#he keeps saying he loves her but it's so bad and I hate how the narrative tries to justify him again and again

[keithyp00]

•·.·´`·.·•• You're Lying (and other things Sam won't stop saying) ••·.·´`·.·•

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: language, mild suggestiveness, comedy, romance, light-angst, found family, slow burn payoff, excessive teasing, established relationship, Sam being annoying

Trope: Everyone thinks you're not really dating. You are. No one believes you.

Word Count: 2.0K

Author Note: Guys this is just like my last one, this is to help me mentally prep for an AP exam tomorrow morning so if this is bad I am so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

You and Bucky were dating.

Like- really dating.

In the 'he's seen you at your absolute worst and still kisses your cheek like he doesn't look at you any differently' kind of way. The 'you keep an extra toothbrush at his place and he makes your coffee how you like it without asking' kind of way. The 'he pulls you into his lap during team movie nights and smiles against your shoulder, murmuring words into your ear like it's not the most dangerous thing he could do' kind of way.

And no one believed you.

Especially not Sam.

"Oh, come one," he said, flatly, as he walked in on you and Bucky curled up on the couch. "This again?"

You blinked. "We're watching Pretty Woman, Sam."

"You're spooning."

"We're affectionate."

"You're not even kissing! He's probably just cold. You know he runs cold. Like a cyborg space lizard or something."

Bucky growled. "Cyborg space-?!"

"Right," Sam interrupted. "Sure. Keep telling people you're dating. I'll be over here living in reality."

You buried your face into Bucky's neck. "I hate him," you mumbled.

"You love him," Bucky corrected with a sigh. "You just want him to validate our relationship."

"I want him to believe in our relationship. There's a difference."

Sam, in the kitchen, called out: "I don't!"

Bucky flipped him off without looking.

~~~~~

The problem wasn't that you and Bucky didn't act like a couple.

The problem was that you didn't act like a normal couple.

You didn't post mushy selfies. You didn't wear matching shirts. You didn't coo pet names across conference tables. You just... existed. Comfortable. Quietly in sync. The kind of romance that felt more like a heartbeat than a firework.

Too subtle for people like Sam Wilson, apparently.

"You didn't even kiss when you got back from that mission," Sam pointed out, a few weeks later. "She was gone for five days, man."

Bucky, polishing a knife, didn't look up. "I kissed her afterward. In private."

"See, that's the problem! You hide it. Makes it look fake."

"I'm sorry," you snapped. "I didn't realize our love life was for public broadcast. Want us to livestream the next one?"

Sam looked delighted. "That's a strong reaction. I hit a nerve. This is faker than Tony's allergy to gluten."

Tony called from down the hall: "It's real, you bastard!"

~~~~~

At first, it was funny.

Then it got exhausting.

You weren't insecure about your relationship- Bucky made sure of that, every day, in a dozen quiet ways. He cooked for you. Kissed your temple. Held your hand under tables. Brushed his thumb along your jaw like it was the most precious part of you.

But still. No one believed it.

Not Nat, who called it "convenient physical proximity."

No Clint, who claimed he'd never seen you kiss with tongue (as id that were a valid benchmark).

Not even Steve, who offered a gentle "Are you sure he's not just emotionally dependent on you?"

It all came to a head one night at a bar.

You'd just finished a mission and everyone was letting off steam. Sam leaned against the bar counter beside you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"So," he started. "You and Barnes still 'dating'?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes."

"Hmm. Okay." He sipped his beer. "So if I leaned in and kissed you right now, he wouldn't deck me?"

You stared at him.

"Try it," Bucky said darkly from behind, voice like cracked gravel.

Sam smiled. "Still not proof."

Bucky grabbed your hand. "You want proof?"

"Bucky-" you warned.

"No, no. He wants a show. Let's give him one."

He yanked you flush against him, hand cupping your jaw, and kissed you.

You melted into it, clutched his shirt, kissed him back with something that sounded like a whimper because Jesus.

Not a polite kiss.

Not a we're-dating-I-swear kiss.

A I-know-every-inch-of-your-mouth-and-I-love-you kiss.

Hot. Possessive. Unapologetic.

When he pulled away, Sam blinked. "...Okay. Damn."

"Believe us now?" Bucky raised a brow.

Sam blinked again. "Not really."

You grabbed a pretzel stick and stabbed it into the foam of Sam's beer. "I hope you step on RedWing."

~~~~~

Even after that, the teasing didn't stop.

Because of course it didn't.

"You probably practiced that," Sam said a few days later.

"What?"

"That kiss. You planned it. Just to throw me off."

Bucky rubbed his temples. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met."

"You're just mad I cracked the code."

"There is no code!"

You yanked open the fridge, pulled out a tub of frosting, and started eating it with a spoon. "I actually cannot live like this."

Sam pointed at the spoon. "See? No real girlfriend would let her boyfriend see that."

"Bucky bought me this frosting."

Bucky looked like he was about to get up and beat the shit out of Sam if he didn't start walking away.

~~~~~

Eventually, you gave up.

Let them believe what they wanted.

You and Bucky still kissed behind closed doors, curled together on the couch, whispered sleepy confessions after long days.

Until-

One night, you got sick.

Really sick. The kind of body-aching, fever-drenched flu that turned you into a grumpy, sniffling, corpse with a bag full of used tissues beside your bed.

And Bucky took care of everything.

He brought you soup. Rubbed your back. Helped you shower when you were too weak to stand. Brushed your hair out of your face. Slept beside you even when you told him not to.

Sam stopped by to check on you and walked in on Bucky holding your hand while you slept, forehead pressed to your wrist like he was praying.

The next morning, there was a small gift basket on your nightstand.

He backed out slowly.

Didn't say anything.

Didn't tease.

Didn't breathe.

"Okay. You win. He loves you. I won't say another word. P.S. Please don't tell anyone I'm capable of this level of sincerity. I have a rep to protect."

From Sam.

With a card.

~~~~~

You- of course- showed Bucky the card.

He smirked. "About damn time."

You kissed him with a smile.

And this time, no one questioned it.

~~~~~

The peace lasted exactly five days.

Five beautiful, uninterrupted days.

No teasing, no smug side-eyes, no Sam accusing you of being part of an elaborate CIA cover operation. Just you, Bucky, some early morning kisses over coffee, and one blessed evening where you somehow convinced him to slow dance in the kitchen to 40s music.

And then Sam broke into your new apartment. One you thought would give you full time peace compared to the Avengers compound.

(he claimed he "used the spare key." You knew he just picked the lock.)

"Morning, lovebirds," he smiled brightly, leaning against the doorframe like this wasn't the worst intrusion since Ross kissed someone else while he and Rachel were on a break.

You stared at him over Bucky's shoulder, still wrapped in his hoodie with sleep-mussed hair and a mug of tea between your palms. "It's 7:13 a.m."

"I brought bagels."

"And chaos."

Sam strolled in. "And relationship advice."

Bucky looked up from the couch, dead-eyed. "Why?"

"Because now that I know you two are the real deal, I gotta make sure you stay real."

You rubbed your temples. "We're not a gas leak, Sam."

"No, but you're both stubborn and weirdly avoidant and emotionally repressed, and frankly, I'm impressed it took me this long to be needed."

Bucky mumbled, "I'd rather be waterboarded."

Sam ignored him and slapped a notebook onto the table. "Step one: scheduled communication check-ins."

"Oh my god-"

~~~~~

You tried ignoring him.

Didn't work.

("It's like Find My iPhone, but romantic," he said. Bucky installed it in twelve seconds.)

Because Sam became relentless. He started showing up with couple's quizzes.

Brought you a deck of 'relationship conversation starters.'

Installed an app on Bucky's phone called 'LoveTracker.'

And worst of all- he documented everything.

"Bucky," he'd say mid-mission, "when was the last time you complimented her non-physically?"

You stared at him. "Non-physically?"

"Yeah. Like her intelligence. Or her moral compass. Or how she hasn't murdered me yet."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I call her my girl every morning."

"That's possessive endearment, not a compliment."

"I tell her she's smarter than Tony."

~~~~~

Somewhere around Week 3 of Sam's Unsolicited Couples Therapy, something unexpected happened.

But... he also started being kind of helpful.

He stopped being annoying.

(Okay, no. He was definitely still annoying.)

Like the night you and Bucky got into your first real fight.

It wasn't explosive. Just sharp. Quiet. Full of jagged silences.

You'd been on back-to-back missions, and Bucky had started pulling away. Fewer cuddles. More brooding. Less talking. You tried to be patient- God, you tried- but when he snapped at you for asking what was wrong, it all unraveled.

"I'm trying to help," you said, voice trembling.

"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

The room froze.

You didn't cry.

You never cried in front of him.

But that night, you shut your bedroom door behind you and curled up alone.

But Sam came over first.

Bucky didn't come in.

Not until morning.

~~~~~

He found you on the balcony, hoodie pulled over your knees, cold tea forgotten beside you.

Then, quietly: "You know, when Sarah gets mad at me, I do this thing where I pretend I'm not scared I'll lose her. But I am. I always am."

He didn't say anything at first.

Just sat down next to you, offered a granola bar.

You looked over. "You think Bucky's scared?"

Sam tilted his head. "That man loved you like it's gonna be taken away from him. Like he's holding something he thinks he shouldn't have. So yeah. He's scared."

~~~~~

You didn't cry.

But you breathed.

And it helped.

Bucky apologized that afternoon.

He stood in the doorway, fists clenched, breathing hard like it took everything in him to walk in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For being a coward. For making you feel like you weren't wanted when you're the only thing I ever want."

You looked at him.

He stepped closer. "I never learned how to let myself be... this happy. It scared the hell out of me. But not as much as losing you."

You opened your arms, and he came apart in them.

That night, Bucky fell asleep with his hand on your heart.

And you whispered, "You're safe with me."

~~~~~

The next morning, Sam dropped off muffins.

"I told you you'd fight eventually," he said smugly.

You grabbed the muffins and shut the door in his face with a smile.

~~~~~

Over time, you adapted.

You didn't expect Sam to be a normal friend, he didn't know how to do that. But you did start to appreciate him as a part of your life. Your weird, overinvolved, chaotic platonic marriage therapist.

One night, you all sat around a campfire during a retreat mission. Quiet stars. Crickets. Steve snoring faintly in the background.

He became your sounding board.

Your crisis texter.

Your sarcastic but loyal brother figure who threatened anyone who looked at you funny and called Bucky 'lover boy' just to watch him twitch.

Sam looked over at you both.

"You know," he said, voice softer than usual, "you're actually really good together."

Bucky looked at him. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. But I mean it. You make him more human," he said to you. Then, to Bucky: "And you make her feel protected without caging her."

Sam threw a marshmallow at you both. "Don't get soft on me. I'll revoke my own compliment."

You blinked.

