already concluded from his surprise today? That he’s with someone. He wants to stay friends. He never felt the way you were starting to feel for him. This was always the plan. 

You’re not interested in anything Steve has to say any more. 

“Game’s about to start, Harrington, maybe later.” Your tone is clipped and short, smile forced. 

His brows pinch closer together as he tilts his head, the harsh line of his jaw flexing. “Really? Cause the way you ran off and that tone could have fooled me.” 

“I’m fine, I don’t know exactly what you’re hearing, but if you have something you’d like to say, by all means Steve, let’s hear it.” 

Steve closes his eyes and a long breath leaves his nose, “Please-“ his plea is cut off by her. 

“Hi, I’m Leigh. It’s so nice to meet you, Steven’s told me so much about you! I hope everything is okay? Everyone was so worried…”

She reaches forward, arms wrapping around you and your stiffening body. 

She’s fucking hugging you. 

“Uh, yeah, you…too. And yes, thanks, I’m fine. This will help.” Untangling yourself from her, you hold up the can and force another smile. “Thanks Steven.”

Leigh beams at him, grabbing his hand and you just can’t help yourself, turning to him again. “Actually, Steven was just letting me know he had something to tell me, what was so important, buddy?”

Eddie coughs as Steve narrows his eyes. Nancy claps her hands, interrupting the tension filled moment, “Alright, ready guys?”

Robin points towards the bleachers. “I’m ready for tip off! To our seats!”

Nancy gives you a look, some sort of attempt at bringing light to the moment in front of her, before she wraps her hand around Robin’s arm and starts to walk away. “It’s kick off, hun.”

Leigh laughs as Robin lets out a long ‘Oh’, Steve and her following. When Steve glances back over his shoulder at you, the full can of soda meets the trash as you turn towards Eddie. Stealing the fresh beer from his hands, the plastic cup tips to your lips, foam slowing you down as you chug. 

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy killer.” Eddie tugs on the cup, pulling it from your mouth. “From my understanding, football games are long and we need to pace ourselves. Stevie is not worth a two in the afternoon black out.”

Your mouth opens to protest and he waves his hand in front of your face, “Ah, ah, ah, you can squeeze my fingers or something whenever you feel like punching him instead.”

“Ed-“ you begin, adamant you need another drink (or twenty) to deal with the day you’re about to have. 

He begins to walk away, waving his hand dismissively, “No really, I’m a secret masochist, I’ll love it.”

Your eyes narrow, hating the way your lips fight a smile that wants to meet his mood. Despite everything, you’re grateful for him and Nancy. Unsure of how to even attempt to show them how much you appreciate them. Especially after Nancy’s reminder that someone was going to have to tell Robin eventually, and these two had been lying for the both of you, keeping your secret when they didn’t need to.  

Up ahead, you hear Leigh laugh, catching her head thrown back and his smile, the squeeze of her fingers on his bicep and you gulp. Your feet plant to the ground harder and you tug on Eddie’s wrist. As the group rounds the corner, heading to their seats, he turns to look at you with his eyebrows raised. 

Eddie must see something in your expression because he mumbles, “Such a fucking idiot,” before he turns to the nearest vendor. “Yeah, hi, I need four very large beers. And I’m talking take your idea of large and triple it.”

This time the smile wins just a little. It’s quick to fall though, when Eddie taps his cup to one he hands you and proclaims, “If you can’t date ‘em, drink about ‘em. To the losers who break our hearts.”

“I-“ ready to tell him that’s not it at all, but his look makes your mouth close. 

You don’t say it out loud, you don’t dare to speak it into existence - Eddie is wrong. You’re not broken hearted, you’re just mad Steve didn’t tell you. You’re mad that clearly they all knew, so why not you? That’s all. 

Your cup taps Eddie’s again and you let the beer wash away the bitter taste in your mouth. 

Screw Steve Harrington. 

As the third cup of cheap beer hits your lips, you risk a glance down the line of your row again. Immediately regretting it like you have every other time. Leigh pushes the loose strand of hair on his forehead back and your eyes return to the field quickly.  You’re sure your skin is turning just as green as the artificial turf, the beer making it a little easier to admit to yourself that you are jealous of the intimate moment. Your gut twinges slightly at the remembrance of only a few short weeks ago when you purposely tried to make him feel what you are now. You have no right to be mad at him. 

The players blur as they move in an intricate dance only they know before anyone else. You’ve always liked sports, but today has been a good reminder as to why. Players and teams practice and memorize skills and plays that work - but there’s no guarantees. They need intuition to know when to use certain moves, to have a good defense and follow their gut and deviate from the plan when they think the other team is pulling a new play. 

It’s all predictable, but not at the same time. Risks and playing with the odds, yet revolving around something incredibly low stakes like a ball in a net or getting past a painted line on fake grass. It’s also realistic. Sure, there are once in a lifetime passes like the Minnesota Miracle or a ball sinking into the net from a distance unfathomable as the final buzzer sounds - but most of the time, it’s just about who’s the best that day. Who ran faster, who slipped through someone else’s mistake. You like that the players can pour themselves into it and it’s still not going to be a win every time, because it’s just not sometimes, and that’s okay. They lose and they get up and they do it all over again. They also know that if they win, it doesn’t mean they’ll keep doing so without hard work and dedication. 

Poetic to your circumstances, really. Steve was just better at the game, and you knew the eventual outcome of your deal with each other. So really, is there anyone to be mad at here other than yourself?

Steve’s laugh echoes down the line and your jaw clenches, because maybe Steve was better at the game, but he certainly wasn’t playing fair. 

Yeah, you can still be mad at him. 

Your eye twitches as Robin and Leigh gush over horror movies they both love, a breath you didn’t know you were holding leaving you when they head off together for a bathroom break. 

His eyes actually burn your cheek from the way they stare down the row in your direction now that he doesn’t have her to focus on. Clear to you now that all you are - all you ever were - is an afterthought, something to pass the time. 

Refusing to look his way, you try not to feel bad about the sigh you hear all the way from five seats away. 

Oh, I’m sorry Steve, are you mildly upset that I don’t want to talk to you after you got me to open up just to blindside me?

You’re not surprised when a dark denim leg presses against your shoulder, his large brown boots landing on the open seat next to you as he climbs over. As he sits, you stand, quickly making your way down the row, occupying Robin’s empty seat on the other side of Nancy. 

Steve stands, hands on his hips as he frowns. “Are you being fucking serious right now?”

Turning your attention back to the field, your knees bounce with restless energy, anticipating his next move. An intricate dance just like the players below you. 

Steve climbs back over, and you can’t help but relish a little in his groan and mumbled comment about being twelve under his breath as you shimmy between Eddie and Nancy, shoving Eddie into your old seat, ignoring his grunted protests. Unable to help yourself, you smirk into your beer, watching out of the corner of your eye as Steve’s jaw clenches. Making him irritated seems only fair under the circumstances. 

You’re ready for his next attempt, sure he’s going to make Nancy swap with him or come up behind you. So when he puts his foot on the chair, you move to the edge of your seat. Steve pounces, tumbling over the back of the row in front of you instead. He’s breathless, cheeks flushed pink as his hands land on the armrests of your spot. His arms cage you in as he leans over the back of the blue metal chairs, ignoring the grumbled complaints of those he bumped out of the way in his pursuit. 

His face fills your vision, freckles that dot the sharp slope of his nose, the light scruff he’s let grow more highlight’s the angle of his jaw and the curve of his cupid’s bow. For a second you forget you’re supposed to be mad when you finally meet his eyes. They steal all of your attention and you hate that you can’t look away. 

You hate him. 

“We’re gonna talk,” he huffs, catching his breath.

“You should hit the gym.” A sad attempt to change the subject, to hurt him a little. Your eyes flit down to his lips in a mistake. You can’t look at his eyes again so you settle on his cheek, trying your best to ignore the endearing pair of freckles. 

“I know you’re mad, and if you just let me explain, I-“

“You’ve had plenty of chances to explain before today Steve!”

The hush of the people around you makes your eyes close, taking a moment for a calming breath. Eddie coughs into his fist on your left and squints at the field, Nancy scratches the denim on her thigh and clears her throat on your right. 

Steve’s eyes narrow, his top lip pulls in, tongue licking over it before he lets out a cold laugh, “Jesus Christ, what was I supposed to do, tell you while we’re fucking? Or how about after you told me about your parents? I-“

The beer in your hand splashes across his face as he coughs and sputters. His fingers wipe over his eyes and you stand, pushing past the gawking crowd and down the stairs. 

Nancy and Eddie were right.

Steve Harrington is a fucking idiot. 

You’d rode the train past your stop twice, both your airpods in and a look about you that dared anyone to even glance at you the wrong way. At the sight of the sun sinking past the horizon, you bite down on your cheek, willing your gut to stop twisting as it attaches a thing you love to him. Steve Harrington was not going to ruin sunsets for you, you draw the line at fucking grilled cheese and football. 

The flick of your entryway lamp illuminates your place, the lyrics “You call me strawberry wine…” drift out of your airpod as you remove it from your ear. You’ve had enough of the universe’s poetic irony today. Tossing the case and your keys into their dish as you turn the lock on your door. 

The sunset is the least of your worries, what didn’t he touch here? Your door, the coffee mugs he proclaimed as his favorites, the counter, the fire escape. You reach for the bottle of wine on top of your fridge as you click on the Instagram notification. 

A caption reading ‘We just hope both teams had fun🏈 ’ below her photos. A selfie first, Robin’s bashful face filling the screen, getting her cheek kissed by Nancy. Another, this one with you - she must have caught it during bags - a shot of Eddie and you mid-laugh. The last one clearly taken after you left, the group in the stands, Steve’s sweater gone, replaced by a dry light blue t-shirt. You click your phone locked again and drink straight out of the bottle as you walk down the dark hallway. Old wood floors creak underneath your feet as you make your way to your room. 

Fuck, your room.

It’s a moment that perhaps you should be crying during, do normal people cry when boys like Steve Harrington blindside them? When a man you start to break down for was spooning you fully clothed at the start of the day and getting a beer tossed in his face by the end, shouldn’t some sort of despair come out in the form of dramatic tears? Nothing leaves your eyes though as you strip the sheets off of your bed. Steve’s not worth any. No guy is. 

Tugging harshly at the last corner of the fitted sheet with a frustrated grunt, you throw all of your bedding out into the hallway and slam the door. The flutter of paper on your desk as the door swings closed catches your eye, your chest tightens at the realization of what you left there. 

The glow from the setting sun outside washes over the photobooth strip as you walk towards it, lit up in a perfect square of tangerine. Your thumb brushes the last photo as you pick it up, wondering how it all went so wrong, so fast.

It rips easier than maybe it should have, diminished to something small and as broken as you can make it before you toss it in the trash in your bathroom. Your eyes linger on the shower curtain and then your shampoo. The wine bottle presses to your lips again as you make a mental note, adding those to your list of things to replace tomorrow as well. 

Your phone pings again, the group chat you’ve just been recently added to: 

Your thumb presses the lock after turning it to silent, the dots from Robin appearing letting you know you don’t want to keep reading all of them talk. Your bare mattress stares at you as you drink more wine. They’re home. Together? In his apartment? In his bed?

It doesn’t matter, good for Steve, hope he’s happy. Good fucking riddance, right? 

Opening your bedroom door, you sigh at the pile of bedding, stepping over it and making your way to your couch. Your protective wall is still standing, your armor dusted off and polished once more. It’s time to pick up the pieces, replace what’s broken, and move on from what others like Eddie may want to tell you is heartbreak, but you would argue is just called life. 

And life is pain, and anyone who tells you differently is selling something, right?

Halloween season used to be one of your favorite times of the year. Parties and opportunities to dress up like someone you’re not. Evenings to be a character in a story far different than the one you were living, with lines already planned for you to say, an ending meticulously thought out. Now, however, the red fabric that clings to your body serves only as a reminder of how your life is the furthest thing from picture perfect. 

Originally, when you found the dress thrifting with Robin, it had felt a little like fate. A tiny and gentle nudge from the universe in the right direction - a sign. Now, you’re sure it was actually some twisted joke. Someone, somewhere out there, is laughing it up as they play with you like a plastic doll. Because even meeting Robin, a thing you were positive was divine intervention, is now wrapped around him. Some evil force at work as they had you meet her, then him, while they cackled and said ‘Ha! Watch this! This one’ll be good.’

Your costume now a cruel oxymoron - a girl who resents love dressed as someone who cherishes it. Pretending to be a girl who loved a boy endlessly, so devoted, she claimed to die the day he supposedly did. A girl who-

“You know,” a finger pokes your cheek, “For a princess, your sour look is not very princessey.”

Robin raises her eyebrows at you, hands on her hips, orange fabric of her skirt swishing around her thighs as she turns. Her sparkly red turtleneck and shine of her black mary jane’s glint in the strobe lights that are making sweeps over the room. 

You try to smile, if only for the fact that Nancy actually got her to wear the costume. Crossing your arms, your eyebrows raise as you respond, “Well, you must be a detective or something, Miss Dinkley.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but fights a smile, fiddling with the magnifying glass in her hands. When you don’t say anything more though, her big blue eyes soften as they glance up at you through fake glasses, and she reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “Seriously, is everything okay? I feel like…” she trails off, shaking her head, at a loss for words it seems - an unusual thing for her. 

The line for the bar shifts forward and you nod, that terrible feeling still sits heavy in your stomach like a bag of rocks - you’re weighed down, to be left at the bottom of your guilt to drown. “I’m fine, Robin,” it slips out when you repeat the words quieter, because maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true, “I’ll be fine.”

“Aha!” She points a finger in your face, “You just said be fine, implying something is in fact not fine currently and-“

“Robin,” your laugh is unconvincing even to yourself. You rub your temples as you face the bar. “Quit being a meddling kid.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out with a little more bite than you intend and her mouth shuts quickly. It’s silent for only a few seconds though, before her shoulder bumps yours. Her question quiet, “How long were you waiting to use that one?”

Your head rests against her shoulder in a silent ‘I’m sorry’, hers against yours in an equally unspoken ‘You’re forgiven’ as you sigh. “Oh, just since you put on the costume.”

She hums and then lifts her head and faces you. “Last thing, and then I’ll drop it, I swear.”

Facing her, you swallow harshly as she stares at you with eyes that feel like they can see everything. Even more so when she says, “I know we haven’t known each other that long, but you’re important to me. And if there’s something going on…” she trails off before smiling sadly and continuing, “You can tell me, okay? You can open up and I’ll probably talk too much and offer too much advice, but comes from a place of love and-“

You hug her tightly, Robin wraps her arms around you just as fiercely as her sentence breaks off. Your response sticks in your throat, an alarming hope of ‘what if I told her?’ rising in you that you need to squash down quickly. She can’t know, despite Nancy’s warning that she should. If she did find out, you’re not certain she’d be on your side anyways. It was all your idea to lie to her, it’s selfish of you to ask her to comfort you in this situation. 

Especially after you made her practically drag you to the party tonight. Eventually giving into her puppy dog pout (for a girl who easily falls for it, she has a pretty convincing one herself), your guilt all but consuming you at this point. You could put on a smile, a brave face - you could pretend to be someone you’re not, just tonight, and just for her. 

You haven’t seen Steve since the football game, ignoring any sort of notification related to him in your phone. But in the process of trying to remove anything Steve from your life, you’ve removed Robin from it as well - a packaged deal. Each ignored message, each call you watched ring and left unanswered, every dodged lunch, were just more punches to your gut, pieces of your heart ripped off and stepped on. You missed Robin so much, one night out, forced to make small talk with him, was a fair price to pay for the deceit and lies - if it meant you got to see her again. 

When you break away from the hug, it’s your turn for the bar finally. Both of your eyes widen at the sight of the specialty drink menu. ‘Bootini’s’ and things like a cocktail called ‘Vampire Kiss’ making both of you frown at the dollar signs next to each. You’re suddenly grateful for the tequila that’s still filling your stomach with warmth and Eddie’s insistence on taking the shots before leaving Nancy’s. 

“They do have like, a regular bar, right? Cause your girl is on a budget and…” your sentence trails off as Robin smiles at something, someone, over your shoulder. 

“Well, there isn’t much money in revenge.” 

His voice alone is enough to make your shoulders go up, to cause your stomach to twist, but when you spin to see him, you know it’s not the tequila making the room feel fuzzy and your stomach heave.  

He can’t be serious. 

He is not wearing that. He’s not.

“Come up with that all by yourself, did ya?” Robin pats Steve’s shoulder and before he can reply she’s holding up a hand in front of his face, letting out a low whistle. “Hoolly cooww.” She motions for Leigh to spin who blushes and laughs, but obliges as Robin keeps going, “Miss Morticia Addams, if you wanna ditch Dingus here…”

Steve puts his hands on his hips, an edge to his tone you may have found amusing if it wasn’t because of his best friend hitting on his girlfriend. “Seriously, Robin? Are you being serious right now? Where’s Nancy?”

Robin rolls her eyes at him and Leigh laughs more, squeezing his shoulder. “I should be the one saying holy cow! Look at you two! Y/N, where did you find that dress?”

God, you hate that she’s nice. 

Her dress is phenomenal. The low cut, black fabric that hugs her curves and drapes over her flattering in a way it simply wouldn’t be on you. She’s got the perfect gauzy sleeves, the rings and red lips and nails, she’s even got a rose and scissors in her hand. 

You hate that you want to like this girl. 

Your smile is tense, “I, uh-“

The bartender clears her throat and you point, saved by the bell, turning your back on the group. A name of one of the drinks leaves your lips and you’re vaguely aware of Robin saying something about finding the others and to not order her something with whiskey in it because he remembers what happened last time.  

The deep breathing through your nose is a sad attempt for composure when you get a longer chance to take Steve in. Even with the dim bar lighting, the mirror behind the shelf of various liquors gives you a perfect view. You’re not sure whether you want to kiss him or punch him. 

Steve’s dressed in all black, head to toe, the v-cut of the flowy top revealing quite a bit of his dark chest hair and you swallow, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter. You always hated how Buttercup couldn’t tell it was Westley, in fact, you hate it in any movie when a character has a mask over their eyes and suddenly everyone is unable to tell who they’re dancing with, hell who’s kissing them. If anything, the black band of fabric across his face only makes the lips below and the eyes underneath it stand out more  - the curve of his top lip you can still feel under your tongue. The colors of his iris’ so distinctly Steve that you’d recognize anywhere - instead of a sea after a storm, a forest. He really went all out, even his scruff shaved to have a thin mustache, he’s wearing the black cap pushing down his normally styled and perfectly messy hair, and when you glance down, you’re not surprised to find matching pirate boots standing next to you. 

His hand reaches across your chest with a matte black card - that kind that isn’t glossy like a normal one and you quickly hand the bartender crumpled bills instead, earning a sigh from Steve. 

“You’re not seriously wearing that.” Weeks of no contact, and you hate that your voice doesn’t come out strong and confident when that’s all you can think to say. 

Risking a glance his way, you find his eyes are already on you, his jaw clenching before he asks, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

Your inhale is sharp - how can he be this cruel? How can he act like that costume means nothing, or like the last few weeks weren’t awful? Weren’t they awful for him? To go from talking almost every day to nothing?

“Are you fucking kidding me Steve? After everything, after what you said at the game, you’re really gonna stick to not admitting what this is?” Gesturing up and down his body as you ask. He truly can’t be this much of an asshole, he can’t-

Steve shrugs. “I’m just a pirate. I don’t know what your problem is.”

Turns out, he can be. 

Before you can even start to formulate something nasty to respond with, a person walking by shouts out, “Oh nice! As you wish, dudes!” Clapping Steve’s shoulder as they waltz past like it’s the 90’s and people still say ‘dudes’ to strangers. 

Dude did just make your point for you at least, though. 

You hold your hands out to the retreating body in a show of ‘see?’ and then childishly flip Steve off. “The case rests, your honor.”

“It was last minute and I didn’t-”

His weak and pathetic attempts at excuses fall on deaf ears as you push your way through the crowd towards the beacon of red neon announcing an exit for this god forsaken bar. 

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, but you don’t think it is - screw Steve Harrington for ruining a fucking bar, for ruining the word dude, for ruining The Princess Bride, for ruining everything. 

Screw everything.

The sting of rejection and the quiet anger that’s been sitting at a simmer since the game rests over an open flame now. Your insides quickly grow to a rapid boil. Apathy and anger rage for the top spot as everything you’ve tried to keep under a lid steams, ready to overflow and burn. 

Ignoring the calls of your name, something still makes it past your seeing red rampage of an exit, connecting the voices, aware of Steve saying something to someone, but you can’t really find it in yourself to care who or what. The cool air hits your body as you push outside, stinging against the damp skin under your eyes. 

A hand on your shoulder makes you jump, his voice quiet, “Y/N-“

“Don’t touch me, Steve,” you warn, taking a step backwards after yanking your shoulder from under his fingers. Your hands balled into fists as you spin to look at him. 

He runs a hand through his now uncovered hair, face fully revealed without a mask too. He watches you closely, his voice gentle, as he raises his hands up, “Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. You can-“

“You don’t get to check on me anymore, or worry about if I’m okay, you’re not my boyfriend,” your tone scathing. 

Steve’s gaze bounces over your face, his jaw hardens as the vein in his forehead dances. Somehow his voice is soft despite the bite to it, “Yeah, I know. You’ve made that perfectly clear. But I am your friend, and I -“

Your laugh causes him to break off. You gesture inside and then to his outfit. “Friends don’t treat each other this way, Steve.”

He drags his palms down his face, his own disbelieving laugh echoes against the brick of the bar. “Are you kidding me? I have been nothing but your friend! I am sorry about what I said at the game, but really, when was I supposed to tell you? And this costume…I…” He shakes his head, licking his lips as he takes a step closer to you. “Look. I should have told you about Leigh sooner, but if you would have given me five minutes to-“

“Five minutes. A sec.” Your hands move in quotation marks as you recall the conversation he wanted to have at the game too. Your face pinches into an irritated scowl as your hands drop in front of you, palms open. Exasperation laced around your words, “What the fuck is there to explain anymore, Harrington? You’re dating her and you didn’t tell me - the story is over.”

Steve stands just in front of you now, that gravitational pull at silent work again, even weeks apart unable to switch it off. Your bodies move with each other, your voices rise in sync, your chests fall with shared breaths. A different sidewalk, that same feeling of flight or fight, but you know that it’s too late this time. Even turning the heat off isn’t going to fix the damage that’s been done. 

Another laugh huffs out of him, “You’d like that, right? That’s it, case closed. Y/N calls the shots and decides everything.” He shakes his head and points to his chest, towering over you, “This is all such total bullshit. You’re mad at me for something that was your idea, because you didn’t get to decide when it was over.” He shrugs, waves of nonchalance carrying his words through the air to hit you hard like a slap across the face. “You’re a spoiled brat who’s mad because you’ve lost a toy.”

Any maturity you attempted to have towards the situation has evaporated. 

“Me? The spoiled brat? Excuse me, Mr. 50th floor and Daddy’s Credit Card. Take a look in the fucking mirror, Steve!”

Your chests almost touch with each ragged breath as his hands run through his hair and he pulls. A frustrated groan at your words, while the volume at which his come out becomes louder, “I’ve got plenty of fucking mirrors, why don’t you take your own advice! You’re a hypocrite. You can’t even admit it to yourself, can you? Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you didn’t ask me for this arrangement. Tell me that the words ‘no feelings’ and ‘just sex’ didn’t leave your mouth. Tell me what you have to be upset with me for then!”

Your chin quivers at his words, the truth of them daring the tears behind your eyes to fall. 

Steve gulps, his fingers dance on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. His eyes shine with his own held back tears, like he regrets how he said it but not that he did. His voice quiets as he pleads, “Tell me.”

He doesn’t get to look at you like that. He doesn’t get to say those things to you and then look at you like that.

What happened last time Steve Harrington asked you to open up and tell him something?

Tequila lingers on your tongue, aiding in the formation of words that are meant to sting - you want to hurt him like he’s hurting you. You bite down on your jaw, the anger and pain ready to fall down your cheeks as you remove yourself from him. 

Your hands press against his chest, “You’re bullshit. This is bullshit.” A small shove as you practically growl the next words, “I’m a hypocrite? How about the fucking bathroom at that party where you told me I couldn’t have it both ways, but then you’re dating someone while getting all jealous?” Another shove, this time his fingers brush your wrists, a halfhearted attempt to get you to stop. “Begging me to open up to you? For fucking what, Steve? This costume? You…” you close your eyes and let your hands drop, letting the words do all the work now, “You’re a liar. You’re an asshole.”

Steve’s head ducks down, his fingers brushing his nose before he rolls his shoulders back. When his mouth opens, you step backwards, shaking your head. 

“Lose my number, Steve.”

His eyes roam over your face, waiting, searching. He only nods once and takes his own step back. 

“As you wish.”

Your breath sucks in sharply, a sob you’ve been holding in since the moment he said the words ‘Sorry we’re late’ threatens to finally crack out of your chest. You wish you had another beer to toss in his face for using those words at this moment. 

It’s not said with the kind of reverence of the movie. There isn’t a narrator to let you know what he actually means by the phrase. But you know. It’s not an ‘I love you’, not like this. No, it’s merely a promise to do as you asked. 