Bucky squeezed your hand.

~~~~~

Months later...

You stood at the edge of a field after a joint mission, hair tousled, laughing with Bucky as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled to yourself.

Sam walked past, muttering into comms.

"She's in love, he's in denial, and I'm still unpaid for all their therapy."

Which honestly... was kind of perfect.

You were real.

You were loved.

And you had the most chaotic friend group in the world.

[harstyle]

Fourteen Years

Summary: They became fast best friends at ten years old - fourteen years later, not much has changed. Now they're twenty four, spending a few weeks together in her Berlin apartment as he takes a well earned break from work. He's a world famous singer, she has an office job she hates. Their paths couldn‘t be more misaligned - but that's what makes them work. Everything falls into place when they're together, a quiet routine building in the shadows, easy and organic. They move around each other like life is the simplest thing in the world.

But what happens when a drunken conversation on a balcony threatens the livelihood of their friendship forever?

What happens when all bets are off and they're forced to be honest with each other?

Word-count: around 4k

Warnings: nothing really, mentions of alcohol, swearing

A/N: Hey there, it's been months! I haven't really written much except from this little thing because I’ve had a lot going on. I'm not a huge fan of this tbh, but something about it feels comforting, so I thought I'd post it. Get ready for the cheesiness of it all and hope you're having a good day!

By the way he calls her Tinkerbell in this lol (don’t ask).

Also, there‘s weird time jumps because I wanted to try out something new, but it basically just switches between the night the conversation went down (italics) and the morning after and her thoughts on the night (normal). Hope it‘s not too confusing!

—

“Because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Tink.”

That’s what he said last night. He was drunk, even though he insisted repeatedly he wasn’t, but she smelt the alcohol on his breath, a mix of beer and mint that was harmonious enough to smell good. His pupils were dilated, cheeks a shade of red they only are when he’s downright gone but trying to act like he isn’t.

She knows him like the back of her hand. Fourteen years together, every step of their lives since childhood. Elementary, secondary, early adulthood to now— all of it, she’s known him better than anyone. She’s seen all of his phases, however successful or downright devastating— she’s gotten to know all the cousins, all the girlfriends, all the enemies. They’re the it couple, the loves of each other‘s lives. In the most platonic way imaginable.

Last night he wasn‘t like himself. He spent most of the night keeping to himself despite the rare company of their friends, chucking drink after drink like alcohol isn’t the gateway drug it‘s known to be— so unlike the man who always paces himself so as to preserve his health. And then he spoke to her. And at first, it went like always.

“Tinkerbell!”

“What?” She breathes softly, turning to face him whilst pressing her back against the railing. She’s biting the inside of her cheek, having just thought of him as she looked over the scenery from her balcony thinking how nice it’d be for him to be by her side. “You okay, there, cowboy?”

“Never been better, Tink.”

And she remembers, even now, the smile that tugged at her face when she realized he was different. Because it wasn’t a bad different; it wasn’t like he became cold, or dismissive, or mean— no, he just seemed happy. Too happy, like there was nothing in the world that warranted enough importance to be worried about. A version of him she’s never fully gotten to know, but has seen snippets of. And it isn’t like he’s not a happy person— he is; never too worried, never too scared. But this was a different kind of happy.

He seemed lighter. Like the years of experience and maturity had washed away momentarily, leaving her with the eighteen year old Harry she once knew standing in front of her.

“Oh is that why you can’t walk straight?”

He shushes her, coming to lean his front against the railing. She inches closer to him, head falling comfortably against his shoulder. Then she says softly, “we haven’t spoken much today.”

“Yeah, we haven’t.”

She prompts her chin on his shoulder, staring hesitantly at the side of his face. There’s barely any lighting and she can barely make out the shapes, but it’s enough. She watches as his lashes flutter softly, as his facial muscles tighten a little. “And why is that?”

He looks ahead, breathing in and out gently, like he’s deep in thought.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know, Tink.”

“Okay,” she nods subtly. “Well if you want to talk about it…”

“…you’re here.” He finishes for her.

“Like I always am,” she emphasizes, the extra squeeze to his arm substituting for a thousand words she could be saying instead. But she doesn’t really need to. Never has.

Now she’s waiting. In the kitchen, back in the living room. Then in the kitchen again. She’s pacing, thinking, worrying about what Harry will say when he’s up. If he even remembers what he said, if he meant it the way she thinks he must have.

She never had to worry about losing him. Because she always knew, even at 12 years old, that risking it would mean losing it forever. It being the friendship; the bond with the kindest, most precious boy she had ever laid eyes on. So even though throughout the years sparks of feelings have crept up instantaneously, she’s never pursued that dream.

But it would be sucha dream, wouldn’t it? To be loved by the boy she grew up loving. To be loved by the boy who knows how to appreciate her without having to be taught. To be loved by the boy who always puts her first, treats her best, makes her feel whole.

It hurts sometimes to think she might never find someone like him again. It’s psychotic, really, the fact that she’s so frightened of losing him that she’s deprived herself of the best man on earth. Just so she can keep him a little longer. Even if it means walking down the aisle to him and not being the one wearing white.

For a lingering moment, all there is between them is silence. Dead silence, just the rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat exposed underneath her fingertips.

He breathes in deeply, almost as though preparing himself to say something earth shattering. But then he doesn’t. His fingers twitch, she sees it.

“What is it, H?”

He looks at her, eyes filled with something indescribable. But she speaks his language, so even though he doesn’t say it, she knows what he means to convey. Thankfulness. Gratitude. And she feels it too, any time she’s sad or conflicted, any time she’s in a place she doesn’t want to be in— a glance of his eyes and there it is. All the words. Never spoken out loud, but crafted together perfectly in the space between their bodies.  She always wonders how. She knows he’s wondering it right now too.

But it changes something in his face. It pushed him over the edge, the look of determination solidifying into something more serious.

“You get me, Tink.”

“I do,” she says lowly, making sure to tilt her lips into a smile. “And you, H, get me.”

“That’s crazy, isn’t it? How rare must a connection like ours be?”

“Pretty rare, probably,” she replies with an easy chuckle, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly.

“Yeah, probably. I don’t even think it and you know. Y’know before I do, every time.”

Her breathing changes with his. It’s sporadic, slower, almost like otherwise she would be risking a solid ground to stand on. “Yeah, I… I guess so, H. Are you okay?”

“I’m always good when I’m with you. Which is—“ he laughs, almost like at himself, “which is kind of the point, you know. I—“ he looks away, running a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, “I’ve been thinking about how weird it is that we’re… I mean, I’ve never felt that way about…” he pauses again, taking a short leveled breath. “About anyone, really. Anyone but you.”

Her eyebrows pinch, pulling together to crease the center of her forehead.

She doesn’t know what to say. Maybe she shouldn’t say anything. Maybe then he’ll realize he shouldn’t be doing this right now, that he’s entering dangerous territory.

“And I saw you with… with that guy. Tim, you said?”

He nudges her when she remains quiet.

She clears her throat,”Tom, actually.”

He huffs a breath, “right, Tom. I see him, you know? I see what he could be, but it really doesn’t matter that he’s a good guy. It doesn’t matter that he picks up the bill, doesn’t matter that he opens your fucking door. I can’t shake this feeling that he could never be good enough. Because nobody is— not for you. Not even if he kisses the ground you walk on.”

And finally, it’s like she understands a little better what he’s trying to say. She snickers quietly to herself, but lenient worry spreads throughout her chest regardless. “well, that’s a little silly.”

“Is it?”

“If nobody’s gonna be good enough then might as well pick the next one in line, right?”

A pause. Then a cough. “Yeah, right,” he nods, but it looks and feels as though there’s something more to it.

Gently, she brushes a lone finger over his cold wrist. “Harry, what’s happening right now? I’m confused.”

He shakes his head, taking a breath to brace himself. “Is he the next in line?”

For some reason, her heart beats faster.  “What?”

And when he looks into her eyes again, they’re red. “Tom. Is he the next in line? The next best guy?”

For the first time, she allows her gaze to linger, to glide over his nose down to his mouth, then back up again. She swallows, the options of what to say made available to her in her head, yet both too risky to choose from. But she has to say something. “No, he’s not. You’re the best guy, you know that. But it’s different with you, with us.”

And he nods his head, taking in the answer with special consideration.

After a long pause, he takes a deep breath. “Would I be good enough?”

“Would you be good enough for what, H?”

“For you.”

And it was truly instinctual, her laugh. It was racked with nervousness, a sense of unease because she was left thoroughly confused. Looking back, it was probably demeaning of her to laugh— but then again, she still has no idea what happened last night. Where it came from.

She can picture it in her head now, the nervous look on his face as he asked her the question and probably the only time she’d ever recognized anything resembling insecurity in his voice. She’s pacing, a feeling of disgust overriding her stomach at the thought. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, to undermine him. But she didn’t know.

“Why are you laughing?”

She detaches herself from him, dismissal evident in her every step. Maybe it’s the kind of dismissal that needs to be expressed so that nothing moves and everything is left untouched— enough for him to just drop it. Because she’s terrified of it all falling apart. The first domino tile has been flicked; now it‘s only a matter of when will the rest fall in line? “Because you’re being ridiculous, Harry. Stop doing that, you’re freaking me out.”

But it’s not enough. He follows after her, struggling to walk a straight line.  “What’s ridiculous about me asking you a serious question?”

“I just— you know you’re good enough!”

“Do I?”

She glances at him shortly before continuing in stride. “Oh come on! Stop acting so oblivious and innocent.”

“What does that even mean, Y/N?”

“I can’t talk about this right now. Not when you’re this drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!”

“Yeah and the fucking pope isn’t catholic.”

He scoffs aloud. “Tinkerbell!”

“What?” She swivels around, her arms coming to hug around her middle. She looks at him as though repulsed, because frankly, she is. Things were fine before he had to go and get himself drunk and spurt things he couldn’t possibly mean.

He pauses, an expression of defeat on his worry-ridden face as he inches closer. And when he speaks again, it’s timid, not like anything she’s ever known him to be.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Tink.”

“What are you even talking about, Harry?”

“I don’t want to be the guy you regret, or hate, or hurt over. When we’re old, I want to be the guy you look back on with affection. And I— I didn’t really care about anything when we were younger, but I always cared about that. About you.”

He‘s terrified, she can hear it. With every breath he takes, every word he sounds out, there‘s an undertone of hesitation that keeps poking through the surface. It‘s like he‘s fighting with himself.

“Harry,” she warns, because this is all becoming too intense.

And that’s when he said it. Because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Tink. He said it with sincerity dripping from his words, a type of vulnerable that neither of them had ever demanded from one another. Who could’ve thought that he would ever reserve those words for her. Not for the women he’s dated, not for the woman he’ll marry. For her.

He must be kidding her.

“I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.”

She walked away then, slamming the door behind her with considerable force. She was ready to leave this behind. Ready to sleep and wake up renewed, indifferent to last night’s shenanigans.

But she couldn’t sleep. She left bed at seven this morning and now she’s just sitting at the counter waiting for the air to shift. She wants the reassurance that things will continue to be the same.  

But deep down, she knows things can never again be the same, not even if they move past it graciously. It‘ll always live on in their subconscious, gnawing away at their minds until either of them caves and decides it isn‘t worth the hassle. Because it doesn‘t matter how much she wishes she could deny it; there‘s always been something there. And that something has gotten bigger and bigger, becoming too enormous to stay invisible to the human eye.

The clearing of his throat snaps her out of a trance. He’s standing in the doorway, sweatpants hanging low from his hips, shirtless. His arms are hugging loosely around his frame and something about about it causes her stomach to stir. Last night, of course, but also just him. Seeing him on a bright summer morning in all his glory, just how he is. There‘s a sense of domesticity that she supposes became normalized in their friendship but is now itching for a different kind of attention.  