All you can do is turn away from him, hold your chin up and roll your shoulders back as you walk down the sidewalk.

There is no hopeful glance back over your shoulder, no loud smacks against the pavement made by his feet chasing after you like in the movies. 

Like you said, your story is over. 

'One New Voicemail':

“Hey, just thought I’d try ya, I know you’ve been busy. Um, well, Steve and I are heading to the Rocky Horror show tonight and I know he’d love someone to aid in his teasing of how totally into it I get. Right Steve?” 

[muffled sounds of movement and whispers]

“Hm…yeah, I uh-” 

[a clear smack to his shoulder]

“It feels like forever since I’ve seen you or we’ve done something just the three of us! Anyways, call me back, text me…beep me if you wanna reach me…ugh, sorry that was so lame, okay bye. Love you!”

If you were surviving before them, you could survive without them. It seemed simple enough. 

You’ve never stayed in one place for long, friendships like Robin, Eddie, and Nancy had been left before. Friendships that were never given a chance to really even start before you were gone. The promise of any relationships packed into boxes and off to the next city. Addresses and phone numbers and notes of ‘Keep in touch’ left to collect dust until forgotten about completely. 

So, it should have been easy to continue to ignore their messages. To ignore the holes in your chest, to ignore the want to call or text one of them when something happened as mundane as a stranger calling another stranger ‘toots’ in your mailroom. If Steve touched things in your life and now caused them to wilt in your memories and sights, the other three made things bloom. They breathed life into you again. 

You weren’t going to let Steve Harrington take something like that away from you. 

Which is why you found yourself curled into your father’s sweater for courage, walking down the sidewalk towards the cemetery with a promise to meet them there.

Orange and brown leaves crinkle underfoot before they blow across the pavement. The moon is full, the sky that deep indigo it seems to only get this time of year. Both a perfect backdrop for the bare trees that dance in the wind and the blocks lined with homes with glowing porch lights. Orange buckets overflowing with candy rush past in a blur, laughter and squeals of children echoing down the street past you. 

As you make it to the black iron fence, your eyes roam the blankets and patrons occupying them in the park next to the cemetery. Apple and brown sugar meet your nose and you take special note of the mini donut booth attached to the scent. Which is where you see Eddie, shoving two in his mouth and rolling his eyes at Nancy. He spots you and grins around the sugary dough, nudging the shoulder to his right and nodding in your direction. 

Robin spins and you see her shoulders visibly fall and a grin spread across her face. She says something to the other two who head in the direction of the blankets and she races through the crowd. Muffled oofs and sorry’s meet your ears as she dodges and spins around people balancing concessions.

You reach the front of the line, a sandwich board proudly displaying the original ‘The Evil Dead’ poster sits next to an older woman on a stool at the gate. She smiles at you, holding a flashlight towards the ground. “Ticket, dear?”

“Rose! Rose, she's my girl!” Robin shouts, breathless as she makes it to the gate. 

“Oh!” The elderly woman smiles wider, ushering you through, “Have fun ladies! Tell Edward I’m still waiting for my hot chocolate.”

“Yes ma’am.” Robin salutes with two fingers and then grabs you in a hug. “Jesus Christ I missed you!” Her voice is loud and she shrinks in your arms as the lights of the booths go out and the crowd surrounding you turns and shushes. Her voice shifts to a whisper, “Whoops. Come on, we’re towards the back and we still have all the commercials to chat without too many nasty looks.”

Robin holds your arm in a death grip, a silent promise to not let you out of her sights and clutches so long as she can help it again it seems. When you reach the blanket, Nancy and Eddie’s conversation stops abruptly and their smiles seem painted on as they look up at you. 

It’s one of those moments, those silences that are too stilted and too abrupt, letting you know exactly what was being discussed just seconds before. You wave a little, ears burning since you have no doubt about who the subject of their interrupted conversation was. 

“Eddie,” Robin begins, huffing as she falls to their cushy spot with extra blankets, trays of drinks, and several bags of sweets littered around them, “Rose is fiending.”

“Oh shit!” Ducking and wincing when someone turns around and glares at him. He grabs one of the cups with a big R on top and squeezes your shoulder as he stands, “Be right back! Glad you came!”

Sitting as Robin pats his now empty spot next to her. “Can I get you anything? We have cocoa and cider, donuts, popcorn, candy corn, caramel corn, basically any kind of corn and-“

“Robin,” Nancy hums, almost singing, as she sips from a cup. She squeezes her fingers. “You have to actually take a breath to let her respond.” 

“I’ll never say no to a cider or donut,” you point to the items with a laugh. 

Robin grabs them and hands it to you. She whacks pillows and squishes around, rolling and frowning and readjusting. 

Eventually, she sighs, content, and grabs Nancy’s hand and then a donut from your bag and knocks it against one in your fingers before taking a bite. 

“Happy?” Nancy asks as Robin hums around the sugar she licks off of her lips. 

“You know it. Only thing that would make tonight better is…” she trails off with a grin.

You take her words as a warning to look around, wondering where he is and mentally preparing yourself. 

Nothing could have prepared you though. 

It happens quickly and yet not at the same time. 

Your head turns to see them walking hand in hand. A swing of fingers as they walk past twinkling lights, the breeze blowing her hair perfectly.  

Nancy says “Shit,” under her breath as she sits up. When you turn to look at her with a frown, she opens her mouth but no words come out. 

The movie starts.

Eddie slows down as he makes his way back towards the blanket, looking at Nancy then over his shoulder then back at you. 

Robin waves her arm too much and you turn to look again, trying to figure out what you’re not getting.

Steve’s eyes meet yours and he stops, tripping over his own shoe.

Leigh waves and something sparkles on her hand in the moonlight.

Robin beams and squeezes your wrist. “Oh my gosh I can’t believe they actually came! I figured with the whole engagement thing they wouldn’t. Now it’s all officially perfect. All my favorite people together on my favorite day.”

Plot twist: Steve Harrington is engaged. 

WCIL taglist:

@loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii

[escapeaddict]

why I think Daring's destiny is not to become the Beast

In the first series he literally signs the book before Raven's turn at the podium when she tears out her page. He saw his future. "But the show canon is different" I'm aware. Still felt like pointing this out.

the whole point, the whole point of eah is that destiny doesn't define who you are. Daring's character was assassinated into being only selfish and vain (which he is, but imo he's also heroic and helpful and kind[my first impression of the characters is from the books]), so therefore he's the next Beast??? His personality, lack of interest in Apple, and forced interest in Rosabella dictate his legacy??? Fuck that, sincerely. He's the future Prince Charming of Snow White, but isn't going to be into Apple of his own volition, and he isn't picture perfect to fit the tale, because he's human and inherently flawed. Like, tell me you missed the point of eah without telling me that you missed the point of eah (directed at the writers, not the fans).

Daring would not lose all sense of self if he couldn't wake Apple up. He's skilled (like, there's a reason everyone thinks he's perfect and it's not just his looks) and he knows it. His confidence would be shaken, sure, but how invested is he really in being Apple's prince? Boohoo who am I now that I'm only handsome and talented and popular and not beholden to any one girl? Oh, the horror. And if he turned into a beast, he'd just found eah's furry community out of sheer charisma, let's be real.

Epic Winter sucks. End quote.

I said so.

[spaceorphan18]

Imma be boring at first and just ask you the same question back: What are you five favourite things about Colin and Pen’s relationship?

Lol, and yet I don't find this a boring question!! :D

They are friends who became lovers.

Look, I just love and adore this trope. I love that it wasn't a thunderbolt from the sky. I love that it was a bit slow burn and had time to build and grow. I love that there was a connection there long before romance simmered. I love begin their relationship already knowing each other -- and romance is an added element. It's delicious in the most beautiful way.

2. They liked each other before they were cool.

Yes, sure, they both are seriously hot in Season 3. But that element is more for us (and their own confidence) than it is for each other. As I said in an earlier post, Penelope does not give two shits about Colin's new Parisian styles or his new charming demeanor. She fell in love with one incredibly dorky guy and when she looks into his eyes, that weirdo is still there. Likewise, Penelope's glow up doesn't suddenly make Colin's feelings change. It's her confidence and vulnerability and the fact that when he finally kisses her -- all of those feelings he's always had come rushing forward.

3. They're both writers who support each other's dreams.

It's not just that they have similar interests (they do! it's part of the friendship thing), it's that the have a deep confidence in one another. They both very much care for the other one as an individual and (after sorting through the LW mess) are both deeply supportive of what the other one wants and needs. And having the same hobbies (as well as career goals - for lack of a better term) only brings them closer together.

(And let's be real - as a writer myself, I adore stories that feature writers at the center.)

4. They're both fucking old school romantics.

Ngl, this one really does me in. Penelope longs to be swept off her feet. Colin wants to be the dashing hero. For better or worse, they both love love and are happier being allowed to be in love. The fact that even while they were having issues, even when Colin was /angry/ at her -- they still got married. Because at the end of the day, being in love surpasses any other issue. They'll continue to have shit to work through. They'll have hard times and their own issues that will trip them up. But by god, their love is deep and that's exactly how they prefer it.

5. Their conflicts are not a result of miscommunication or repressed angst.

In a world where couples are either shouting at each other due to repression of their feelings or just plain not talking things out, neither Pen or Colin are able to hide their true selves very well, and neither do they want to. Colin might be a little slow to understand his feelings, but once he does, he's a man of action through and through. And even as he sorts out his own issues of LW and pulls away from Pen - she's still well aware of what is going on, and let's him have his space. Meanwhile, Pen's withholding of things (such as her feelings and of LW) come from self preservation, not lack of self realization.

Personally, I just find it refreshing that you have a couple who starts out genuinely caring for each other and sincerely understanding each other's feelings and the conflicts stem more so from external factors rather than issues arising because they are unsure of how they feel about each other.

(This is not shade on the other couples of the show -- this is me acknowledging that I have a personal preference for one type of story over another.)

Bonus 1 - The way they laugh together.

Whether it being just giggling over an inside joke at a ball or finding the humor in even things like sex, the two of them always find a way to make each other laugh, and it's so sweet and adorable and they both become so alive. They've cultivated their own little world and are amused by it and it just warms my heart every time they laugh with each other.

Bonus 2 - The Carriage Scene

This. This is a thing that actually happened on my tv screen, and my jaw is still a little on the floor. Because god damn that was hot and I am only human. Ooff.

[ohnococo]

Gunshow |Toji Fushiguro x F!Reader

Summary: Reader settles in for a quiet night of people watching, deals with some unwanted advances, and has an encounter with a very handsome and very dangerous man.

Notes: Toji fucks reader with a gun, don't say I didn't warn you.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Gunplay/Gun Kink, Porn With Plot, Bad Flirting, Some OCs, Violence, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, One Night Stands, People Watching

MINORS DNI/18+ ONLY

As you enter your local haunt, the crowd is a predictable mix of familiar faces, familiar faces plus one, and a decent helping of newbies either on their own or in intimate gatherings. It’s a nice place to spend a weeknight, somewhere to unwind and at least be around other people, even if you have no intention of speaking to any of them. Besides, it feels a little less lonely to drink in a room of strangers versus on your own. A more acceptable way to put an end to a stressful day - in your mind at least.

Just like many evenings before this one, you order a drink, pay, and gesture to a table once the bartender starts on your drink. It's a nice spot near enough to the bar but far enough from the entrance that the cool night air won’t reach you as people come and go, and you’re grateful it’s still available for you despite the prime location. Once seated and waiting, your evening ritual starts as it always does: you open your book, tucking the receipt you’d used as a bookmark somewhere into the back pages, and make a start at the chapter you’d left off at.

It’s a formality, really, a display of productivity even in the face of the inevitable. Soon enough the inevitable meets you head on as you find yourself scanning the same paragraphs over and over, not quite processing them, before you give in to people watching as you always do. The thought flutters through your distracted mind of if the other regulars noticed how long you seemed to be stuck on the same book, but you didn’t really mind them making the same kinds of judgements about you that you did about them. It was only fair that you might entertain them as others had entertained you.

Your small but harmless voyeuristic streak puts you in good company in a place like this, there were always a few people dotted around here going in and out of their own little worlds - readers, writers, first dates, late night workers softening the sting of excessive overtime with a drink to nurse through the hours. Perfectly anonymous but perfectly friendly. So you lower the book to rest on the table, still holding it open for the sake of pretence, and take in tonight’s crowd in closer detail.

Vodka Cran, the university student who usually came in earlier in the night to finish up work, and ended her session with a vodka cran as a post-work pregame. She was originally Rainbow Glasses to you because of her habit of coordinating her rotating pairs of oversized glasses to her colourful outfits, but in the end Vodka Cran just sounded cuter.