She wonders how long he‘s been standing there.

“Hey,” she offers a warm smile, the relief at the sight of him enough to ease some of the tension in her body. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good. It’s just now that I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

“Oh! I actually thought you might so I— wait,” she rounds the island to her purse and fishes around for the pills, “I bought a new pack of advil yesterday—“

But the distraction doesn‘t work on him.

“Tink, I meant it.”

It’s abrupt. Even in his delivery, she can tell he’s been keeping it in, been aching to say it.

She freezes however, turning in her spot with a squint in her eye, “what?”

He releases a deep sigh. “I meant it. What I said about you last night. I know you’re hoping we can move past it but it’s been on my mind for a long time.”

“Oh,” she replies quietly, dumbfounded, “I’m sorry about how I reacted—“

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it that way. Usually I’m good at keeping these things to myself but there was something about last night that— it just fucked with me. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You should always tell me when something’s bothering you, I’m sorry I’ve made you feel like you have to keep things to yourself.”

He laughs. It’s subtle and soft, but it’s there, barely a release of breath. He pushes away from the doorway, coming to stand by the island next to her. “You don’t mean that, Tink.”

“Yes I do.”

“You didn’t even want to hear it last night.”

“I was just confused.”

He shakes his head. “And if I told you all of that now? Would you react any differently? Because however much you might hate it, I wouldn’t take anything back.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“But you’re confused.”

“I mean— out of fucking nowhere, you drop this bomb on me and it’s… fourteen years, Harry. That’s how long we’ve been friends.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never thought about it? Because if you can look me in the eyes and tell me that, I’ll drop it right this moment.”

And she can feel herself becoming increasingly more frustrated because she can’t really tell what exactly he’s trying to say. Communication has always been their strong suit, but this… whatever this has come to, it’s not like anything she’s ever experienced with him before. It‘s messy, slopey, unchartered territory. “Thought about what, Harry? I’m so lost right now and I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to be honest!” He exclaims wildly, running a hand through his hair whilst gesturing with the other. “There’s been so many times, Tink. The dance, prom, our graduation, fucking last week where there’s been this— this switch. And I feel like something is going to happen but you’re— it’s like you don’t want it to. So be honest with me.”

“Well I just— that’s not fair!”

“How is it not fair?”

“Because you always seemed too fucking good for me, Harry!” She cries out. “Everyone would say it, literally everyone— those fucking girls at school, people at home, the media. I mean, how could I ever think you would settle for someone like me?”

“Someone like what, Tink? Someone who loves unconditionally? Someone who has always put the happiness of others before her own? Someone who is so damn perfect and selfless and kind that I couldn’t imagine anyone being good enough for her? Someone like that, you mean?”

She shakes her head, the words describing her thoughts heavy on her tongue but too vulgar to be spoken aloud. How could she ever be honest with him if honesty means admitting to every feeling of insecurity she has ever harbored at the prospect of her best friend? How could she ever be honest with him when honesty means making him realize she’s not nearly as perfect, selfless or kind as he believes? “Nobody has ever loved me. I don’t think it takes a degree to figure out why, Harry.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, it isn’t?”

“Look around, will you? If nobody loves you why are all of these pictures of our friends hung up on the walls?”

A chuckle escapes past her lips, “man, you really don’t get it, do you?”

“What?”

“That’s not the kind of love I’m talking about.”

He scoffs, shaking his head to regain an inkling of composure and rid himself of annoyance - not of her, but her tendency to make herself the villain in every story, “you can’t possibly be blaming yourself for all of those failed relationships right now. Half of them fucking cheated on you.”

“Yeah, why? if I’m so perfect and lovable why would—”

“God, would you ever blame me if someone cheated on me? Why are you always treating yourself the way you would never treat anyone else, huh? Why are you always so harsh on yourself?”

“You’re perfect, Harry. I mean, perfect career, perfect family— there’s nothing wrong with you. You can’t possibly compare that to me, can you? I’m a fucking mess. I haven’t found my passion—“

He rolls his eyes. “We’re twenty four, for god’s sake—“

But she continues. “And I’m emotional. I get annoying and clingy, my family fucking hates every guy I’ve ever brought home— and even worse, they hate me. So I’m sorry if I’m a little pessimistic when it comes to relationships, but I can’t fucking afford to be all rainbows and sunshine about it.”

“I get it, Tink, I do—“

But she’s had enough of misunderstandings, enough of him pretending like it’s that easy to let go and trust. “No you don’t! And you don’t get to walk in and say all those nice things about me wasted off of your mind pretending like all along it’s you who’s been yearning! Ever since we were kids, Harry, it’s always fucking been you! All of it, everything. I was crushed when I met your first girlfriend, you know that? Fucking crushed!”

There’s fury in his eyes, a fire that keeps getting bigger and bigger, burning at the sight.  “Why didn’t you fucking tell me then?”

“What did you expect me to do? You had never even looked at me twice!”

“You must know nothing about me if you really believe that.”

And it gets to a point where all she sees is red. He’s blurry in her line of vision, spewing words she can’t possibly digest in this moment.

She begins to walk away from him, cursing to herself like he can’t hear her. But he can, and he follows her every step.

“Is this how it’s going to go from now on? You’re going to walk away and pretend like nothing happened?”

“I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Frustration anchors at his every word and she can tell, even though she’s only able to hear his speech, that his eyebrows are pinched deeply, his forehead creased with intensity. She knows that he’s hurting to some capacity, that his heart is going wild in his chest.

He wraps his fingers around her wrist, tugging her back into his front. “Tink, just fucking look at me.”

Their chests collide, hearts equally beating faster for one another.

She stares into his eyes, waiting for something to be said, anything. But as seconds pass, and words still remain unspoken, her shoulders start to lose their tension and her heart plummets to the pit of her stomach.

He’s dangerous because she could never stay mad at him. She could never hate him, no matter how badly she wishes she could.

She clears her throat, but fails to move. She doesn’t find herself wanting to. “Harry.”

His eyes trail southward toward her mouth and she wishes so badly he would just kiss it. “Does it really matter what happened back when we were kids? Does anything other than what I said matter at all?”

She swallows around a lump in her throat, staring into the green of his eyes that have always had the power of swaying her in every which way. And as he’s doing the same to hers, the air shifts in a more familiar direction.

“I’m scared.”

He nods, “I know.” Interlacing their fingers with one hand, he allows the other to rest comfortably against her neck.

But she can no longer look at him, not when he’s so close, expecting her to open up to her like a flower in spring. “I can’t lose you, I wouldn’t forgive myself if I messed this up. I’ve wanted it for so long, but I’m bad at being more than a friend. I’m bad at saying what I truly feel, I’m bad at being the girl guys want to bring home to their parents. I’m bad at time management. I’m bad at being vulnerable . You know all this about me, but it was always different before. With you it was easier. But if this were to happen… you’d get to know my ugly sides.”

His eyes are glassy, as are hers. From the outside they probably look like a mourning couple, one at the brink of heartbreak. And in a way, this feels similar to every heartbreak she’s been through, only this time the risk of loss is much greater. And so is the sense of hope.

“Y/N, when I asked you last night about Tom,” he nudges a finger underneath her chin, coaxing her to look at him, “I asked because for fourteen years, I’ve always felt like I wasn’t enough for you. At first I thought you would never be into me. You were too smart, too confident. It’s ridiculous, I know, but we were teenagers,” he smiles at the memory. “But then I joined the band and I didn’t want to expose you to a world I hadn’t fully understood myself. I didn’t want you to have to deal with all of that, so I tried to protect you. I hid you from the cameras, lied to people when they asked me about you. Clearly I didn’t do it very well because you just told me it still got to you—“

“That’s not-“

He squeezes her fingers, a silent appreciation of her reassurance, “but I tried my best, you know? I’ve always kept my distance because I didn’t want this — everything I do and everything I am — to become a burden to you. Because I’ve always loved you. I’ve always wanted to make you happy, to be the best guy for you. There were times I didn’t know it, sure, but deep down I’ve always known it’d be you, Tink. These last few years I just wasn’t sure I was enough. Because you deserve the best a person could get.”  

“Of course you’re enough, H.”

“I still think you deserve better than me, baby, so much better. But if you give me a chance, I promise I’ll try my best. I love you as you are; whatever you call your ugly side, that doesn’t exist to me. You’re you, Tink, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m done cowering away because I’m scared of fucking up and I’m begging you to do the same. Let go with me and explore this. Please.”  

She supposes this feeling in her chest is so indescribable because she’s never felt it so intensely before, but it resembles sheer and raw admiration. There’s a hint of fear brewing in the deep abyss, but hope surfaces at the top. And as she looks into the eyes of the love of her life, she sees safety. Love. A Future. Together.

Her face inches closer, “I’m so terrified of losing you.”

He nudges his nose against hers. “Won’t let it happen, I promise. You’re never getting rid of me.”

A smile breaks out on her face.

“Then kiss me, H.”

And so he does.

—

That‘s a wrap! Hope you liked it :)

[cosmal]

red solo cup — send me an au + a character n i’ll write u a blurb ie rockstar!sirius rugby!james bartender!eddie

omg rugby!james I’ve missed him!! what about him introducing you to the team for the first time at an after party or something 😋

pints

summary james introduces you to his rugby mates over a few pints. your nerves go unwarranted, his friends are hilarious.

content james potter x reader, she/her pronouns used,

note mal and i being number one rugby!james fans always

You think if you spin the ring on your finger any longer, it’ll burn a mark into your skin. You’re so nervous you could throw up. You hope the uber driver is met with every red light there is.

James grabs your hand and puts it in his lap. “Darling,” he squeezes you twice, “what’s the matter?”

You’re not sure if you’re bad at steeling yourself or if James knows you like the back of his hand. Maybe both. “Hmm?” You play dumb.

“You won’t stop fiddling.” He smiles something sympathetic and doubles down. “Take a deep breath.”

You do as he says, mostly because you like being bossed around a little bit, more so because your throat burns with nerves. You hate being read for filth.

“Jamie,” You don’t know how to tell him without sounding pathetic, “what if they hate me?”

“Who?” He laughs. You despise him a little bit for it, your nerves aren’t a laughing matter. Are you being stupid?

“Your friends.”

He laughs some more and then he stops because you don’t join. You smile but you can tell you look silly.

He squeezes your hand in both of his now and leans in until his seatbelt is taut. “Baby, no.” He’s still smiling, he definitely thinks you’re stupid. “I’m sorry. Sorry. They won’t hate you.”

“They might.”

“They won’t.”

The uber pulls up and you both thank him before clambering out of his car. You fix your skirt and wonder if you’re overdressed. Or underdressed. You don’t know a lot about Jamie’s friends, only things he’s told you here and there since you started seeing each other.

James stands in front of you before you move inside and puts his hands on your waist. His fingers spread over your linen shirt and it bunches up in the back.

“They won’t hate you,” he says. You know he’s serious, obviously he is, but all you can think about is how badly you could screw this up. “Seriously. What’s there to hate? You’re amazing.”

“Okay.” You nod and he takes you by the hand.

When you’re inside the pub, pint in hand, James takes you to find his teammates that have shown up already. You hear a whistle and then an “Oi!”

You both turn around. “Sirius!” James shouts.

You follow closely behind as you both make your way over to their table. A few of his teammates crowd the table. You can’t help it, but you keep yourself to the side of James unthinkingly.

James says hello and then it’s your turn.

“This is my lovely girlfriend, Y/N!” James looks proud, happy that it’s you he’s introducing. It’s gives you an ounce of confidence you so desperately need.

“Hello!” You’ve always been good at hiding your nerves. You think it’s how you bagged James.

A tall, lanky, sandy-haired boy reaches out and shakes your hand. He smiles warmly, smelling of lager and crisps. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Remus.”

“We call him Moony,” James butts in.

“Hi.” You smile just as kindly and hope your hands aren’t too sweaty.

“Sirius.” His friend leans in again. He puts his pint down and its splashes on the table. “The better looking player for The Marauders.” He gives you a hug. You’re not sure if he’s drunk or if this is just him. You’ve heard a few things, still you laugh because he’s funny either way.