First Date Andy, the guy who brought all of his first dates here. You were rooting for him, you really were, especially for the dates that he was extra fidgety for. Unfortunately the lack of confidence was always palpable, even from across the bar.

The Debbies, a group of older women who met weekly for a quiet chat and a few G&Ts. Their namesake was more their actual names as at least two of them would be greeted with a cheery “hiya Deb!”

Then you moved onto the less familiar faces, looking for someone who might be somewhat interesting: another student looking bleary-eyed and typing away on his laptop, a businessman with his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair scrolling through his full-brightness phone, an older woman with a glass of barely-touched wine staring out at the streetlights through the front of the establishment.

Then, your eyes settle on a man perched atop one of the stools at the tall tables in the back of the bar. His appearance is striking enough that your glances become much less covert. He isn’t doing anything inherently more interesting than anyone else there, just sitting alone with a drink in his hand and reading through something on his phone. Still, you find yourself immediately captivated.

People watching very rarely turned into ogling for you but this time you just can’t help yourself, only moving your eyes away when the bartender sets your drink down in front of you, on top of a small black cocktail napkin. You thank them, shutting your book and forgetting to move your makeshift bookmark back in place as you do, sliding the drink in front of you to cradle your hands round as you peek back at the man. You counted yourself lucky that you already happened to be sitting facing him or you’d have embarrassed yourself with how your eyes looked him up and down, you were even more lucky that he was sitting so you were only seeing him from the side, head on and he surely could have noticed the intensity of your gaze.

Even in profile he’s eye-catching: tall, dressed casually in all black, dark hair only kept out of his eyes by his long lashes, but most of all you notice just how strong he looks. His shirt isn’t even that tight, hanging loosely over what you just know would be a trim waist, but his shoulders and arms are absolutely making themselves a spectacle, pulling the fabric taut over their girth. Unwilling to fully give in to being a creep, you force your attention back onto his face and you can just make out a small scar across his lips. You wonder how he got it, mind ready to build little stories around him as it did with most strangers.

Had he gotten into a fight? Maybe the scar was proof they weren’t just glamour muscles and that he knew just how to use them. Surely he was strong enough to beat most anyone? Or maybe he fell out of a tall tree as a kid, was he the adventurous type? Your thoughts are halted as he glances over in your direction and you quickly avert your gaze, looking towards the entrance as you take a sip of your drink.

While you busy yourself looking elsewhere, your heart beats a little faster: both from how attractive the newcomer is and from the embarrassment of nearly being caught watching him. Even as you glance around the room in the general direction of others, your mind is on him. You’d have liked to have seen what the man ordered to drink, to maybe use that to make a slightly different judgement on his character and redeem yourself for objectifying a complete stranger, but his hands were large enough that they’d been obscuring the liquid in the glass he had in front of him. At the end of the day though, people watching was very much a superficial sport, so the man’s incredible physique remains the basis of his nickname tonight (and possibly future nights, should you be lucky enough to ogle him again). Gunshow.

Just as you start to risk glancing back in Gunshow’s direction, the door to the bar opens and in walks a man already making a spectacle of himself. He’s small, red-faced, dressed in what you assume is his finest night out attire, and smiling as though he’d already been cackling at whatever internal monologue was driving his actions - all things you objectively have no problem with. You understand just how many possibly unfair judgments you could sit there making of people and try to generally keep any nicknames positive, but you have a hunch the man isn’t deserving of such grace as he makes his way to the bar, smacks his hand against it impatiently, and asks for “something expensive.”

Everything about him seems to telegraph that he had not picked up on the vibe of the place he was walking into.

It happens occasionally, this is a place that serves alcohol and is open fairly late into the night. People stumble in mid bar crawl, having wandered a block or so away from where the real nightlife is around here. Or someone gets a little far into their pregame before moving onto a more lively location. Eventually though, they leave. It’s a fine place for quiet nights and introverts, not so much for someone looking to party. You can only hope he’ll get the picture sooner rather than later so you can return to your more pleasant daydreams.

As he waits for his drink, he turns his attention to the nearest pair of girls, sending a double brow raise and a small greeting of a head tilt in their direction. He doesn’t seem to notice that the attention is not returned as he receives his drink and throws a few bills on the bar instead of placing it in the barkeep’s waiting hand. He finishes half the drink in the few steps it takes for him to insert himself into the group, and your nickname is solidified. Dickhead.

Even halfway across the room you can hear him asking how they’re doing, directing compliments on their bodies at no specific person, casting a wide net. Though much younger than him, the girls waste no time entertaining his antics. One girl moves herself to stand slightly in front of the other, and whatever she says has him frowning, lower lip poked out as he gives his best puppy dog eyes. He seems to start bargaining as the other girl shakes her head, rolling her eyes and waving him away. Finally, the first girl puts her hand in his face, loudly and firmly dismissing him.

Fortunately the direct approach works as he backs away, tossing out a retraction to his earlier unwanted compliments as the girls ignore him. Unfortunately for every other female-presenting person in the bar his confidence doesn’t quite seem to be knocked as he then approaches another patron. This time it’s a girl who is alone and seems to have been actually reading, unlike you. He seats himself in front of her, waving his hand between her face and her book and beginning a second attempt.

Even with how much of a show Dickhead is making of himself, you find it easy to look away from him when you feel your twinge of annoyance at the antics start to add an unpleasant edge to the relaxing you’d come out to do. Scanning across the crowd you see those in the room who weren’t locked in conversation sneaking furtive glances at him too, probably also hoping the man would leave sooner rather than later. Resting your eyes on the spot you’d given a bit too much focus on earlier you’re slightly disappointed to find the seat empty, but the smallest bit of excitement simmers in your stomach when you see the drink was basically full. Maybe Gunshow would come back? Had he gone to the bathroom? Or dipped out for a cigarette? Would the smell of smoke put you off approaching him?

You smile to yourself for entertaining the thought, as though you might have eventually built up the motivation to go speak to him. Not here, not tonight (not any night). There were already enough unwanted advances being thrown around.

The squeak of a chair dragging across the floor pulls you from your thoughts and you see the woman Dickhead was speaking to stand and begin tucking her book back into her bag. He’s still talking even as she prepares to leave until she takes a page out of the earlier girl’s book, putting her hand up in his face and loudly asserting that she had a boyfriend. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t, but at least it seemed to get the man to give her another sad look and leave her be as she walks out in a huff. You avert your gaze, as do most women near you, turning their attention back to their books, phones, or friends, as you all are briefly connected with an unspoken wish that the guy would leave you all the fuck alone.

His eyes lock with yours for just a second as you take a gravely miscalculated risk trying to see what his next move was and you groan as you look down, already caught as he begins approaching you. You didn’t appreciate a spot on this guy’s hit list any more than you’d appreciated him completely wrecking the usual soothing hum of low chatter that had come to be your favourite way to unwind for months now.

“Heyyyy.”

With just that one greeting it’s as if he’s speaking to you like he knows you. He certainly doesn’t know you, and won’t be getting to know you tonight as you’re quick to show him you aren’t willing to entertain him. You give him a once over fast enough to show he wasn’t worth looking at much longer than that before rolling your eyes as you fix them in a general direction clearly away from him. As with the others before you, he doesn’t get the memo (or more likely chooses to ignore it) and sets the remains of his drink down at your table before seating himself across from you.

“Want a drink?” The previous handful of rejections have somehow made him bolder as he waves his hand towards the bar before you even have a chance to reply.

“I have a drink.” You shake your head at the approaching bartender, who shrugs and goes back to leaning against the bar.

“Aw, too bad. I got money to burn tonight.” It was said with a happy lilt that made it clear he thought the mention of money would certainly win you over. It did not.

“Go burn it somewhere else.”

He laughs like you made some kind of joke, or like he wasn’t even listening, then tries to rest his hand on yours. He doesn’t get the chance to make contact before you’re snatching your hand away and putting it in his face, effectively serving him a hattrick of similar rejections. “I’m trying to have a quiet night, so you can leave me alone now.”

“All alone? In a bar? C’mon now.”

You serve him yet another eyeroll, accompanied by a scoff for good measure. “I’m not interested. I’m not going to be interested. So let me finish my drink. Alone.”

“You got a boyfriend or something?”

“No, and I don’t want one.”

“How about just a friend?”

You’ve had enough, so you say your mental goodbyes as you collect your things - goodbye to the calm evening intended to clear your head, goodbye to the other half of your drink, goodbye Gunshow, and definitely goodbye to Dickhead. Unfortunately Dickhead decides he won’t take a third rejection and stands too, starting to follow you as you walk out - unashamed of basically begging his way right through the bar even as you approach the door.

“I just wanna talk.”

You’re so focused on getting out (and hopefully not having to take the long and loud route home to avoid this asshole following you) that you don’t even notice the man heading you both off at the pass, making himself known once your hand touches the handle of the door.

“I don’t think they want to talk to you.”

The voice has both you and Dickhead snapping your heads to look at who had decided to join your conversation, and Dickhead is a fraction enough quicker that you see the terror on his face before you turn to see Gunshow had indeed returned. And returned to save you an even bigger hassle than you were already dealing with, it seemed.

“How about the two of us talk instead?” Gunshow puts his hand on Dickhead’s shoulder, just shy of his neck. It’s as if he’s grabbing him by the scruff as the smaller man is immediately overcome with a barely perceptible tremor.

“I- I-“ he’s suddenly much less wordy, apparently not so brave when dealing with other men.

“Let’s go.” Gunshow guides the man out the door, and you’re left standing in the bar just as shocked and confused as Dickhead looks as he’s pushed out the door. As the door slowly shuts behind them, Gunshow shoots you a smile that has the blood rushing to your face as he gives his parting words, “You have a good night.”

The door closes, and with them walking away it’s as if the half of the bar breathes a collective sigh of relief and returns to their evening, something you’re now free to do as well thanks to the mysterious man.

You stand there, stuck between two minds. What would happen to Dickhead? Would he just get walked down the block and told to fuck off? Or herded to a bar much more likely to match his energy for the evening? Somehow there was something more to that interaction than met the eye, like it wasn’t just Gunshow being a Good Samaritan. You know you should just sit back down and continue your evening as planned, content with wondering over the event until it becomes a footnote. Then again, you’d never been one to mind your business, so you make your mind up to satisfy your curiosity of at least seeing where they were going and walk out into the night.

As you look down the empty street, wondering if they’d already turned down one of the many side roads, a million thoughts rush through your head. What would you say if you did catch up to them? ‘Thank you’ to Gunshow and ‘Fuck you’ to Dickhead? Were you just going to ruin the mystique of the man? Had he really come to save you? Of the thoughts you’d toyed with surrounding the man’s character, should knight in shining armour have been one of them?

Then, you hear a loud clang and a man yelping, followed by what you could already recognize as Gunshow.

“You’re really out here spending my money?”

Oh.

That makes the interaction seem less heroic and more frightening, as the logical side of your brain tries to will you to turn around and take the long way home. Instead, you take unsteady steps towards where the sound came from, the side alley next to the bar, until you freeze as you peek round the corner and the two men come into view.

Dickhead was lying against a dumpster, dented from what was presumably the impact you’d just heard before. Gunshow was standing over him, letting out a sigh not dissimilar to each of the women he’d already wasted the time of this evening. He backhands him - a move so small that still manages to leave the man bleeding. How much money had this man taken that he was getting his ass beat about 4 feet from a public street?

“What the fuck, what the fuck-“ he’s frantic, taking the pause in violence as a chance to speak, “Were you following me?!”

Gunshow is only amused, “Actually, no. I hadn’t gotten around to that yet.” He crouches down slowly, and Dickhead puts his hands out as if that alone would stop him. “But here you are.”

“Look I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you, I just knew I was supposed to meet someone to give them the rest of the money and-“

“And ran off instead?”

Gunshow laughs, amused by his audacity. Dickhead laughs too, as if silently forced, but his eyes remain steady on the larger man in front of him, terrified.

“Toji I mean it, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew it was-“

Gunshow, or Toji as you’d now learned, backhands Dickhead again and it occurs to you that with this information it was probably time to back away slowly. Instead, you pause a moment more as Toji takes out his annoyance on the man in front of him. You’d seen your share of violence before, drunken brawls especially, but this was different. The man was calm, almost too calm, but then again it seemed just that easy as he left the man beneath him bloodied with just a few open-handed slaps.

Worryingly, you can’t quite find the will to walk away. Even more worryingly, as Gunshow’s muscles tense and flex with each hit, forearms freed from the sleeves he must’ve rolled up while dragging Dickhead around the corner, you find the previous wave of fear draining away for something very much not in line with self preservation. It isn’t the time for people-watching, and it absolutely isn’t the time for being so unbelievably thirsty but your feet aren’t becoming any less glued to their spot.

Dickhead seems to not have the same hesitation as he gathers the strength within the barrage of hits he was taking to try and run, only to be grabbed by his shirt and hauled up to meet Toji’s eyes.

Any sense of satisfaction you might have gotten out of Dickhead being put in his place is drowned in fear that you would be a potential witness to the onslaught as Toji reaches behind himself, pushing his shirt up to pull a gun from his waistband.

It’s as if you’re not in your body, unable to fathom what’s happening in front of you anymore than you can fathom you still sticking around to watch despite very much not wanting to watch a man die.

“You don’t pay people what you owe them, you don’t answer your phone, you harass random women, is there anything about you that isn’t annoying?”

“I can pay you tomorrow, I just have to-“

He moves so fast you only see a flash of metal before the smaller man is sent reeling by the blow, whimpering and putting his hands out to keep his already bloodied face from meeting the pavement. It doesn’t have an opportunity to as he’s caught by the collar of his shirt before he hits the ground. Another pathetic noise is let loose as he’s slammed against the dumpster again.

“You can pay me now. If I have to track you down again, I won’t be this gentle with you.”

He called this gentle?

“You call this gentle!?”

A flash of annoyance briefly overcomes your state of shock as you’re met with a strong distaste for even having a fleeting thought in common with the guy, but the laugh his attacker lets out has you breathless yet again, licking your lips as if you could taste the sound on the air.

“Do you want to find out how rough I can be?” He hits the man again with the gun, not giving him time to recover as the blows continue until he’s screaming out for mercy.

“My coat! It’s in my coat! Please! It’s all in here!” The ‘please’ is unnecessary as Toji is already rifling through his pockets before the sentence is even finished. He takes a few steps back to count the bills he’d collected, surprisingly adept considering he was doing it with a gun still in hand.

He raises a brow as he finishes flipping through the small folded bills and the smaller man is immediately emptying his pants pockets, shaking as he begins uncrumpling the money and attempting to flatten it as much as possible before Toji rips it from his hands and adds it to his handful. “Hm, lucky you.”

He makes a neat stack and folds it before pocketing it, waving the gun in the general direction of the street to dismiss the bleeding man in front of him, who wastes no time in fleeing the alleyway. You back up and try to flatten yourself against the brick facade of the bar as Dickhead exits the alley and trips over his own feet a few times on the way down the road. You’re grateful he hadn’t noticed you as he ran the opposite direction of the corner you were hiding against, and as you take quiet steps back to try to finally leave the scene you realise you were celebrating a bit too soon.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

You freeze, and jump as you look back and see Toji was already rounding the corner, closing the distance between the two of you. There’s a small sense of relief that the gun is nowhere to be seen as he approaches you, but you were only slightly less concerned about what his bare hands could do.

Then, with him now only a few steps away from you, you notice he didn’t look quite as calm as he had from several feet away in the darkened alley. In an instant your mind is hurled back in the direction it was stuck in earlier. With how fit he is you suspect he’s not panting from the exertion. Beating that man was surely no more effort for him than slapping away a gnat would be for you. No, it was all from the excitement. Your eyes were all over him even more intently than they’d been inside, but this time taking in all of the signs that this was nothing but a thrill for him. His dilated pupils, lips curled into a smile, you could swear you could have measured his heart rate from the bulging veins along his arms and - what the fuck? Was he hard?

You can’t believe what you’re seeing, even worse you can’t believe what you’re doing as you don’t even try to stop your eyes from lingering long enough to draw a laugh from the man. The sound is breathy, low, and rumbling - much more relaxed than he now looked.

“Adrenaline will do that.”

“Oh.” You’re not sure what else to say, surely not what was on your mind.

“You scared?”

There was fear intertwined with all of the feelings coursing through your body, but the real thing clouding your judgement was much more potent than that. You shake your head and finally bring your eyes back up to meet his.

“You sure?” He wasn’t convinced, neither were you. But you stand by your words.

“Yeah.”

The hungry smile he flashes has your pussy clenching and you swear he knows it from the way his eyes sparkle at the sight of whatever unknown tells you must have. He takes a deep breath, letting it out with a sense of finality, putting a period on what you’ve just witnessed as he tilts his head towards the door to the bar.

“You can go,” he rests his hand on the waistband of his pants, “if you want.”

He knows you don’t, it’s a formality. A way out, should you want it. The way he loops his thumb into his belt and lets his fingertips hang below, just brushing against the bulge in his pants, feels like an invitation. Though as reckless as you had been so far during this encounter you want a little more assurance you were right to move all caution to the back burner.

“What if I don’t want to go?”

The steps he’d taken earlier were completely silent, but now he lets the full weight of his shoes hitting pavement be heard, ringing in your ears along with all the other thoughts you were ignoring in favour of making bad decisions. “I thought you said you wanted to spend your night alone?”

He’d heard that? “Maybe not.”

Another smile from him, and you must show whatever tell you had again as his smile widens. “What do you want to do then?”

“Come to my place?”

Toji’s brows raise high. “Didn’t take you for the type to bring dangerous men home.”

Something about him being so taken aback has you feeling like you’d won something other than the chance to have a strange man in your home that is as likely to rob or kill you as he was to fuck you. It has you feeling bold, maybe even stupid.

“What type did you take me for?”

“The type to run off once you got your share of watching me. Guess peepin’ in the bar and watching me handle my business wasn’t enough, huh?”

You feel the blood rushing to your face, not expecting to be exposed for your nosiness, but then you hadn’t expected any of the things happening so far tonight. The blood rushes straight back between your legs as Toji puts a hand onto the back of your neck, leaning down til his nose touches yours.

“But if you want to be reckless tonight, who am I to stop you?” His lips brush yours and he stops to let you set the pace. It’s another chance to hesitate, to run, but you’re not interested in that.

Parted lips and a shaky sigh are all he needs from you before he’s pressing himself against you, tongue moving past your lips and into your mouth. There’s a fleeting sense of relief that he doesn’t taste like cigarettes, though the musings you’d had inside the bar were soon miles away as his other hand finds yours and guides you to feel his cock through his pants - big, hard, intimidating, and all you wanted right now. Just like him.

He pulls away and the last of your sense keeps you from whining at your need to have him touching you again before he pulls your mind back on track.

“Your place, right?”

Right.

-

The large hand on your waist as you walk through the darkened streets keeps your mind buzzing with the high of what had happened and what was about to happen. You were grateful for it because you were too excited to risk logic kicking in and reminding you that this was a terrible idea. When you walk past a few people you think of how normal you must look to them if they cared to glance your way - just a couple on a nighttime walk. Maybe heading home from a date night. It makes it that much more thrilling that only the two of you know the true nature of the evening’s events.

So thrilling that as you reach your apartment your last chance to stop yourself from doing something stupid doesn’t even cross your mind. Getting the key in the lock without visibly trembling with anticipation is the closest to a concern that you have.

Once you’re inside and your door is shut and locked he’s on you like he’s as desperate for it as you are. His hands grip your ass hard, pulling you flush against him, mouth on yours, biting at your lips and grinding against you until you’re panting into his mouth. You’re brazen, running your hands over his abs, squeezing at his pecs. His hips are glued to yours so in lieu of getting your hands back on his bulge you wrap them round his hips. You let out a frantic giggle as you grab his ass and find the barest hint of softness before your fingers squeeze and meet the firm muscle beneath, then when you start to move your hands upwards towards his lower back he’s stopping you by the wrists in an instant.

“Ah-“ he chides, letting your wrists go and breaking your frenzied string of kisses. He pulls the gun out from where it had been tucked in the waistband of his trousers, “careful now.”

You hadn’t noticed when he’d put it away earlier, but you certainly hadn’t forgotten about it. The way you practically drool at the sight of it doesn’t go unnoticed and Toji slowly turns it, watching your lashes flutter as the soft glow of the street lights coming in through your windows glimmers along the smooth metal.

“You like guns?”

Apparently tonight you do, with a man like him wielding one. You like it enough that when he brings it towards you and strokes the barrel against your cheek you instinctively turn to press your lips against it, parting them and lightly trailing the tip of your tongue along it. His groans at the sight before him spur you on, and your eyes stay locked onto his as you open wide and lick from hammer to muzzle.

When you take it into your mouth, he sucks air in through his teeth. “It’s loaded…”

The fact that it doesn’t stop you from sucking the cold metal gently, bobbing further down onto it, has Toji baring his teeth, cock twitching against you. His free hand moves to cradle your jaw, backing you further into your apartment until you’re pressed against a wall. He grips you firmly enough to keep the gun from sliding too far towards the back of your throat, but gently enough that once you’re pressed between him and the wall you’re free to bob up and down slowly.

“Tastes good?”

You nod and he pulls the gun from your mouth, replacing it with his tongue. His kisses border on too wet, too rough, but with how worked up you already were you weren’t sure there was really such a thing. The sound of the gun thudding heavily against the wall next to you has your thighs trembling, as he braces himself and roughly tugs at your pants with one hand. You rush to get your shoes off as you help him remove everything, along with your underwear, kicking them off and to the side to give him full access to do whatever he wants with you. When he brings the gun back down and brushes the now warmed barrel against your thigh you’re sure to encourage it with a soft hiss and your hands gripping at his shoulders.

The muzzle stays pointed to the ground as he trails it up and down your skin, smiling as you angle yourself towards it. He licks his lips, swallowing hard as he looks down at you. “I bet you taste good too.”

He strokes the slide of the gun through your folds, and you gasp when the rear sight taps against your swollen clit, well past sensitive and ready.

“You’re kinda fucking crazy, huh?” Maybe you are.

Toji taps the top of the barrel against your pussy and you try not to jump at how heavy it feels against you, even with such controlled strength. When he pulls it back he surveys the wetness you’ve left along it before taking it into his own mouth, deep as he can, sucking your taste off of it. When he pulls it back out he licks his lips, savouring you, and leans in close.

“Me too.”

An attempt to lock lips again is missed as Toji gets down onto his knees in front of you, guiding your legs open wide and sliding the gun against you again. You put your full weight against the wall, already needing the support, and he assists you further by hiking a leg up and over his shoulder. As his tongue presses against your clit his eyes leave yours for what feels like the first time since you’d shut the door behind the two of you. His tongue works in slow circles as he swirls the muzzle against your entrance, squeezing at your thigh. Your hands tangle into his dark hair, gripping at it hard as you rock your hips against him in silent encouragement for him to give you what you needed.

It borders on painful as it enters, but the way he angles it as you clench against the hard metal has your toes curling. That’s all it is, really - something to clench round as he works you over with his tongue, but the thought of it is enough to have you gasping with delight. What it was inside you, what it could do, what the man between your legs could do to you if he felt like it. He didn’t feel like it though. The way he groans into you and laps up your mess makes it clear that of all the wicked little things he could, would, and probably has done in his life what he feels like doing right now is making you cum like you never had before.

You try to take in the sight below you, his lashes oddly pretty against his cheeks as his eyes are shut in bliss, the rest of his handsome face obscured by being so thoroughly buried and busy between your legs. When your eyes do close, head hitting the wall behind you as he speeds up his pace, you think back to the look he gave you when you took the gun into your mouth. Absolutely out of his mind with need, and a need for only you. The fact that you’d made a man like him look like that has your stomach clenching just as much as him giving your clit a hard suck, making you squeal as you look back down at him.

He’s watching you now, small foray into overstimulation having gotten your full attention on his eyes, green irises obscured by just how blown his pupils were with desire at the very sight of you. His low rumble of a groan sends vibrations through you that have you gasping his name, something that seems to please him as the sensation continues with a happy hum.

The sounds your pussy makes as he fucks you with his gun fill the room right alongside your unashamed moans and he has to move a hand from your thigh to his pants, keeping his pace with both weapon and tongue as he frees his cock from it’s uncomfortable confinement. He pumps it roughly, matching the speed of his gun inside of you and growling into your pussy as the heat inside you builds and you start clenching hard enough to hamper his movements. Then, he pulls the gun from inside you, setting it aside, and releases his suction on your clit with a pop as he stands and lifts you from the ground, sliding you onto his awaiting cock.

The movement is swift enough that you barely realise he’s done it until you’re filled to the brim with him, scratching at his back and moaning into his mouth as he bounces you up and down his length. Though you’d well warmed the metal that had been inside you, Toji's heat is something else entirely, soothing the sting with a slight soft give well suited to stretch you out perfectly and stirring you up at the same time.

His big hands grip your ass hard, as though spreading you a little wider would help to accommodate his girth better. Discomfort doesn't matter now though as he gives you strokes that leave the thick head of his cock tugging at your insides, thighs trembling around his waist, senses shattering as your pussy sends waves of static straight down to your toes with each rapid movement.