“Sirius…” James elbows his friend in the side.

“What?!” Sirius guffaws. “I'm not sure how he's scored you."

"Sirius, please sit down."

You laugh at him, you've gone a little red and James looks half incensed. "I need you to be normal, just for once please."

"I'm always normal!" He sits back down in his chair and you and James follow suit. "If anyone needs to be normal it's Frank."

"I haven't said a word!" You're assuming it's Frank who pipes up. "I'm sorry, it's lovely to meet you."

You smile over the top of your drink and James squeezes your leg.

"So," You worry about what Sirius is going to say next, "have you seen James sleep walk yet?"

You gasp, "What! Oh my god I didn't know you did that?"

"I don't-"

"One time," Sirius leans in, you lean in too, giggling, "we were in Cornwall, right after we graduated."

"Please don't, oh my god."

"Oh, please do." You snort. James drops his head into his hands.

"James had gone to bed early and we were still up drinking. He came downstairs, naked, asking us where the toilet was."

You almost spit your drink out. You laugh so hard you almost feel bad for poor James. He steels himself and tries his hardest not to seem embarrassed. Drinking his lager like his cheeks aren't a worse shade of red than before.

"Jamie," You lean into his side and wrap an arm around his back, "I'm sorry honey, but that's hilarious."

All the boys are laughing - James is too but he's trying to hide it with his hands over his mouth.

"I'd had a lot to drink that night," James defends himself.

"I've been scarred ever since! That thing between your legs-"

"Okay! Enough, enough." James finally snaps. All of the boys burst into fits of laughter, holding their stomachs. "I have awful friends. Awful."

"I'm sorry, it really is a right of passage." Remus jokes.

"Well, you should see Sirius after smoking too much-"

"Okay! Another round on me?" Sirius stands abruptly from the table.

You think you were being a little silly, James's friends are great.

[mega-wonsz-rzeczny-9]

I am. So normal. About act 5. Totally! (Lies)

This post will be very personal. I'm not that familiar with Tumblr so idk if anyone will see this, but just in case they do: I'll read every comment, so please be kind. This fandom is probably the least toxic fandom I've ever been a part of, but I'm afraid this post may contain some Mirabelle slander. I like her as a character, but she's far from my favorite, for reasons I'll explain below.

I'll be honest: Mirabelle always seemed a bit... annoying to me. Not in a "I hate this character, get off my screen" way, but rather in a "can she stop being anxious for 1 blinding second?" way, which is self projection from me, because I am also very anxious when interacting with other people. I relate to that part of her character, and I felt bad seeing how many times the others have to reassure her, so I projected my annoyance with myself onto Siffrin and the others. I like her as a character, but she reminds me of the part of myself that I'm ashamed of, which is why I don't love her.

When she reacted the way she did in act 5, I was honestly mad at her. How dare she say that to Siffrin, who's clearly not okay? How dare she slap them and declare that they we're never friends? How dare she keep the right to be mad later in act 6, knowing that Siffrin did it all because he was looping in time?! I don't think I'm fully over it.

But I think it's also self projection. I'm mad at myself for not being over some things. For not being able to forgive more easily. I'm just better at hiding how much some things hurt me. I hide my anxiety as much as I can, and agonize about it when I'm alone. I'm mad she's not as bad at communicating her own feelings as I am, which is very funny considering ISAT's main message is that communicating your feelings is imperative.

And then I come across a post like this - a post which praises her as a character exactly for the only interaction with her that genuinely made me mad at her for a while. And I read it. And I agree. And I realize just how much of this I could apply to my own life. I have the right to be mad about things that hurt me, no matter why they happened. It doesn't matter why the people who hurt me did it, I still deserve to be mad at them over it. Does that mean I have to retroactively decide we were never really close? No, but it's reasonable for me to decide that their actions change our relationship, even if they didn't intend to do it.

I think it's very neat how fandom discourse can redefine how I see a character, and in turn how I see myself. I was still mad at her when I finished the game. I'm mostly over it now, even though I still don't love when she's the main focus of fanfiction I read, (excluding some fics), because it's difficult for me to not find her annoying again.

Writing this post felt very cathartic.

This blog is pretty much just a journal where I make notes to myself, so I'm posting this even though I don't think it's perfect. Maybe I'll decide to edit it in the future? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

party pov of the Siffrinless run through the House during the Loop hangout has a hold on me rn…

i spoke broadly about it in this post but each of them would have much more personal conflicts and thoughts about Siffrin just…..disappearing without a word on the day of the final battle.

i was gonna talk about all of them in one post but i kept having more to say about Mirabelle. and i don’t talk about Mirabelle in depth as much as she deserves. so!

Party POV of Loop Hangout Day - MIRABELLE EDITION

we don’t see the clocktower interaction play out after Siffrin agrees to hang out with Loop, but there’s no reason to believe it goes much differently than usual without the friendquests changing things. which means this probably happens

We’ll stay with you, Mira. Siffrin says it every time this conversation happens.

Mirabelle offers them all a final opportunity to back out. she’s felt guilty, this entire time, dragging everyone along with her on a quest that feels doomed to fail, and that more than half of the party shouldn’t even really be involved with—a child, and two travelers risking their lives for a country that isn’t theirs, just because they had the misfortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

they should be allowed to leave. she may not have a choice, but the rest of them do. so she tries to offer them this escape, even though the thought of what’s ahead fills her with dread, even if she’s terrified she was the wrong choice for something this important and may not be able to protect them, or even succeed at all. and it’s such a relief and a comfort that they all choose to stay anyway, and she doesn’t have to face the House alone. she has support, company, friends to rely on. people who believe in her even when she doesn’t believe in herself.

except when they wake up the next morning, Siffrin is nowhere to be found. not in the clocktower, not in the town. how long do they search? how long does it take them to decide this must be his real answer to the question Mirabelle posed the night before?

Mirabelle takes Siffrin’s act 5 behavior…very personally. in her hurt and anger, she decides that if nothing’s wrong, if he thought it was okay to say something like that in that moment, they must have always been a worse person than she thought they were. she was always uncertain of his motives, his attitude. she reassures herself that their teasing is friendly, like it’s something she has to convince herself is true.

but some part of her really did believe that he saw himself as better than the rest of them—even if she never treated them with anything other than kindness! she didn’t let her uncertainty or anxiety get in the way of treating him with warmth, ignoring the potential bad-faith explanations of his behavior and trusting that they had better intentions than her fears would lead her to believe…until she had evidence that, just maybe, those fears weren’t so unfounded.

the Housemaiden in the Prologue even says that she thought they were mean, at first. uncaring. an impression that didn’t turn around until Siffrin got hurt protecting Bonnie. maybe it’s cheating a little bit to bring Prologue dialogue into an ISAT discussion since they’re not perfectly identical timelines, but i think it lines up with ISAT Mirabelle thinking Siffrin saw themself as “better” than her.

Prologue:

ISAT:

she applies this judgement not just in the moment, but retroactively. whatever goodwill and trust she had read into their behavior before, it’s gone. the person she reassured herself that he was would never do something like this, so she must have failed to understand him entirely, from the very beginning.

there’s no confrontation, in the Hangout loop. just a silent disappearance. they have no context or explanation for what happens. no heightened emotions from the immediacy of insults and anger thrown in their faces. but whatever emotions bubble up have time to simmer.

i can imagine Mirabelle’s thought process might be quite similar to how it is in Act 5.

something must be wrong, for them to act like this. to disappear without a word after promising everyone that they’d stay.

but if nothing’s wrong…she must have been wrong about them. he isn’t the person she thought he was. how could they leave now, after what they already sacrificed defending Bonnie? or was it because of what he lost defending them—that he had given all he was willing to give, and no more?

did they finally decide Mirabelle wasn’t a person worth believing in anymore? that her mission wasn’t important enough to waste his life in its pursuit? that someone like them shouldn’t bother following someone as weak as her?

she gave them the option to leave. she feels guilty that it hurts so much that he took it. angry and betrayed that he would lie to their faces and leave without a goodbye, when for all they know they’ll never see each other again. did they all really matter so little to him?

or was he scared, and unable to face them out of shame? can she really blame them for that, knowing her own terror at what entering the House will bring? maybe he’s just as scared as she is, even if he never shows it like she does. it’s their choice. he has no responsibility here, no obligation to stay and put himself in danger for their sakes. she offered them this. she offered them this. they’re allowed to change their mind. what right does she have to be angry? she would have understood if they’d just!! said something!!! it would have hurt, still, but, but—

did she ever really understand them at all, if she couldn’t see this coming?

[bie-tch]

To celebrate my return from break (and to release my pent-up thoughts), I proudly present: Bie's ninja headcanons! 1 silly, 1 angsty LEZGO

Kai first!! (Because fucking duh have you seen my blog)

– Has a separate bathroom for all his skincare and haircare stuff. The team makes fun of him for it regularly, but whenever there's another time crunch mission or something extremely stressful in general, he always looks the best. Maybe some eyebags here and there, but other than that, he's glowing.

– His coping mechanism is self blame. Team falls apart? His fault. Mission accident? His fault. Ninja captured? His fault. Innocents hurt? His fault. His friends in actual fatal danger? HIS FAULT. He used to lash out at others because of this mindset, but now he just sits with himself while anxiously waiting for someone to tell him what to do (in fear of messing up things even more) it's what drove him to the sidelines during planning and battle, he's afraid his "reckless" attitude will jeopardize everything. (He doesn't acknowledge that he's gotten better. He doesn't acknowledge that most of his hotheadedness is a farce. He won't acknowledge that his fears are irrational.)

Zane aww the baby the dude the little awww

– Has been betrothed to Pixal for YEARS already. Like, shortly after s10. He saw Jays proposal, saw Pixal have a physical body, and it just clicked in his head that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with his other half. He was so touched that he spent hours sourcing the perfect yinyang pendant, planning everything to the tiniest, most insignificant detail, only for her to be the one to get down on one knee. He cried a little (a lot)

– Was so genuinely hurt and upset at the administration calling him "equipment." When he got back to the Monastery he instinctively tried to find his safe place (Pix), only for him to be absolutely crushed when he realized that she simply wasn't there. He drowned himself in analytics and background work simply because if he thought about it too much he'd have a breakdown. But he can't have that. He needs to find pixal, right?

Cole ceo of goober town

– Is an actual god at cooking now. Seriously, he can make anything taste Michelin quality with a handful of ingredients. He prefers baking, though, for obvious reasons.

– Was isolated from his peers while he was in school, solely because he fought a lot. Kids would run away from him, spread rumors, or try to avert his path on a daily basis. Faculty tried to contact his father whenever things would escalate, but he was too busy drowning in alcohol to pay attention to his sons education.

Nya!!!!

– Contrary to popular belief, Nya is absolutely a bigger hothead than Kai. On a bad day, you can sniffle, and she'd just go off on how unhygienic the monastery was and start spite-cleaning only for the others to offer to help out of pure fear. This is her way of getting out of chores. Kai is onto her but finds it so funny how everyone scrambles to keep her from exploding.

– Her first word was "Hungry." She knows this. When she asked Kai what her first word was out of curiosity, he lied and said it was "mom." She went to ignacia for a simple errand and that was when she found out. An old shopkeeper said he remembered a barely 4 year old girl with sunken cheeks point at his produce and babble "hnngry.. unggry." Now, when people ask what her first word was, she'll still say "Mom."

The Master of jig (Jay)

– LOVESSS his parents but hates to admit it. Not because he finds it embarrassing, but because his folks will not shut up about it even after months. He'll go, "Yknow I love you a lot, right ma, pa?" And they will throw a legitimate PARTY FOR IT. When the ninja found out about it, the teasing lasted for exactly 7 months.

– The only thing he remembers after the merge are calloused, wrinkly hands holding him like he's the most precious thing in the world. He doesn't know who, or why, but he's determined to find out.