His deep moans border on growls, they're so frenzied, and the first wave of cum gushing heavy inside sends you the rest of the way over the edge alongside him. You can only hold on tight as he pulls you down in time with his upward thrusts, and if he weren’t fucking you so hard through your orgasm you might have heard the cum he was pumping you full of being forced right back out and falling heavy onto your hardwood floors below. You bury your face in his neck, breathing hard as you try to keep hold of him despite feeling spent from the events of the night.

He’s sensible enough not to step in your combined mess below as he moves down your hall, staying deep inside you while he carries you as if you were light as air.

“Where’s your room?”

You gesture lazily and grip him tighter as he lets go of you with one hand, but you’re held securely as he opens your bedroom door and walks in, setting you onto your bed. He pulls out slowly, rubbing at your hip as you shiver slightly, and sits back, watching more of his cum dripping out of you and onto your covers.

“Should’ve asked before I did that.”

All you can do is shrug, it was the last thing on your mind right now after what had happened, and would remain on the back burner as Toji lies down next to you, staring up at your ceiling and letting the afterglow wash over you both.

After a while he rolls onto his side, facing you.

“So, what’s your name?

[spicerackofblorbos]

i'm GOD AWFUL at answering my asks unless they're requests, I'm sorry a;sldkfjas;df but to everyone who has sent me hearts, good vibes, and sunflowers, I appreciate and love you all so much!! <3 i'm finally getting around to this one!

i've been ordered by kat to do 5 more so here's my top 10 favorite fics I've written!! These are ALL x reader!

1. Amethyst | Leon Kennedy 2. Unspoken Words | Levi Ackerman - Chapter One: November 3. Sunrise | Levi Ackerman 4. Home | Leon Kennedy 5. For You, I Would | Armin Arlert 6. Can I Go Where You Go? | Levi Ackerman 7. Are You There? | Levi Ackerman 8. Chasing Waterfalls | Toge Inumaki 9. You'll Be Okay | Levi Ackerman 10. What's Mine, Is Yours | Erwin Smith

And here's my answer to tay's ask about my fics!

❥ fic I loved writing the most

this will always be dependent on when you ask me, because right now it will have to be Amethyst. If y'all haven't noticed, my newest love is Leon Kennedy, and writing for him is so much easier than writing for Levi and I think it's because I understand Leon's personality more. He's just so fun to riff off of. Not that Levi wasn't!! He was just harder to put down for me, I guess. ANWAYS. I loved writing for Leon and I'm working on a part two!!

❥ fic others loved that I didn't care for

okay so this might come as a surprise because it's my ultimate comfort fic, but it would have to be Sunrise. tbh, I don't know what loved the most means here but I'll equate it to notes. Sunrise is precious to me because it holds so many of my favorite things. BUT I really feel like I could have done so much better. The plot is there, the scenario and surroundings are perfect. but the WRITING?? I could have done better. don't get me wrong though, I still love it and I am very happy so many people liked it!!

❥ fic I had fun writing

definitely my For You, I Would fic. I don't have very many Armin fics but I enjoyed writing for him a lot because he's just such a shy little bean and so full of wonder and love. I could really see myself wanting to take him out on a date. This was also a request for my friend Tay and it was fun catering her interests within the story and how it works well with Armin!!

❥ fic I'm most proud of

for sure it would have to be Unspoken Words. I'm proud because it was the first time I've written something for myself in a long time. I didn't think I would care as much about fanfic until I fell in love with AoT, now look at me LMAO. UW helped me become a better writer as well as be more confident in areas I thought I lacked. I quite literally used it as a way to be better, and I'll always be proud of it. My first ever full and finished fic, I'll never forget it <3

❥ fic I wish got more recognition

probably Can I Go Where You Go? mainly because I really liked writing the semi plot twist at the end. like if you were caught up with season 4 of AoT, you would know what I was alluding to and it's like a kick in the gut LMAO. but also I thought I did pretty well with the descriptors, not to brag ofc. :3

❥ my happiest/saddest/most comedic fic

I SPENT 30 MINUTES LOOKING FOR THIS. but the saddest will have to be this short drabble about Levi losing you in an expedition and him coming to your old room, reminiscing. I don't know what brought it on but I was like, huh. let's just be SAD.

if you're interested, my fic masterlist can be found here!

finally, thank you so much for the asks @kingkonoha, @youre-ackermine, and @humanitys-strongest-bamf!! I love y'all a lot <3

[marukrawler]

Bakugan it's one of the few franchises we're they didn't hesitate to show hate towards it's first main female lead (Runo)

The show never gives her the recognition she deserves minimizing her achivements and the same anime jokes about her body using Julie as a better example

And it's worse on season 2 were the joke still prevails and I think the anime treats her like if she isn't pretty like the other girls I think the anime never gives an indirect comment about her beauty like the other girls received.

Add to this, season 2 treated the og girls like jokes who can't defend themselves or even flandarized their true personalities (Runo and Alice) so they won't interfiere with the "real team"

And the cheery at the top, fandom treats her like a homewrecker in regards of dan/Shun or like the worst person on earth for being a teenage girl who tried to defend herself with what she knew and called out the bs of dan

The character deserved more respecto from the source...

Localization truly affected the perception the audience has on her...

Quite normal for any female lead...

Oh, Runo, Runo. My precious little summer child.

Runo is certainly one of the most underappreciated, misunderstood, and demonized characters in the show. Even I, a passionate Runo defender, had a preconceived notion that Runo was loud and abrasive before I had even watched the show properly (all thanks to my vague childhood memories.)

In universe, her brawling skills are looked down upon, her appearance is ridiculed, and she’s often made to feel as if she does more harm than good. In fandom spaces, she’s mischaracterized as being an unreasonable, stubborn, and argumentative loudmouth who’s always mean to Dan. Despite being one of the nicest and most considerate characters in the show, everyone, including the writers, seems to have it out for Runo in some way.

When it comes to Runo’s appearance, it’s hard not to feel as if the writers find some sort of twisted pleasure in constantly pointing out how Runo’s appeal as a girl falls short in comparison to her peers. The Misaki Café was all but deserted until Alice showed up and the customers (grown men, mind you) don’t hide how disappointed they are whenever Runo is left as the only waitress. This, of course, makes Runo feel inadequate since she’s the daughter of the owner and yet, she hasn’t contributed to the popularity of their restaurant.

Julie’s comments about Runo’s body can also be viewed as the writers further cementing that Runo is unappealing because of her physique and lack of traditional femininity. This is something that is proven repeatedly with every new waitress that’s more popular than Runo. Alice, Julie and Mira are all more physically developed and are shown to be desired by many boys, unlike Runo who constantly gets the short end of the stick and is made fun of.  

Hell, Runo can barely get a decent compliment from Dan on their first date! He’s made inappropriate comments about her weight on at least two occasions, and was checking out cute girls right in front of Runo, two episodes after she risked her life to see him. The show will never give her a fucking break.      

Also, the “Runo is a tomboy” thing just doesn’t make any sense. She wears skirt and dresses, her room is full of pink furniture, she owns a dollhouse, and she seems very interested in jewelry. And yet, the show (and the English dub more so) attempts to portray Runo as if she’s ‘not like the other girls’ when that’s the furthest from the truth.  

Now, on to the treatment of Runo, Alice, and Julie. It’s no secret that season 2 was horrendous when it came to those three, for the specific reason of convincing the audience that keeping the girls away from the plot was for the best. They were either not strong enough, not confident enough and/or they constantly screwed up somehow. Let’s see:

Alice was:

Tricked by Lync and inadvertently helped him get back to New Vestroia, thus enabling him to spy for and help out Spectra with his plans.

Scared of brawling even though her whole character arc in the previous season was about accepting that part of herself.

Made to feel weak for losing to Shadow and for allowing him to destroy her grandfather’s lab.

Julie was:

Written as overly flirty towards a boy that wasn’t her boyfriend, all to fuel a pointless one-episode love triangle. (Though, the repercussions of this episode’s writing on her character were immense.)

Made to feel guilty about how Billy inadvertently exposed the Brawlers’ location to the Vexos by visiting her.

Runo was:

Written as a lovesick fool who almost got herself trapped between dimensions trying to see Dan again. This had a ripple effect on the Resistance’s otherwise promising momentum, allowing the Vexos to go to Earth, the Resistance to get split up and captured and as mentioned previously, almost got Runo killed.

Willing to endanger herself again by leaving Marucho’s house so she could oblige Dan’s request of eating homemade curry, causing Mira to go after her and subsequently lose her Subterra energy to Mylene.

Runo lost all sense of reason whenever Dan was involved, Alice’s character development had seemingly regressed, and Julie immediately dropped the boyfriend that she had real feelings for. It’s frustrating to see this when they all had such great personal growth and meaningful storylines in the first season. Remember when Runo learned that she shouldn’t let the fear of losing her loved ones take control of her life? When Julie learned that she shouldn’t compare herself to others and that she doesn’t have to be great in order to matter? When Alice realized that she liked to battle and that it wasn’t something to feel ashamed of?

I understand that the narrative focus couldn't always be on Runo, Julie, and Alice. There are new characters introduced every season who deserve a chance to shine as individuals. But that doesn’t mean that our existing characters should get worse. Runo was more worried about not being near Dan 24/7 than she was about Tigress being captured! Masquerade was somehow still present inside Alice’s mind and telling her to fight despite previously disappearing to let Alice stand on her own two feet as a Darkus Battler! Julie is still used as a tool for instigating useless love triangle plots that accomplish nothing except for making it seem as if she jumps from guy to guy! This isn’t just limited to those three (Chan Lee, Elfin, Mira) and it’s just. infuriating as hell to see.

As for the fandom, Runo's character seems to garner mixed responses. Some hate her and some don't. She seems to be well liked on Tumblr but not as much on Reddit (go figure.) When it comes to Shundan fics, I skimmed through the majority listed on AO3 to see how they portrayed Runo. Here's what I found:

(I recommend clicking on the images for an easier reading experience)

Out of the 28 English-written Shundan fics listed on AO3, there were 5 fics that depicted Runo in a negative way, 10 fics where Runo was mentioned but her characterization didn't stand out in any particular way and the rest didn't mention Runo at all. There are Shundan fic writers who unfortunately portray Runo in a bad light to prop up Shun as "the better option" but it looks like they're in the minority.

I genuinely wouldn't be surprised if much of the hatred towards Runo stemmed from Dan fans being upset over how she constantly calls their golden boy out lol. Either that or because of the English dub, as you mentioned. I have previously talked about this and shown some examples here where Runo has completely different reactions to certain situations depending on the dub. It’s no wonder why we’re given the impression that Runo is unreasonable or mean or argumentative when this is how the English dub presents her to its western audience.

[thephantomcasebook]

Your posts about Olivia Cooke really opened my eyes, I went on a deep dive to see some stuff. and seeing her talk about alicent and everything it just seems like she's talking out of her ass. I read the other day about Sara Hess talking about a convo with her and Cooke speaking about how Olivia has her own "head canons" for alicent and rhaenrya.

Like just about how alicents mother found out that young alicent and rhaenrya were kissing and making out? That just rubbed me the wrong way. Like two girls kissing I don't give a shit? Love who you want but when your a grown woman, in your thirties talking about children making out? That's disgusting the way she plan out says that. I was wondering your other opinions on that whole mess she's got going on.

Look ...

I've said my piece about Olivia Cooke over the years. I think she's a really good actress. I just watched "The Secret of Crickley Hall" and I liked it quite a bit, and I got really attached to Nancy because Cooke was so good. I've liked her since "Bates Motel" and knew even before trying House of the Dragon Season 1 that I was probably going to like her as Alicent - though I was already predisposed because I already liked both Alicent and Criston as characters before the show. She has this uncanny ability to make you attached, strongly, to the characters she plays.

When she's on screen you can't help but love her.

In the end, my problem is not personal to Olivia Cooke, it to actors and Actresses in general, especially toward actors and actresses of a certain age group - mostly late millennial people. I think they're vapid, empty headed, morons, who say creepy and weird shit, cause, they're surrounded by creepy weird people and caught up in social bubbles that don't exist in reality.

Cooke is just one actress among many of our generation who lack empathy and believe less in inhabiting a character and their life and more stripping the character so that they can feel more comfortable in their skin by making them more like the actor/actress. It's naked narcissism, the easiest to spot from anyone who knows how to analyze personalities and performances. And while Olivia Cooke is very - VERY - good playing Alicent, she'll never get past herself, because, Cooke wants to play Alicent the way Cooke wants rather than how Alicent should be played as an established character.

Cooke's naked misandry and bullshit angry bimbo feminism got in the way of Alicent being played consistently.

Alicent should not be angry with the people around her, she should not be hitting and yelling at the people close to her. Criston Cole is her closest and most trusted friend, confidant, and partner in all things - more so than Rhaenyra ever was. When Criston Cole was named Hand of the King, Alicent should not be berating or trying to humiliate Criston cause he took her daddy's job. When Criston got named Hand of the King, it should've been played that Criston AND Alicent got named Hand of the King because they're partners and they do everything together. Criston was Alicent's in to regaining power because there's no one who knows Criston better and who Criston trusts more than Alicent. Any writer would've written with the actor's full support that Alicent would be living in Criston's lap, co-ruling and plotting with him. Not berating him and throwing childish temper tantrums.

It shouldn't have been Otto and Alicent trying to control Aegon and the Green Council. It should've been Otto versus Alicent and Criston in a power struggle as it was in the book. When Aemond and Criston were plotting in Aemon's apartments, Alicent should've been in the room with them. The Crownland Campaign should've been Aemond, Criston, and Alicent's brainchild together ... as it was in the book.

Now, you might say that this is a writing a problem. And it is to a large extant. But Olivia Cooke is not exempt from blame. The actors - because of the strike - had a lot more say in the development of the characters this season - which is big mistake. And while some actors had great instincts, such as Matt Smith and Tom Glynn-Carney. Olivia Cooke chose and championed to play the angry and embittered - Alicent hates all these warmongering men - angle. Several actors spoke up to fix their characters and pushed back against the writing to make their characters better - Tom Glynn-Carney being the golden example. But Olivia Cooke did not, in fact she made Alicent worse.

This is because Cooke relishes in Misandrists power fantasies in which she gets her rocks off belittling and dismissing men. She has made no secret about it, and has run her mouth more than once about it in interviews for not just House of the Dragon but other projects in the past.

There was even a scene that Sara Hess wrote about Alicent dismissing Criston before the dinner 1x08 with a cold and snotty attitude like he was a dog. And it was cut because GRRM and another producer felt that it was incredibly disrespectful to Criston's character and was completely out of character for Alicent to ever treat Criston Cole that way. But Cooke later came out and said that she was really annoyed they cut it and spoke candidly about enjoying treating men that way. She also spent a lot of time in Season 1 at premieres bashing men as a whole, to a nauseating, unfunny, degree.

With that context, and other examples of the like, the assassination of Alicent as a character in Season 2, really starts to take shape. Yes, a lot of it was Sara Hess with Condal's dumb ass never saying no. But a lot of the path leading to Alicent betraying Criston and her sons comes from Olivia Cooke's misandrist bimbo feminism.

Any actor, in their right mind, would immediately push back and argue how dumb and out of nowhere Alicent's betrayal comes from. Any actor would know their character and the source material enough to say "Yeah, there's no way Alicent would do that to her sons, her brother, and the man she's loved since she was 14-years-old". Other actors on this fucking show pushed back and fought to keep uncharacteristic writing from ruining their characters - Tom Glynn-Carney gate kept Aegon fiercely behind the scenes.

The reason that Cooke didn't push back or tried to maintain Alicent's character is because the idea of Alicent betraying her family to join Rhaenyra is something that Cooke wants and agrees with politically. She did it for the ops, not for the character. Cooke got a hard-on at the idea of betraying men to join team girl-boss, "cause Like Girl Power and shit!" and not once did she give a flying fuck about the integrity of the character she was playing. Because, fuck it, she's on team feminism!

Like I said, my issues with Olivia Cooke is not personal, she is a symptom of a narcissistic rot of the profession in general in which actresses no longer play a character but play out wish fulfillment and power fantasies, and if a character is "Problematic" than they change them to suit their personal preferences.

Cooke could and would play a flawless Alicent if she was kept in line by an iron fist of a competent and experienced showrunner and producer that would curb her selfish bad habits and demand a little more professionalism from her.

[lady-phasma]

Auntie, I held out so much hope. But they really are cutting nettles, and giving her storyline to Rhaena, aren’t they? I’m so disappointed.

Hi anon! I took my time with this ask because I needed to think. I have watched every frame of this trailer while making gifs and I don't know that I'm convinced one way or the other. I was with you 100% when I first saw your ask in my inbox. Disappointed. But we didn't think Nettles would be introduced in season two. So I don't want to be that quick to write her off as lost (despite my lack of confidence in some of the show's creators).

I'm not going to try and comfort us by saying we don't have conclusive evidence. But I do have to remind myself (and everyone else has to hear it): we may get four seasons and this is the trailer for the second season (all 8 episodes). They only have about 200 pages of source material for four season, they need every bit of it.

But I'm curious if this is your source:

I'm with OP - it better be! And I think it is. So, the image on the left is fan art. That dragon, or one like, it isn't in the trailer. I think all of the dragons in the trailer have been identified and Sheepstealer isn't among them.

I edited two parts of the trailer together for this gif and Rhaena isn't connected to the shot over the forest. However, that doesn't mean that she's connected to the shot over the battlefield either. Just because they edited the trailer to have her appear to look up at this particular dragon doesn't mean it was this one. I am convinced that is Baela on Moondancer.

Am I trying to give you (and myself and anyone who reads this) false hope? Of course not. We also don't know how Morning will fit in. If Rhaena eventually ends up riding Morning, then why give Sheepstealer away? Maybe if she never got her own dragon I could understand the plot device lazy writers could use by giving her Sheepstealer.

Every last Nettles stan wants her on screen. Even if we disagree with ships or characterizations, one thing I love about the Nettles community is how much we support her. She will be an asset to this series if they include her. If they don't, they will lose a lot of respect. I am going to keep an open mind, enjoy my dragon soap opera, and hope we see her in season three or four. I'm dubious but four season is a long time, anon.

[pascaloverx]

Sweet Love

Summary: You're an up-and-coming writer, congratulations. To protect your beloved job, you're willing to do anything. Even strike a deal with the devil, better known as your sister's neighbor. You and Dean Winchester don't really see eye to eye, but in a moment of desperation, you agree to collaborate with him for a greater good.

Author's Notes: Many characters do not belong to me but to the Supernatural Universe (2005-2020). I hope you enjoy the fanfic's story. The fanfic will contain strong language and future adult content.

chapter one chapter three

CHAPTER TWO

It's been two days since you made your agreement with Dean, and there's no sign of him. You even thought about going to him, but he always seems to be busy screwing someone. Literally. Yesterday, a beautiful man left his apartment, and you gave up on going to Dean's place because you swore it was Castiel. Well, to put it briefly, Castiel is Dean's great love story. At least, that's what you think. When you moved into your sister's apartment, Castiel lived with Dean. They seemed like quite the couple, even though officially they said they were having a "casual thing." But about a year ago, Castiel broke up with Dean. Rumors say Castiel wanted emotional commitment, and that's Dean's biggest nightmare. So when you saw a handsome man very similar to Castiel and wearing a trench coat like Castiel used to wear, you thought they had made amends. But in the end, it wasn't Castiel. This makes you sure that Dean is avoiding helping you. It could be because he's quite stupid when he wants to be, or because he didn't see any benefit in helping you.

You then decide to try writing the long-awaited smut, describing how the male protagonist's skin smells like men's deodorant and cheap moisturizer, and how the female protagonist is intrigued by the male protagonist's eyes. You try and try, but your protagonists don't seem to want a physical connection. If only your publisher would accept this. But you're just a few steps away from becoming permanently unemployed. So, wearing a somewhat revealing nightgown and your Stitch slippers, you practically run to Dean's apartment door. But you can't bring yourself to knock on his door; courage is lacking. Or perhaps you feel humiliated.  You turn around, thinking about what you'll have to do to apply for any other job. Or how it will be to move back in with your mother when you're already too old for it to seem like a viable option.

"Do you make a habit of standing in front of other people's apartments?" Dean Winchester asks, opening the door to his apartment. You turn around delicately as if caught off guard. The feeling of embarrassment washes over you.

"No, actually, it's something I exclusively do with you, sweetheart. Can you explain why you gave up on helping me?" You speak, feigning confidence. Dean looks you up and down.

"You're going to regret this, you know?" Dean says boastfully as I walk further and further out of his apartment, you noticing that he's in a bathrobe and him apparently noticing that you're in a nightgown.

"Dean, I'm not a little girl. You don't need to protect me. I just want you to help me. Do you understand this?" You get closer to him. Your face getting closer to his. You feel the strange need to kiss him.

"Sam thinks our partnership is a bad idea. According to him, I'm taking advantage of the fact that your sister is away to try to lead you down the wrong path." Dean tries to explain the reason why he hasn't helped you yet.

"Is he right?" You ask, smiling mischievously as you keep your eyes locked on Dean's. He looks at you, as if calculating what answer to give you. You presume he's undecided between lying or not. In reality, it means he wants to take advantage of you.

"Probably is. The problem is, everyone knows you and me, it's not gonna work out. Either you'll give up on me, or I'll mess everything up." He says, looking intensely at you, as you hold onto the edge of the robe he's wearing and bring your faces closer together.

"I didn't come here to play cat and mouse with you, Winchester. Now, tell me how to start a romantic story with a bit of sexual tension and forget your worries." You say, cutting straight to the point.

"What are we doing now. Analyzing each other halfway between our apartments. Casually wondering if it wouldn't be interesting to take off the few pieces of clothing we're wearing?" Dean's suggestion sounds good, but in your head it sounds like a warning. What you and he are doing is building sexual tension. Analyzing each other's bodies, observing details such as what they are wearing and moving closer and closer.

"Are you saying this is the method you're going to use to help me? Try to fuck me?" You say, moving away from him a little and coughing falsely. That was letting you embarrassed, in a good way.

"What better way than to practice with you? Write about what you're experiencing right now, about your filthiest thoughts about me, you, and the floor of my house. Maybe the shower, or the mattress?" Dean says, approaching you step by step, making you lose your breath. Your head lightly knocks on your door. Or rather at the door of your sister's apartment.

"What's the next step in your help?" You speak almost in a whisper next to Dean who is face to face with you. His fingers then lightly travel around your waist, holding you steady. He wants to tease you. 

"Imagine that your character is going to do exactly what I'm doing, seduction works like that. But something good about seduction is knowing when to do things. Now it would be easy to win you over but leaving you eager for more, it's much better. " Dean says, letting go of your waist and composing himself.

"You're more useful than you seem. I hope you know you're going to need more than that if you want to help me with this book." You say trying not to seem affected by him.

"Get ready, kitten. I know very well how to help you. Just try to take it to the professional. I don't know how to deal with people who are in love with me." Dean says smiling and you roll your eyes. How arrogant he is. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, idiot." You say, opening the door to your sister's apartment and closing it in Dean's face. You then run to get your computer and write down everything about what just happened.

[sincerely-sofie]

I LOVE THE NECROZMA SHORT SO MUCH!

Necrozma being stuck because he lacked light, but the hero determined that he would bring him some after being his friend.

And then Necrozma becomes ultra necrozma

BECAUSE HE HAD GIVEN UP ALL HOPE AND THOUGHT HE WOULD NEVER GET OUT

AND THE HERO GAVE HIM HOPE

AND THE HOPE WAS THE LIGHT HE NEEDED

sOPHIE!

SOPHIE YOU CANT JUST GET ME EMOTIONALLY IMVESTED IN THESE CHARACTERS AND THEN DIP.

HOW ARE YOU SUCH A CONSISTANTLY GREAT WRITER AAAAAAAA

Thank you so much!!! I'm glad you liked that lil comic :D In all honesty I found myself very attached to the characters by the end of it--- there's so much that went into the original script that ended up cut for time, like the hero asking Necrozma for stories because he's old and probably knows a whole bunch, right? And Necrozma being so exhausted of the hero pestering him for stories that he finally says he doesn't know any more, only for the hero to ask him to tell the ones he already told about Ultra Space because they were so amazing. Necrozma ended up getting a bit upset when the homesickness hit him, but wouldn't admit why he was upset, and the hero was planned to confide in him, "Y'know... I miss my parents a lot. And my toys. And my school, and my teachers, and my friends..."

The hero is a fun character because he was super young when he was transported across dimensions to the world of mystery dungeon and was turned into a tiny cat that spits fire, and ended up being taken in by a village of pokemon, but never was really cared for by anyone in particular--- he was just passed around from whichever household could keep him fed and dry for whatever span of time. Necrozma taking notice of him in the cave was the first time he felt like someone saw a scared kid when looking at him instead of another mouth to feed, which is why he got so attached so fast while Necrozma was slower to warm to this persistent child so determined to disturb the spotty rest he could find between flares of pain.

I'm considering writing a short fic of these two, or maybe including them as major / playable characters in a larger PMD visual novel I've got stewing in my brain. One person reblogged the original comic with "peepaw Necrozma" and it just never left my head, haha. I think it might be fun for Necrozma to be able to return home to Ultra Space and the hero to insist on joining him. Who knows what antics they'd get up to?