Laloyd

– The softest, shiniest, bounciest hair you will ever feel. He has never touched a single hair product in his LIFE. It's been Kai's mission to ruffle that hair atleast twice a week ever since he did it back when they were younger.

– Has burned every single photo of him and his father together after the events of s10. Every time he's reminded of how much he aspired to be like him when he was younger he gets physically sick. He could never idolize someone like that. Who views lives like collateral damage. Never. Never again.

[aceecee]

Insatiable - Chapter Ten

TW: blood mentions

WC: 3.3K

Masterlist

Xavier was the fifth one to meet you.

He was the first to be surprised by you.

You’re supposed to be salvation, not his ruin. Be careful of what you do next, you’ve been warned. 

There’s something in the corner of the room.

It’s always around.

He’s not sure when it had become a comfort.

Most days it’s stagnant, not moving an inch from the position it had assigned itself. 

But then comes the moments where he cries and cries and cries.

What else can a weak child do?

Too weak to protect the one he loves, too weak to save her every time she’s carried in the arms of scientists, wailing out his name in hopes he’ll save her.

A hope he wishes will die out for it will never come true. He’ll never be her hero.

It moves when the first tear drops down his face. Its steps are always slow - cautious. 

Arms encircle his frame, his head pushed into a chest, held in a soothing grip.

It disappears with the last tear, back the next day in the corner of the room.

Years pass and he brushes it off as a result of a traumatised mind.

Until his fingers twitch uncontrollably around his new neighbour. Who he claims to hate yet burns with the need to touch.

To feel the sensation of those familiar arms wrap around him again.

“Don’t laugh!” the girl pouts at you.

You try to hold it in but it’s impossible. Her scowl deepens and you didn’t think it was possible for her to get even more red. Eiden’s stronger than you, he’s holding it in and looks not at all affected but you take notice of the way he’s clenching his hand and the smile he’s trying to bite down. Caleb is standing by her side, just as red and looking away. He’s sort of to blame for this, just a little.

But you would never tell him that.

You and Eiden had been waiting by your front door for the two of them, so you could commence your daily routine to walk to school when the other two joined. The reason for your laughter is the mess atop Mara’s head. “Gran is out,” she had tried to explain, “Caleb thought he could do my hair.”

Your laughter dies down when you see tears in her eyes, now you feel bad. “Oh, Mara, I’m sorry. Don’t feel bad,” you rush at the girl, dropping your school bag on the floor so you could comfort her. Eiden picks it up for you.

The feeling inside you when she pushes your arms away is indescribable. It’s the first time she’s ever denied your attention and you don’t know how to feel. Your fingers twitch at your side as your insecurities run wild.

You’d fucked up and now she doesn’t want you anymore, your voice screams in your head. How many times until you learn that you’re a failure meant to be discarded?

You take a step back and quickly throw on a mask, unbeknownst to you, your brother notices the blank face you had tried to cover up. His lips straighten but he doesn’t say a word. He quietly watches the flash of anger in your eyes when Caleb comforts Mara instead. 

You take a deep breath and try again. “I am sorry, Mara. I didn’t realise you were serious,” you gesture to your house. “Let me fix your hair.”

That has her attention on you again. “But…we’ll be late to school then,” she whispers. “Then we’re late,” you shrug. It would be a first for the four of you so you’re confident they’ll let you off easily. 

You feel a sense of relief when the tears in her eyes are gone, replaced by a bright grin. She turns to Caleb, “You go on then, I’ll see you later.” Caleb tries to disagree but his words fall on deaf ears, you step in for him instead.

“Let him stay, I’ll teach him some styles so this,” you point at her hair, “doesn’t happen again.”

The aforementioned boy just watches you silently in that regular way that makes you uncomfortable. You don’t know what his deal is but every time his eyes fall on you, it’s like he’s dissecting you, almost analysing you in a way that makes you afraid he’ll see the real you. More often than not you keep your guard up around him, just in case.

It takes you almost thirty minutes just to untangle her hair from the mess on her head, it’s not made easy by the fact that she has curly hair. The same hair that had been on Gia-

You offer her tips on how to take care of her hair. Another thirty minutes is spent on showing a variety of hairstyles she can do, Caleb who had taken his seat on your bed inched forward every hairstyle until he was practically falling off the bed just so he can memorise it all. You nearly laugh at the focused look he adorns, moments like these remind you that he’s just a child trying his best for the girl he cares about. 

“You shouldn’t feel bad,” you whisper to him, hoping no one else hears. He looks at you confused but you just send him a smile and go back to the task on hand.

Caleb isn’t sure why he feels his face heating up. 

You decide it’s best to not let a single soul know what destiny befallen on Finn. Maybe it would’ve been a good idea to let someone know that an entity of sorts lives inside you and can control you. But you have yet to wrap your mind around the thought itself. It’s too much.

Has this been the result of whatever was done to you?

You try to talk to it inside your head but it’s been two days now and still no response. You tell yourself that perhaps you’ve just remembered the situation wrong and if it responds, you’ll change your thinking. But for now, it’s all thrown to the back of your mind.

You’re back in the N109 zone. No other missions await you. You receive no congratulations from anyone either. 

Good.

Mary had texted you that the renovations had been completed. You let her know that you’ll be by today to see them. And see the kids. You missed them.

Is it wrong to use the comfort that little kids provide by being dumb and cute? Probably but you’re in desperate need for them to ask you stupid questions while clinging to you with sticky hands. 

You stop by the base, changing into a simple hoodie and sweatpants. You’ve learnt that no matter what you wear, you will be leaving with it in stains. It’s something you’ve long accepted.

“Going somewhere?”

Sylus’s voice doesn’t shock you. You had heard him moving around, slowly towards you. 

[“Orphanage.”] 

“Let’s go then,” the man waves his keys at you, walking by while leaving you standing in the middle of the hallway. You stare at his back, it would be just like him to invite himself into your plans as he pleases. 

And yet you continue to let him.

You’re jumped on the second you enter, bright smiles all around. Sylus watches on the sidelines, amused.

He watches the warm look in your eye, the gentle way in which you handle the kids, the way you try to communicate without your words. Something ignites in him, seeing you like this. It’s a new side of you he’s never seen. So patient and understanding. 

You’d make a good mother.

You feel a shiver up your spine, looking at the direction of the white-haired man. The look in his eyes makes you pause.

You’re in danger. 

“You wake her up,” whispers Kieran to Luke.

“No, you do it!” whispers Luke back.

“You’re older!”

“Says who?”

“Wake who up?”

The two masked men jump and scream at the sudden voice behind them. “Boss-man, shhhh,” Luke puts a finger to his mouth, “you’ll wake her up.”

Sylus glares at them, almost offended. “I’m whispering. You’re the ones shrieking.” 

The twins glance at each other and he sighs, it’s never good when they mentally communicate with the other. “Out with it.” 

He’s starting to think he should have just turned around and left when he saw them standing outside their own bedroom. He should know better than to be involved in anything they do. He should have stayed curious because explain to him why he’s being pushed into the bedroom, being used as a shield while the twins hide behind him.

“Look,” points Kieran at his side of the room, right at his bed. 

Now in too deep, Sylus has no choice but to go investigate. He immediately notices the lump on his sheets but stops as he gets closer. He can’t stop the look of shock (and jealousy) on his face.

Why the hell are you sleeping on their bed?

He looks back at the two nuisances who just usher with their hands for him to get closer. They’re not going to be any help.

He moves towards you, lips quirked up as he takes you in. You’re normally a composed person, the only time he can recall seeing you otherwise when he first met you. You had made sure since then to never appear a “mess” again. Sylus never said a word, he understood better than most your need to never show weakness. 

But not even you can control how you look when asleep. Your hair is a mess, covering your face. He had watched you enough on those cameras to know that there’s drool either on your face or on the pillows. You’re sleeping at such an odd angle, he’s sure your body is going to ache when you wake up. 

How cute.

He walks closer and gently nudges you on the shoulder. It’s barely a pat but it’s all you need. His little bird blinks slowly at him before glaring at the man who woke her up. Jealousy settles deep inside him, no one else deserves to see you like this. Only him.

Sylus moves himself so his body hides you from the two other pairs of eyes in the room, he sits down on the bed. “I hope you’re aware that you’re sleeping on Kieran’s bed?” 

You just nod and fall asleep. 

He’s left staring at your body, envious that you felt comfortable sleeping in the twins room and not his.

This won’t do.

He’s quick to scoop you up in his arms, the twins watch with no words as he leaves their room and walks right into his. They have the sense to not ask questions. Sylus places you gently on his bed and watches with satisfaction as you settle in. 

A groan stays stuck in your throat as you feel sleep leave despite your wishes. After so many years of insomnia, waking up after a good night’s sleep is even more torture than what you had gone through. Furthermore, there’s a comforting smell soaked into the pillowcases and bed sheets around you. The scent doesn’t belong to the twins, you know exactly who it does belong to. 

You had slept each night you had been with Zayne. After experiencing being so well-rested in years, you’d rather die than go back to your original state. So, you had come up with a theory that the smell of a person you trusted might help. And it did. 

You slowly open your eyes, taking in the room. It’s the first time you've been in here. Everything in it screams Sylus, the man has excellent taste. You look around for said man until your ears pick up the shower running. The perfect time to snoop. 

Ten minutes later, you’ve been nearly through the entire room with nothing to show for it. Sylus has nothing interesting in his room, you pick up the water turning off and rush back into the bed just as the bathroom door opens. 

Your eyes don’t leave his body, all he has is a towel around his waist. You shamelessly watch the water run down his body. Your fingers twitch as you see his muscles, you’ve always been one to appreciate fine art. 

Sylus smirks as he notices your eyes on him. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

[“No. You’re boring.”] 

He lets out a laugh at your statement, moving closer to you. “Or…I’m smart enough to not keep secrets in my room.”

[‘So, you do have secrets?”] your eyebrows raise.

“Want me to tell you one?”

[“Yes.”]

“Then say my name.”

The request gives you pause. You tilt your head in confusion. 

“You said that doctor’s name,” his voice is deeper when he lets out ‘doctor’. “Say my name,” it comes almost as a plea, he gives you a look that almost seems like desperation. You can’t tell if it’s like him or unlike him. 

You clear your throat. He perks up, it reminds you of a puppy waiting for a treat.

“Sylus,” it comes out much better than when you had said ‘Zayne’, no stutter too.

Before you can move, you’re thrown back on the bed, a heavy figure looming above you.

“Again,” his eyes don’t leave yours. You think you might have just done something that has changed the trajectory of your relationship.

You swallow.

“Sylus.” 

You say it so quietly that if you hadn’t spoken the words you don’t think it could even be heard. But, it seems to be enough for him. His head moves dangerously close to yours. Lips almost touching. He doesn’t move further than that. With the way he’s looking at you, you know the next move is yours.

You don’t hesitate. 

Your lips move desperately together. He’s devouring you in a way that you’re sure he’ll never be satisfied and will take. Again and again. Never stopping.

You break apart but he’s determined to take even your breath as he moves down to your neck, leaving soft kisses and as many marks as possible in his way. 

A hand gently grabs her wrist.

“No more,” Xavier softly commands. He takes the hunter watch off her wrist and pockets it. “You need rest.”

She doesn’t even have it in her to fight. The exhaustion has won. Neither of them say a word as he leads her into her apartment. They settle down on her couch. 

She fidgets with the ugly beaded bracelet on her wrist. In times of emotional crisis, it had become a clutch for her. The orange colour on one of the beads had become so faded in these last few months. 

“What does it mean to you?” his soft voice snaps her out of it. She looks in his direction to see him eyeing the bracelet. She finds herself wanting to answer. It’s shocking how close they’ve become in such a short time. Mara has no idea when Xavier stopped being a co-worker and became a friend. 

“My angel gave it to me.”

His eyebrows furrow a little in confusion. She understands, she’s never muttered the words ‘my angel’ out loud since you disappeared. It feels refreshing. It feels right.

She answers his question before he can even ask it. 

“She left me too.”

The watch on his arm beeps.

He’s not working today but a metaflux has been detected nearby and if he’s received the message then it’s just him alone. He’s informed that backup is twenty minutes away. A message that would give most hunters pause but he’s been alone for a long time, he can rely on himself. He knows he’s capable. 