[dashimba]

Bridgerton season 3

All right, I loved the season so far, but that's my take, what could be improved with storyline (there were lots of bad writting choices as well as good one, but I want to outline my thoughts). So, I'll try to sum up, what could be written or added, that could make narration style more elegant and truthful to the viewers. Free to disagree. Sorry for the mistakes in advance. English is not my first language.

Colin's character arc. A lot of the things we got was told through the dialogue or was subtle, but not in between. I had a feeling that they haven't developed him enough to really show his inner conflict. Sometimes he was a side-character in his own show(part 2 did him bad), while the thing he should be the main one, because it shows his dynamic with Penelope/Lady Whistledown and key to understand their dynamic as a couple and his character arc. Other leading male characters had that physiological touch/depth to their character, while Colin somehow didn't. What we needed: flashback to his travels and small plot about loosing himself there or maybe gaining false confidence(could be done with him alone reading the lines of his letters), study of the middle-child complex(scenes with small Colin and Antony, who was the father figure for him, or brother dynamics with parents that could outline his people pleaser arc), more journaling, including the scene we got, but also about his writting challangies, more details about his likes and dislikes as a writer(favourite authors, could be the scene with Benny, because writting and art is quiet close). Maybe, not him tellling of his jealousy, but again creating scene that show views that he feels inferior. All other thing they did alright, I guess.

Penelope's character arc. I guess I kinda like a lot of things, but I didn't like the ending with the message of 'woman couldn't have dreams, but their husbands could'. It doesn't matter for me was 'child; in the ending or not, but they should have given her character career arc plus. It might have been just a hint of her, talking about wrtitting a book or developing her gossip column into somethins more serious, like critique. Not her mentioning JUST editing Colin's book with a happy smile on her face, watching a newborn. That was the worst writting decision, because it proves Portia words. The whole point of Lady Whistledown was hiding under the mask and trying to gain control and power through her her, because Penelope was too afraid to bloom. In fact that power was within her, and although they did the choice of her uncovering face and name in the end, it didn't end well in her arc. It could have done way better, considering the point they made in the begining. I would also love to see more of her experience sexual awakening after episode five as a slow process of gaining that condifence and gaining control in bedroom(that will be my 3 bullet point about them together) by proceeding it through imagining, talking with friends or dreaming. Besides, I'd like to add that tv show would have benefited from scenes, where she's not only writting, but also looking at the mirror, kinda trying to see, what she really is every now and then(we had one of that scene in green dress). Could be in her bedroom before mirror scene, but after carriage one. It would have made sense, how perception of her body changed, and the mirror scene would have hit stronger. Could be done during her struggles of Whistledown reveal too.

Now let's focus on main couple, and what could have gone better, if writers didn't try to fit 10 storylines in 8 series and literally tried to write their leads attentively and thoughtfully. Polin. First and foremost, that talk about how they met (again bad creative decision, story should show, not hit right between your eyes) MUST have been a flashback. I don't take no as an aswer. It was the only part lacking through their development from season one. This one flshback could have fixed lots of things. + I think audience need a bit more warm-up with just the two of them in the first part of the show(more charming lessons, at least one more befoe the kiss, where Colin starts to get confused about his feelings, and it would have worked perfectly with all the other things). + him really going through the process of figuring out that she is Lady Whistledown. I feel like Luke played subtle emotions perfectly, but we didn't get build up of him, slowly noticing things from his POV(there were chances in the show and lines in the dialogues, ink scene, where they could have hinted on Colin's expression, even in the 1 part, that he could have found some of the Pen's action suspicious, but didn't question it or didn't want to believe in it because of the feelings, until finally he would have followed her to the dark streets of the town). Next thing, they should have shown the process of following her to raise the suspense, him hoping that was another person, her being in shadows in her cloackm, and that at the same time this build-up would have made Luck's acting incredible fulfilling and impactive) + after the reveal it's out of his character to leave her alone, and I guess writers lost themselves elsewhere + more dialogues with them not talking about their relationship, but art and craft of writting(again they share many common interests, why didn't they show us that before the fight and after they made up) + more dialogues with them being cute and teasy as in church and after the sex+ prolonging scene, where he reads her letters, but not just showing the letter, but hearing her voice in his ears + longing should have had more scenes and more touching and being hot and cold, not only him sleeping on the couch(this just one creative indea, but it's not enough, but by talking also), going back and forth after the fight, just the night encounter next to modiste and blue gown(in this particular one they didn't embodied the tension, my idea that although Colin wouldn't like the intimacy, when he is angry, but the stare wan't enough, he should have come, touched her and then made himself stop with a line or without it), these scenes were not enough to show their struggle there + longer scene of them making up after the ball and chage of sexual dynamic, because this is important to her character arc and him accepting her. This scene should have been the third long steamy scene, not 20 seconds with the attention to the details and how they do through trust and communicating with each other, it could have been wrtitten beautifully and releasing the tension of conflict between them by swapping roles, and Colin by that finding out he loves it, while Pen finally taking control as she wanted and as her real character is after revealing her indenty + having him coming to his senses before her speech and him holding her hand instead of her mother + the love confession which is not about just drama, but also bout them as friends and their dynamics

I am not sure I need to write the second part, about other nuanciens aspects and acrs, but this what I would have done if I had a chance to be in the writting room with them

[loupy-mongoose]

Sorry to bother, I already asked this to Ash-aus but, I wanted to have different point of views

So, do you have any advices for those ( like me ) who want to start a comic ?

First off; as long as you're making your comic for free, remember that the pace of your blog is up to you! YOU drive the blog; not your viewers! I've borrowed and rehashed story ideas from my viewers (always with permission), but ultimately it's to make the story into what I want it to be. Make the story you want to make, not what others pressure you into making!

(I have no say in monetized endeavors as I haven't dabbled in that.)

Speaking on a more personal level, I feel the need to say that I do sometimes feel unintended pressure from my viewers/askers to write things against my comfort zone, or get questions that make me feel like I'm lacking as a writer or doing things "wrong". I do not blame the askers for this, it's just a matter of my own internal feelings, and resisting the desire to please the audience. I write to please myself, and I encourage other writers to do the same.

I think one of the most important things to remember is that you WILL have times where your art doesn't come easy, or just refuses to look good to you. It can be infinitely frustrating, but it's a part of artistic growth, and entirely inevitable.

(I yoinked this off Twitter I refuse to call it X shut up and it's not mine, but I think it's worth sharing. I need to remember this myself from time to time. X3)

Artistic growth is an ongoing, never ending journey. I turn 29 this month, and I'm FAR from a perfect artist despite practicing pretty much that whole time. I'll never be perfect. No one will be. My goal is to create what I want to see. I've come to realize that's what I love about being an artist; it gives me the means to bring the world of my mind--My beloved characters--to life.

Also remember that your interests will likely change as time goes on, causing your story decisions to change as well. It's hard for me to encourage you to outright dive in like I did with my blog, because that is very nerve-racking and could lead to retcons made down the line depending on your age and writing confidence. But at the same time, fear of having your story be "perfectly" thought out can keep you from doing anything at all. I guess I can only encourage you to feel it out for yourself, in that regard.

That's the stuff that stands out to me. So do with that what you will. ^w^

[anderperrylover]

THOUGHTS? DEAD POET'S SOCIETY EDITION

Just thoughts I wanted to get out there

So Dead Poet's Society? Right? Now that I think of it was a film that came out when my dad was in his like late teens (technically he was around the same age as some of the cast). And somehow this film - made and released during their time has been one that resonated with the next generation? I am looking at the film and thinking, and I couldn't help but wonder.

I am not talking specifically about the aesthetic or anything but namely how this one film was definitely not made for my demographic. However - 35 or so years later I read a post here or come across a playlist or an edit or a series of head canons - I see how much this single film has impacted generations who came after.

I relate to this film on a very personal level (put the shipping factors aside). I remember watching scenes with Neil and I could almost recall having similar conversations in life and I had to take a step back and think as to why I wanted to block this film out for a while. I resonated with Todd as a writer but also as someone who had a very similar experience (shy - lack of confidence - but one who found their people). Other than that there were relationships within the story that made me look back at the ones I have and had and all that I am grateful for.

Also as a coming of age film I feel like it is one of the most realistic ones out there. The themes and the extremely bittersweet ending are raw and it hit me like a pile of bricks. The fact that they fell apart because of the things they loved - the heart of the group not being there made things drift apart - and those dreamers and poets who speak out are the ones to leave behind a deeply flawed system (and the cause and reason and leaving is depicted in extremely sad ways - they might give up on everything - or be kicked out for what they believed in - or carry extreme guilt for the rest of their lives) - There are those who fall in love and the ones that betray you and all of that can happen in just a few month. Things that took years to build like friendships and fellowships can crumble because of something external and all you believed in might not fix that.

(Also something weird just jog my memory if I am wrong but throughout the film these three use O Captain, My Captain - and its all in important moments - The last one to use it is Todd - Which I just think just captures his growth - he's taken up the confidence brought by two of his closest friends and a teacher who changed his life for at least a small fraction in time)

I had a few teachers in my life like Keating. They are the reason I never gave up on writing or doing things I love. They gave me reason to believe that I had something small I could put to use - I had a teacher who taught me at 14 who told me to never give up writing and another teacher who told me to continue writing poetry - another who showed to me that I should continue to fall in love with reading - another who showed me that the world was beyond the academics (as I studied classics - it was far more than that cookie cutter stereotype) - Also Keating as a teacher who actually listens - who is there to guide and help the boxes that literally hold students in uniformity

I don't know why - and how a film from the past can have such an impact on me in the 21st century - Very few films have impacted me in this manner and most of the films that have impacted me in that way were released in my lifetime. That being said I think myself lucky to have this to go back to. The film is a cathartic ritual of living, laughing in the moment and weeping and crying afterwards.

[ladyofthe-manor]

Ronmione shippers... in 2024?

I don't know what I did to big Tumblr for them to be punishing me with my timeline but lately I've been bombarded with Dramione hate seemingly out of the blue. I don't know why, but it has been kind of funny to see other people's posts.

I saw someone wrote out a list of reasons Dramione would NOT work, and it included things like "Hermione being unforgiving and petty" and "Hermione shouldn't need or want a man to change for her" and it left me honestly baffled. Maybe it should be a prerequisite that you read Dramione fanfiction before you attempt to bash it, because clearly some of these people are just outing themselves.

The misogynistic hatred of Hermione as a character is nothing new, so I won't touch on it here, but some of these posts are so telling.

I will talk about Draco though, because he gets almost double the flak because of all the hatred of Drarry on top of it all (which reads as homophobic to me but well, that's a story for another time.)

Most Dramione readers and writers don’t ship Hermione Granger and the 12-year-old boy that prayed on her downfall and wished for her death. Do you think we seek out 100k+ word stories just for the long awaited epilogue where he calls her a mudblood in their marital vows? 

Are you that judgmental that you would begrudge a sixteen-year-old (threatened with the death of his mother) the chance at redemption?

A brainwashed, bullying, ignorant CHILD? Who goes through an entire war? Who watches and is forced to participate in torturing his own classmates? Do you really think he went through all of that only to come out on the other side STILL believing everything he was taught? Or is it more feasible that he might have had a change of heart or two?

(And honestly, even if he does come through the war still believing in blood purity, the fanfictions that explore his subsequent journey of self-discovery and learning are some of the most popular on ao3. I wonder why?)

Isn’t it more exciting to read about Draco and EITHER his redemption arc, or if you hate him so much, his own downfall? Especially over canon pairings? Ron and Hermione are childhood friends-to-lovers. BORING. 

You can't have it both ways. I've seen people absolutely shit on Hermione for the birds, and the permanent disfiguration, and the jar, but jeez, do you know who would have loved that side of her? Probably Slytherin Draco, don't you think? Or is it Ron, the object of her ire with the birds and the one that thought she took it too far and was too ruthless?

Also, to so confidently argue that Hermione would never forgive Draco and that he would never change (even for himself if not for her) is such an incredibly pessimistic outlook on life that I can almost understand why you sad people still ship Ronmione. It's giving... ordering chicken tenders at a fancy restaurant. Grow up, lmao.

Hermione can forgive her childhood bully... for HERSELF. Draco can unlearn the harmful brainwashing of his childhood... for HIMSELF. And then the two of them can learn from the other's experiences and heal together. Or they can bicker until the sun comes down and turn slowly from enemies to lovers. Or they can become friends to lovers. The possibilities are endless, and more importantly, it allows for something Ronmione inherently lacks: GROWTH.

It's especially funny to me, because unless you specifically go looking for it, most of the quality Dramione fanfiction that gets posted on a DAILY basis doesn't even mention Ron except to say that their stale high school sweetheart relationship ended quietly and amicably and everyone moved on. You guys love to go on and on about Draco and Dramione readers are sitting there like... Ron? We don't think of you.