The wanderers that appear before him are weak but strong in their numbers. One manages to slash him across his back. He grunts in pain but pushes through. His evol works with him to incinerate as many as it can. The fatigue settles in quicker now that he has activated it. How much sleep will he need after this? He’s too caught up in fighting to notice the wanderer that sneaks up on him, it’s too late for him to even teleport when he does. He waits for a pain that never comes up.

It’s then he notices the vines surrounding the wanderer’s body, holding it tightly in their grip. Before his eyes, the wanderer is ripped apart. Every other wanderer he can notice is in a similar predicament.

He’s not alone anymore. There’s a woman standing a few metres before him. She’s far enough that he can’t notice any distinct features. He makes his move.

From a distance, it looks like the sword he throws is meant for her but the woman doesn’t even flinch as it embeds itself into the wanderer behind her. With a loud thud, it falls before disappearing. Numerous protocores flop on the ground around them but neither party cares, too focused on the other.

The green shield around her disappears when he’s confirmed that there’s no longer a threat. The woman gives him a nod and turns to leave. Only for him to move much closer to her.

He doesn’t say anything, just taking her in. His heart beats fast as he looks her over, her hair, complexion, her clothes. He memorises everything. 

His throat suddenly feels dry as he notices the deep scar around her neck. That sense of peace and comfort he had given up crashes into him.

It can’t be…

After what feels like forever, he opens his mouth to speak. “Who are you?”

Why do you look like it? 

How do you exist?

He doesn’t ask those questions, too scared of the answers he might receive. 

The woman taps her mouth and then crosses her arm in an ‘x’ in an attempt to get her message across. It works. 

“You…” he takes a step forward, confused until realising. “You can’t speak?” 

The woman nods in confirmation.

The both of them stare at the other in awkward silence before the woman throws up a goodbye wave and runs away.

Xavier is too baffled by the situation to remember he can teleport. 

Throughout all his life, he finds himself before the statue.

As a kid when being a royal would get too much, after a gruelling training session and recently when he learnt the truth of his world…of his family.

The statue isn’t much to look at. One of the many in his family’s vast collection. Tucked away in the corner of a store room. He had stumbled upon it as a child, when he had tried to run away from his future as a King. 

It was covered in a white sheet but it called to him. With bated breath he had removed the sheet, eyes wide at what he saw.

It resembles a woman. One unlike any he’s come across. She’s beautiful.

No…

It’s too little a word to describe her. She’s a type of beauty that can’t be described for it would only limit her. 

He tried to ask around for any knowledge on who sculpted her, in hopes that maybe she exists and he could find her?

But no one knows anything.

“That statue? I don’t really know, your highness. It just appeared one day.”

“I’ve never seen a statue like that.”

“I have no idea, your highness.”

Even his father is no help. Neither are any texts they have. The mystery of the statue keeps him intrigued. It becomes a sort of comfort over time. He finds himself before her whenever life gets to him, ranting about it all. Anyone else would think him crazy but sometimes it feels like it’s listening.

Above all, one thing about the statue always stood out. The only crack on such old stone.

It was across her neck.

AN: I have to keep reader's interactions with Xavier and Rafayel short cause we need MC for more. Sylus has a breeding kink and you can't tell me otherwise, actually they all do. What nasty freaks.

Sorry for the late chapter, not only do I have three assignments due, I'm also sick!

Tag List: @serenity-loves-red @crimsonmarabou @reni502 @r0ckb1n @queenkymmie @plzdonutpercieveme @perqbeth @mephisto-with-a-knife @tumblingdevils @angelwhizpers @eolivy @yuurisfavblog @miuangel

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Angela & the Runaways

Chapter 1

Summary:

After the events of That Was Then, This is Now, Angela decides she’s done with Tulsa. But she can’t make a clean break- whether she likes it or not, Mark Jennings has invited himself along for the ride.

or as I’ve been saying for the past two weeks- after reading That Was Then, This is Now, I couldn’t stand the thought of Angela being stuck in some awful loveless marriage. So I’m giving her an escape, and a companion she may or may not want lol, because upon rereading I really really like Mark Jennings. Anyway, I’m really having fun with this duo, and I hope you like ‘em too :))

Roughly 4k words, with a good 8k more already typed and a lot more in the works. Cross posted to Ao3

-

  She ran into Bryon a few days ago. It must’ve been more than three years since she saw him last. He was pretty shocked.

  She’s just standing there on the boardwalk when he comes up to her, staring wide-eyed, and says “Angel Shepard? That you?”

  Angela blinks. “Yeah?” she says without thinking. And then she looks a second time, and really sees him. “Oh…yeah,” she says slow. (Not stammering- even now she don’t stammer hardly ever- but slow is close as she gets to it.)

  “Real funny seein’ ya so far from Tulsa, Angel- what’re ya doin’ here?” Bryon says, looking at her like she’s a cartoon that took a wrong turn into the real world.

  “I live here, what’re you doin’ here?” she says back without any heat. 

  “Been goin’ to school, few towns north. Boy, ain’t it funny we both wound up here?” he says, a glimmer of humor in his big brown eyes. (Like a Saint Bernard puppy-dog was how Mark had described them.)

  Not really, Angela wants to say. It’s not so funny at all. Seems to her everyone ends up in California. The edge of the land, the cliff where the vast expanse of America drops off into the sea, the dead end you find yourself in when there’s nowhere left. 

  A land of opportunity for the smart boys like Bryon and movie stars down south, and the end of the road for folks like her. 

  “Suppose it is,” Angela says, exhaling and watching smoke curl out over the sand.

  “You look nice. You ain’t aged a day since I saw ya last,” he smiles.

  “Well, my hair’s grown,” she says dryly, and his smile drops a fraction. She almost feels a bit bad for that. “What’re ya goin’ to school for?”

  He takes the olive branch. “Journalism. Writing.”

  That checks out. For a hood, Bryon Douglas always loved reading. It was part of what Angela liked about him back before everything that went down- he was more sensitive than other guys in their neighborhood. Well, not more sensitive. More observant, maybe. 

  “You gonna be like Curtis?” Angela says, referring to a kid from the East Side who wrote a book about some gang violence from when they were kids.

  “Nah. I ain’t no novelist.” Bryon shifts his weight. “You read his book?” 

  “Nah,” Angela shakes her head. “I hate Curtis,” she says, which isn’t exactly true.

  “You oughta read it. He’s real smart, that kid,” Bryon sighs, tilting his head up. “But I’m just goin’ for newspapers. It’s easy. Pays decent. That sort of deal.”

  “Ah,” she says. 

  He must be waiting for her to say more, because after a few seconds, he says “You?”

  “Hm?”

  “What’re you doin’ here?”

  Angela snuffs out her cigarette on the rail of the boardwalk. “Hangin’ round,” she shrugs. There’s a lotta good places for all sorts of hangin’ round here. Enough to keep her from getting bored. It’s why they’ve stayed for so long.

  “But like…for work?”

  “I dance,” Angela says flatly. 

  “Dance?” Bryon repeats, laughing. “Didn’t take ya for that type. What, ballet?”

  “Not like that,” Angela says, and she can see the moment Bryon gets what she’s saying, because his face drops.

  “Oh…”

  She chuckles. “It’s not so bad. I get real good tips. If I wanted, I could buy me a Stingray.”

  “Do ya wanna?”

  “Nah.” She’s got more important things to spend her well earned money on. “Ain’t my only work, neither- I got a gig at a diner off Main Street. And y’know- the husband’s got an okay income too.”

  “Husband- oh gee, Angel, how’s that goin’?” Bryon says, eyes soft. He’s still cute, she notices. Taller than her boy by nearly a foot. Darker. Less pretty, more handsome.   “Alright,” she says tightly.

  “I’m…I’m real sorry you had to marry that guy.”

  Angela starts. Oh. Right. He thinks she means that guy Tim made her marry all those years ago. 

  “Oh, he ain’t that one. I left that one a long long time ago,” she says airily. 

-

  Angela re-met Mark Jennings on a burning hot summer day. She was stepping out of a drugstore in Bixby, when she saw a flash of blonde in her car’s front seat.

  Someone was trying to hotwire it!

  She wanted to scream- not with fear, but frustration- she didn’t have time for this! She bit her tongue and snatched her brother’s switch outta her pocket, flicking it open, and held it just outta sight of the thief.

  “Get outta the car,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  The blond sat up, back still to her, and raised his hands up. “Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t sound it. His voice was familiar. 

  “Turn around,” Angela commanded.

  He did, and Angela’s heart sank into her boots.

  “Oh…hey hey, Angel,” he said, face cracking into a smirk. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

  How the hell was he here?! Last she heard of Mark Jennings, he was locked in the Tulsa “Criminal Justice Center”- got caught with drugs or something. That was fine by her. Last she’d seen of Mark Jennings, he’d cut all her hair off and left her drunk in a yard. She’d been real pleased when Curly told her he was locked up.

  “Get outta the car, Jennings,” she spat.

  “Cool it, baby,” he grinned. “What’re you doin’ ‘round these parts? Your baby daddy don’t miss ya?” he said, doing a scratchy high-pitched voice and batting his eyelashes.

  Angela’s stomach twisted, feeling her own heart race in her chest. (Was Ricky back from work yet? No, no, he couldn’t be- but what if he was- No, no, no. He- he had to be at work still. He had to be. He wouldn’t find out till late, and by then Angela would be long gone…)

  “He ain’t. I wasn’t pregnant, Mark,” she growled, focusing on that instead.

  “Oh? And the shotgun weddin’ was just for fun, then?” Mark said, eyes wide with mock curiosity.

  Angela shifted, clenching the switch tighter beneath the window. “You ain’t far off,” she said, forcing her voice gentler. “Besides, this way I ended up gettin’ a free Chevy outta the deal, see?” she said, smiling the way she smiles when she’s trying to get a guy to pay for her drinks. Go away go away go away.

  “Ah, that’s how ya got yer mits on this completely cherry car! I was wonderin’,” Mark said, beaming with sharp teeth.

  And I’d like you to get your mits off of it! Angela thought. She swallowed back her irritation and tried her damndest to stay sweet sounding. “Oh, yeah, it’s fantastic, really boss.”

  It was a nice car. Off-white and spacious- a Chevy Nomad or something, although she didn’t remember the year. Ricky’s other car was nicer, though- bright red and sporty-looking, and she really really liked it…but the Chevy blended in more. So it was the Chevy she stole. “Speakin’ of which! I’m runnin’ late, gotta go…bring Ricky his…lunch. So again, I gotta ask ya to get outta the car.”

  “Oh man, little Angie Shepard’s gone domestic! That’ll be the day,” Mark hooted.

  “Not that domestic,” Angela said, touching his shoulder. He stiffened. “You know, I always thought you were Bryon’s cutest friend, Mark,” she said, laying it on thick. “If ya get outta here, I think I’d just have to keep in touch…”

  Mark stared at her blankly. “Are you…” he laughed. “Are you tryin’ to flirt?” Angela tore her hand away, face hot with embarrassment. “Boy, you must think I’m really stupid,” he drawled. 

  He said a few other things too, about Curtis or something, but Angela was distracted- a bright red car zoomed by in the corner of her peripherals. She watched it, heart pounding, till it vanished into the horizon.

  She exhaled, hands trembling. Not Ricky.

  “Just get out of the car, Mark Jennings!” Angela snapped, nervous, ashamed, and losing her patience. “I’m runnin’ late!”

  “Fine, I’ll wire some other piece of junk,” Mark shrugged. “And you’d best not call the pigs, Angel,” he added, lowering his voice. “I do still know where ya live,” he said with his unsettling little smile.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she sneered. And because she couldn’t tell him his threat was pointless, to get the last word in, she said “Bryon’ll do it for me.” 

  But she regretted the words soon as they were out, not wanting to drag this out any longer. The sun was lowering on the skyline. She needed to get the hell out of Bixby if she was gonna cross the stateline by nightfall, and provoking Mark Jennings was a surefire way to slow things down.

  But Mark didn’t flinch, didn’t drop his easy, pleasant voice. “Bryon’ll do it for both of us. Ain’t like he treated you any better.”

  Angela’s stomach twisted at that, taking her by surprise. Detachedly, she noted that it still hurt, thinking about Bryon. She knew she was still mad at him, but she thought it had stopped hurting. And yet there was a dull discomfort in the back of her mind. 

 She played it cool. “I’m late. I ain’t got time for this.”

  “Right, right. Gotta feed the husband,” Mark said mockingly. He swung the car door open, looking her up and down, and she tried not to fidget under his strange gold stare. “Jesus, Angel, I never did take you for the type…” He raised an eyebrow, and looked back into the wagon of the car, and then back at her again. He stood up, eyes narrowing. “You…hey…what sorta domestic grocery run needs a whole luggage along?”

  “That’s not a luggage. That’s my father-in-law’s,” Angela said fast.

  Mark scanned the car again, and then stared at the single grocery bag in Angela’s hand and the switch in her other. 

  “What kinda construction worker eats first aid kits and…rope?” he continued, tilting his head curiously. 

  “This ain’t-”

  “...You’re kinda far from Tulsa for a grocery run…” Mark said slowly. “Oh Angel!” he laughed, high and mean. “You’re runnin’ away! Oh boy, you’re- Ha!”

  “I’m not!”

  “Then why didn’t ya call for a store clerk when ya saw some dude in yer car? It makes perfect sense, I get it, I get it, you’re tryin’ to cover yer tracks!” Mark giggled. “Oh glory, that’s- that’s funny!”

  “What’s so funny about it?!” Angela snapped. 

  “C’mon, Angie, you’re bright- what the hell d’ya think I’m doin’ out here?” he said, leaning towards her. “Ya think I got out of the cooler on good behavior? Hell no!”

  “You broke out,” Angela said.

  “Pshhyeah I did,” he scoffed, grinning. He grabbed her shoulders. “An’ you can be my ride to the state line!”

  “No,” Angela murmured, feeling sick. 

  She was no stranger to jailbreaks and convicts- they came with the neighborhood she grew up in- but driving Mark to the state line? While she was already in enough trouble as it was?

  “What?” Mark said, voice and face still breezy, but his grip on her shoulders tightened.

  Angela shoved him off, knocking the bag into his stomach, before tossing it into the backseat.

  “You heard me. No. I ain’t gonna be your ride. I ain’t puttin’ my neck on the line for you, kid.”

  “Angela, please,” he said, glancing desperately back at the convenience store. 

  “Just wire another car, that’s what you were gonna do, wasn’t it?” she sighed, folding the switch and jamming it back into her pocket. “Don’t see why I gotta be dragged into it.”

  “Well- I- I don’t want to wire a car, not so soon after breakin’ out- they’ll be on the lookout for me!”

  “What, can’t get away with everythin’ no more?” Angela snipped. “Anyhow, they’ll be on the lookout for me, too,” she muttered. 

  “Yeah, but not for twenty four hours at least. You’re gonna be a missin’ person. I’m,” he said, pausing, “an outlaw.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Clint Eastwood, you’re nothin’ but a scummy dealer,” Angela scoffed. 

  “Well you need me for when those twenty four hours are up,” Mark pointed out, regaining his self assuredness. 

  “Why the hell would I need you?”

  “You’re gonna want someone to wire you a new car. In twenty four hours, this here Nomad’s goin’ straight into the system, and they’ll be on the lookout for ya from here clear to California.”

  That was true. Tim never bothered teaching her to wire. And until now, she never thought she’d need to. Still, she held steady, glaring at Mark.

  “C’mon, Angel,” he said, leaning close. In the bright sunlight, his gold-brown eyes look yellow, like a jungle cat’s. Like a sweet-talking tiger, luring her in like prey. “That’s not all you need me for. Think about it. Bryon’s ex-girlfriend and his ex-brother- runnin’ off without him…God, can you imagine? We could send him a postcard…can you picture the look on his face?” Mark grinned. Angela wondered faintly if his eyeteeth had always been so pointed.

  Mark was a dangerous person to get involved with. Angela knew that. Of course she did. He was bright and fast, golden and near-untouchable. He’d laugh his head off on a highway to hell, chewing people up and spittin’ ‘em out. He was exactly the sort of louse she wanted to leave behind in Tulsa, a dot in her rearview mirror that would disappear with the rest of ‘em.

  But she pictured Bryon, Bryon who held her, who kissed her, who loved her better than any guy she’d seen before. Bryon who read books, who could be softer than the others, sweeter than the hoods she knew. Who promised her once that he’d get her outta that town someday…

  She ran a hand through her hair. It was longer now, barely brushing her shoulders, but still too light. Too vulnerable. She remembered waking up in that yard, hungover and head pounding, and seeing her long locks in the mud, and feeling absolutely gutted.

  At least with Mark she knew she was making a deal with the Devil. At least Mark wasn’t trying to hide.

  And anyway, Angela was just as bad as he was, wasn’t she? She was going to hell in a handbasket side by side with him regardless. 

  She told herself then at the time that it was to get back at Bryon, to get back at Tim, to get back at Tulsa and everyone in it.

  But looking back, she suspects that maybe a part of her, just a small, little voice inside of her, didn’t wanna go it alone.

  “Let’s send him a photo reel,” Angela said, finally looking at Mark. “He’ll be horrified.”

  And with a sinister grin, Mark Jennings climbed back into the car. “Boy, you’re cold.” He leaned back. “I dig it.”

  “Jennings?”

  “Hm?”

  Angela jammed the sharp end of her car key into his bare shoulder, and he jolted out of the seat, eyes wide with shock. 

  “What the hell?!” he spat.

  Angela smiled, feeling just a little better about everything. “I’m drivin’.”

-

  They reached Texas by nightfall. 

  “Park there,” Mark muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  “Hm?”

  “The uh…the grocery store lot. Get a chance to uh,” he yawned, “sleep…”

  The grocery store lot was across the road, sort of smallish and mostly empty. Angela wrinkled her nose. Past it there was a neon sign, shaped like a cowboy hat, shining gold and red over the asphalt and houses. Angela squinted- Vacancy. 

  “There’s a motel just a few lots down,” Angela argued. 

  “Hm. No…motels…getcha caught,” he grunted. “ID’s ’n all.”

  “Well when the pigs come knockin’ at this here door, yer gonna be caught all the same, Billy the Kid,” Angela said, and Mark must’ve been real tired, because he didn’t argue. “C’mon, you got a fake ID anyhow, don’tcha?” she said.

  “Not in this jacket, babe,” he scoffed, folding his arms around his middle. 

  “How’d ya get that back, anyway?” Angela said, frowning. He was in the old letterman jacket he used to wear- Dark blue and gold, with the sleeves cut off. He used to say he’d stolen it offa some Soc, but blue and gold were not the colors of any school anywhere near Tulsa. So she’d always been pretty sure he’d just happened upon it at a charity shop.

  “Broke into Bryon’s,” Mark mumbled, eyelids drifting shut.

  “You what?” Angela said, pulling into the motel lot. But Mark was either too sleepy to register it or pretending to be. 

  Whatever. She had a fake ID along with her. 

  “C’mon,” she hissed once she parked, poking Mark’s shoulder with her keys. 

  He blinked an eye open, and gave a small sort of sigh, but let her haul him to his feet. 

  “Get my bag,” she ordered. 

  “Get it yourself, princess,” Mark scoffed. Angela sighed- oh well, it was worth a try. She grabbed her own bag and locked the car. 

  Inside, the clerk looked them over. 

  “A room, please,” Angela barked.

  “How old are you, m’am?” the clerk frowned.

  “Twenty two,” Angela lied, sliding her fake ID across the counter. The clerk looked past her at Mark skeptically. 

  “How old is he?”

  “Forty-six,” Mark said, grinning. 

  “Pardon- what?” The clerk said, eyes narrowing.

  “The secret’s to stay outta the sun and drink only rabbit blood,” Mark winked. 

  “Excuse me?” said the clerk.

  “He’s twenty,” Angela said, elbowing him. “Sorry. He thinks he’s funny.”

  “I am,” Mark smirked. Angela elbowed him harder. Mark caught her elbow and linked arms with her, smiling innocently. “Sorry, she’s in a lousy mood- did ya wake up on the wrong side of the bed, babe?” he said, voice dripping sickly-sweet. 

  “Uh…Okay,” the clerk said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll just uh…one room then. One bed?”

  Mark’s grin dropped just a fraction, but through gritted teeth, he said “Oh…yeah. That’ll be just fine.”

  Ugh. Great. Now she had to share a bed with Mark Jennings. As if her night couldn’t get any worse.

  “Yes, that’ll be lovely, hon,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist, relishing in how he flinched just a bit. She fished out Ricky’s card- she figured she could use it for just a little longer before it was deactivated. 

  The clerk scanned it, wrote something down, and gave Mark the room key, giving him another weird look. 

  “Thanks,” Mark said as they stepped outside, with a final nod at the clerk. 

  Outside, Mark quickly detangled himself from her, and walked a few paces ahead. Good. 

  “Hey hey, I get the bed!” Mark called over his shoulder. 

  “You ass!” Angela snapped, racing after him. “Get back here, you little bastard-” But she was wearing heels and carrying her trunk, and he was in his old tennis shoes and empty handed, so there was no contest, and he practically flew up the stairs while she hobbled. 

  “Aw- c’mon, hurry up,” he said, darting back down the stairs to grab her trunk. 

  “Thanks,” she said- but then he slid the trunk down the walkway till it hit the far end, and let himself into the room, smirking like a cat.

  Angela cursed under her breath and stormed off after her luggage. By the time she made it into the room, Mark was sitting cross-legged on the bed, smiling that awful sharp-toothed grin. 

  “Don’t worry darlin’,” he drawled, “the couch is real comfy.”

  Angela flipped him off. “I drove, I get the bed.”

  “Ah, but see, Angel, one of us is on the bed, and one of us isn’t…seems to me that person’s you,” Mark said, shrugging. 

  “Mark Jennings, I don’t have to take you with me- I can still call the fuzz, you know, and they’ll be really thrilled to have you-”

  “But you won’t,” Mark said, smugly. “I know you won’t.”

  Angela seethed. “Why shouldn’t I?!”

  “You won’t,” Mark hummed, stretching out on the bed. “G’night, Angel.”

  “You- ugh!” Angela shrieked. She kicked the bed as hard as she could, and went into the bathroom with her bag, slamming the door.

  “Okay, go pout, princess,” Mark said, muffled by the door. 

  Angela scowled. “I ain’t! I’m changing, you dick!”

  “Su-ure,” he said, laying the sarcasm on thick. Angela bit her tongue to keep from screaming. 

  She took a deep breath. It was gonna be okay. She just had to travel with him till they stole a new car, and then it’d be good riddance, and she’d never have to see him again.

  She set her bag down on the faux-marble counter, and pulled off her shirt and skirt. She dug out an old silky slip dress instead, and tugged it on over her bra- she wasn’t gonna be braless around Mark Jennings.

  The slip was longer than it was meant to be, as it was a hand-me-down from her friend, tall ol’ Evie Peterson. Back before Evie went to college, she’d let Angela raid her closet. 

  Angela smiled at the thought, smoothing the slip over herself. She missed Evie…Evie and her stupid happy endings. Evie got out of Tulsa a year ago, with a partial scholarship to ASU and a pretty boyfriend to boot. (Back in the day, Sylvia and Angela ragged on him nonstop, because he was shorter than Evie, dumb as rocks, and had crooked teeth. Well, next to Mark Jennings, Bryon Douglas, Ricky Corrigan, and all the other awful boys Angela had been around since, Steve Randle was starting to look like a real prince charming.)

  She sighed, brushed her teeth, and closed her bag. She didn’t bother washing off her smudgey faded makeup. She didn’t particularly care to impress Mark, and more importantly, she just didn’t have it in her to. She fluffed her hair a bit, still sad about it, although it did look good.

  Angela emerged from the bathroom and set the trunk down, curling up on the couch. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t that good either. She could feel a spring sticking into her back.

  “G’night,” Mark hummed, buried under the quilt, still in his jeans and cut-sleeves sweatshirt. He didn't bother brushing his teeth. Idiot. 

  He was a little guy- taller than her, sure, but everyone was- and on the big king-sized bed he looked tiny. Resentfully, Angela thought, we could have both fit on that damn bed and there’d still be a yard between us. She rolled her eyes. That was fine. She didn’t want to share a bed with Mark. 

 “Give me a blanket,” Angela said flatly. Mark tossed her a fuzzy throw blanket. It didn’t quite reach her feet. She would have argued more, but tonight, she was tired, so she just quietly wrapped it around herself and tried to fall asleep.

[janestvalentine]

I couldn't decide which tags I wanted to reblog this post with...so I decided to do all of them:

#rimi talks#like you can absolutely get into discussion of copaganda in comics and the authorial end editorial centrism, #because god knows a lot of comics (esp older ones) just absolutely REEK of performative activism or copaganda or what have you, #and there is definitely plenty to be said there, #but that's not what people saying this stuff are talking about 😭, #it's all just ''but i want the white man to kill a crowd of evil goons but it's fine bc none of their lives mattered bc they got in his way!, #and don't worry he was unquestionably right to have killed them and it was really cool and sexy of him to do so and also he was right'', #(now don't take this as me disagreeing that fictional murder can be sexy. of course it can. ive seen pamela isley.), #(but while i would call her sexy i would not call her RIGHT for being a murderous ecofascist yk), (x)

#'but you see this guy is making the world better by killing people, #bc he's only killing the really bad guys like the sex offenders and paedophiles and rapists', #buddy. please tell me which demographics are most likely to be accused of paedophilia and rape., #i cannot emphasise enough that if you go into superhero comics and then get annoyed bc the characters don't kill people, #maybe you just don't like superhero comics., #and also i don't like you., (x)

#LITERALLY, #also: ever heard of the brutalizing effect? there’s really conflicting evidence about whether execution BY THE STATE even ‘works’, #as a deterrent against crime, #(and is in practiced applied really racistly but anyway), #and ur telling me u want VIGILANTES to kill their enemies???? like now uve created a norm where superheroes can kill villains without, #due process and now both villains and goons are NAWT going to surrender peacefully to superheroes bc theyll be scared of. yk. GETTING THEIR, #HEAD CHOPPED OFF, #wait sorry that’s not even the main mechanism behind the brutalizing effect i was just also saying that would also fuck up superhero’s MAIN, #priority: um? fucking making the streets safer? if the villains are worried about their safety after getting defeated then they’re gonna go, #even more all out before going out #anyway brutalizing effect is when the people who will commit violent crimes are NOT deterred by executions of convicted felons, #bc they don’t identify with the convicted felon they identify with the executioner, #also. obvi. parallels to police brutality if superheroes killed., #but even besides that like why would superheroes want to create a norm of killing. they would not want to normalize killing., (x)

#yeah‚ this! precisely this is such a succinct and effective wording of this exact problem, #like. doing the above is/would be no different to watching every movie billed as a chick flick hoping for a bodice ripper, #yeah if you try hard enough you'll find what you're looking for a couple of times, #but you've fundamentally misunderstood what it is this genre can do for you. congrats you missed the thesis, #go read jack reacher number three hundred and four or smth, (x)

#people who act like its bad that batman realises the value in every humans life, #like be so fr, #yeah jokers awful but why do you only put the blame on batman, #what about the gcpd's role or the legal system not sentencing him the death penalty? thats the real reason jokers alive after all he's done, #but sure blame the vigilante, #why do you want your superheros to be murderers? the people that kids are supposed to look for as symbols of hope and justice?, #you want superheros... to be murderers., #think about that for a second, (x)

#it’s like going into a bakery and hating all the cakes there, #honestly i love the hardship that comes from those decisions of to spare not kill etc., #seeing how it takes a toll both physically and mentally on characters and yet they keep pushing through regardless, #it’s what made me realize i like Superman and Superboy tbh, (x)

people who go into superhero comics (the "heroes don't kill" genre, where (admittedly, often very flawed) discussion of the morality of taking a life and themes of lawfulness, vigilanteism, and redemption are like the entire foundations of the genre) and then get pissy about how they want edgier protagonists who kill their enemies. bro just go watch Generic Action Blockbuster #74821384

[all-pacas]

no one asked me but here's my non specific list of ten things i adore about cameron actually!!

her terrible sense of humor! she's actually so silly but her jokes only land about 30% of the time. "i'd make an excellent step-mom" "i'm being house, it's funny," sexually harassing chase at the coffee machine, she thinks she is so funny

sexually harassing chase at the coffee machine. eagerly asking him what the patient's girlfriend said about the sex. how excited she is to hit on house. her blatant hr violations. her deeply canon exhibitionism. a threesome every seven years is good for a marriage. she does all these things in an office setting. she is such a freak

how quickly and immediately she falls in love!! her refusal to be cynical and worn down despite her traumas, the way she reacts with defiance and pushes past her fears every time. the way the show keeps proving her wrong, her idealism never, ever pays off--but she never surrenders or becomes a cynic. she always tries again, falls in love again, reaches out again. she's not a pushover, she's defiant. she's stubborn. she's!!

cameron can be kind of tricky sometimes and even a little for-your-own-good manipulative, but she is so bad at scheming in a very specific and funny way. she always overplays her hand. she reads self help books and comes to work all "what do you think, eric?", she almost puzzles out the trick in the jerk but takes it one step too far and accuses chase, she's very good at seeing through house's games but she's too honest/straight-forward to really play them herself. it's so funny of her though. she WANTS to play 5d chess so bad but she is incapable of subtlety

her wardrobe choices!! how she is constantly changing her look, how when she's dean for a week she dresses like cuddy, how the glimpses we see of her at-home wardrobe are girly and feminine compared to her strict business attire at work, how she takes the time to dress impeccably when she's stressed as hell. love when wardrobe is characterization

that cameron is willing to throw down with anyone at any time for any reason. deference to your boss? she's never heard of it. she's fought with house, wilson, cuddy, foreman, patients, probably the entire new team offscreen,

her insane martyrdom. how she has convinced herself it's her job to suffer on behalf of everyone, like, cameron, are you okay (she is not okay).

she is the most unreliable narrator on the planet. very girlboss of her. she doesn't tell house she likes him, she tells house he likes her. she is an atheist who constantly spouts off the most "god is loving and must be thanked" platitudes. she claims she was deeply in love with her dead husband but never says or implies one good memory. she gets so upset when she dumps chase, after two months of refusing to let him out of her sight, because he dared imply she had feelings for him. she's so funny

that she got out. like the show is 80% worse with cameron gone and i hate they wrote her off, but i love that she was able to recognize how toxic and insular things had gotten, how corrupting house is, and just... leave. especially since she's always struggled with letting go, with leaving, with closure. i still wish she'd stayed

her little moments where she's a smug know it all!! they're so funny. whenever she tries to flex on the new team (or more rarely the old) and she has this spring in her step, girl just wants to be in charge and the smartest and the best. i love her control freak tendencies and her mess and her silliness and how she does everything at 108%, from fighting people to patient care to love to running for the hills. she has never heard the word restraint and she NEVER SHOULD

[licncourt]

As the resident Louis lover, do u have any headcanons/thoughts about him that u just haven’t shared? I love him and u always have good thoughts :)

My gross baby I love to talk about him always!! I've been rereading parts of IWTV and I am more lost than anyone has ever been in the sauce so perfect timing

He’s weirdly unphotogenic?? Candid photos are great but as soon as he sees a camera he looks like one of those bald eagles from the front pictures. This is huge for Lestat though, he likes to take bad pictures of his husband so much

Lestat and Armand know Louis’ original family name from digging around in his brain and when they want to get a rise out of him, they mention it. Louis won’t admit it, but it bothers the hell out of him that his background is non-aristocratic so at least he can use de Pointe du Lac to make sure everyone knows he’s a Very Important Landowner. He may not be from a noble line but he’s not A Poor :/

He’s a big plant guy and keeps a mini fridge with just milk in it for polishing the leaves. No one is doing bonsais like him

He really from the bottom of his heart enjoys being hot. He’s able to be casual about it because he’s never experienced being ugly, but if he was suddenly disfigured or got old he would crumble psychologically

In the same vein, he knows the effect he has on other people and he’s totally fine with using it to get what he wants when intellectual means fail. It irks him to not be taken seriously, but if being sweet, innocent, beautiful Louis is what’s necessary sometimes, well.…Being underestimated got him ahead in business and it gives him a great deal of freedom in vampire society. Who else would have gotten away with murdering an entire coven of vampires or giving a published interview in the first place?

If he does an actual, real, big smile there are dimples…..allegedly….you can’t prove it in court though :/

He says he hates slasher films but that’s a lie, it’s more like putting an alcoholic in a bar. He finds the blood spraying and splattered guts incredibly hypnotic and it makes him tweak a little bit so he just pretends that they’re too low brow and exploitative of human suffering or whatever. Ignore the drooling and giant unmoving pupils, that’s nobody’s business…

He still misses his sister and gets the sudden urge to tell her about something/buy something he thinks she would like. Sometimes he buys it anyway to remember her

His fangs are kind of blunt (for a vampire at least) and not quite as long as they should be because of his hunger striking early on in his turning. All his victims get kind of chewed on with his vampire childhood malnutrition teeth and it’s very messy

He helps with tasks in much the same way that dogs “help” with tasks by just kind of standing in the way. He doesn’t know how to accomplish anything for himself in a household so Lestat is always the one doing the doing stuff a with tall, beautiful obstacle tripping him

[clementine-writes-things]

MacCready Headcanons (SFW)

A/N: My headcanons are always really long and detailed bc I love making them. So, sorry if this one is really long. I love MacCready.

Personality:

He is smart when it comes to survival, but not when it comes to robotics or science. In situations like that, he's the equivalent of a drooling baby.

Super sarcastic. He tends to "lighten" tense situations with humor. He'll see a group of raiders/super mutants/etc and say shit like "Oh, well here comes the welcome wagon!"

Even though he is only 22, he has been through a lot of shit. Because of this, he isn't easily trusting of others, and he is very reserved. He is always suspicious of people until they give him a reason not to be.

MacCready isn't really arrogant, but he knows he's dangerous. He knows he's a good shot. If someone pisses him off, he'll inform them of this fact by subtly revealing the pistol on his hip.

"Wanna watch your tone?"

Once you further your friendship/relationship with him, he'll become more and more comfortable with opening up, and he'll show concern/care for you more. However, if you aren't that close, he simply does not give a fuck.

He's not insanely tall (5'10), but he's still intimidating when in his presence. It's hard to explain, but his "resting face" is piercing. It's like he's staring into your soul...

He's very desensitized to death because he saw so much when he ran with the gunners, but he hates seeing people in pain.

He's horrible with small talk, tells terrible jokes, and can be an asshole (though, he doesn't mean to be)

When you get close with him, he can be pretty protective. It's sad, but ever since Lucy, he's felt like a failure for not being able to save her. So, whenever there is an opportunity to help you, he jumps at it.

Once your relationship is strong, he doesn't like it when you travel without him. It's not because he's jealous, but because he's worried something bad will happen when he's not with you. He doesn't want you to end up like Lucy...

HUGE piner. The more he travels with you, the more he grows fond of you. He'll find himself thinking of you, even if you're not with him.

He'll hear a song on the radio and think "this reminds me of them"

This man is extremely violent when he needs to be. He'll threaten people, and his threats are ALWAYS promises. He isn't afraid to kick someone's ass, especially if they are a piece of shit.

Hobbies:

Collects comics. Specifically, Grognak The Barbarian. He knows everything about them and nerds out if he finds a comic.

When he isn't traveling with you, he chills at a settlement and listens to Diamond City radio while modifying his weapons.

Because he was a farmer for a little while, he likes to tend to crops in his free time. It reminds him of Duncan and Lucy.

He taught himself how to read back in the Capital Wasteland, and he'll occasionally read old books he finds.

Random:

He literally hates Radroaches so much. They make him so uncomfortable. Gags whenever he sees one.

His favorite colors are mossy green and sunset orange.

Believe it or not, he actually takes care of himself. He bathes (when he gets an opportunity), brushes his teeth when he can find toothpaste, and brushes his hair everyday.

Misses Little Lamplight so much. Sometimes, if he's at a settlement, he'll sleep in a cave near it, or sleep with blankets covering his head to mimic the darkness.

Random Things He'd Say/Do:

(Sees a tripwire, nearly activating the trap. He clutches a hand to his chest.) "My heart just fell to my as-, uh...let's keep going..."

(Stops walking to look at a bird, eyes narrowing.) "Think it'd taste good?"

(Stubs toe and bites on his tongue. Instead of cussing, he lets out a shaky breath, putting his head against the wall.) "Ouch."

(Y/n trips, making MacCready roll his eyes.) "Jesus, stay aware of your surrou-" (Trips and faceplants.)

(Y/n and MacCready are at a trading outpost. It's clear that the trader is trying to swindle y/n. MacCready takes a drag from his cigarette, pointing it at the trader.) "You want me to snuff this out in your eye, dude? Stop dicking around with us."

[lady-griffin]

I don’t hate the flashback scene but I also don’t love it; describing it as feeling sugary and excessive really sums up some of my problems with it.

If I was doing that scene, without completely rewriting or removing it – I would have made it less of a flashback and more of memory.

Have things be disjointed or non-real elements included; Vander’s memories have been torn up again and again and again but Vi calling his name was enough for him to put them together and be cognizant enough to be himself again... but those memories are still broken up. It’s not 100%.

Some possible thoughts - having flickers of other people being in the bar too (making it feel more like a community and not just three best friends) and then it just becomes Vander, Silco, and Felicia because those two are who he tried so hard to remember.

Maybe we see the mom dancing with the dad, but he keeps flickering in and out and disappears altogether because Vander wasn’t desperate to remember him as much when he was being experimented on by Singed; but Felicia and Silco, his girls, his kids – he clung to those memories so they're more solid for him, but even they’re not perfectly remembered, because he literally can't.

Maybe young Silco keeps appearing with his eye after the river or the barnacle version of him creeps through for a second or two.

Just adding some more angst to Vander’s whole story, because I’m a sucker for emotional pain.

Look I'm not saying that's the answer or whatever, but for me that flashback would’ve been more impactful if it was less this is how things exactly were and more this is how Vander remembers things.  

One of the reasons Isha’s montage of her life with Jinx destroys my heart is because its Isha’s perception of things; it’s not just a montage of flashbacks, but instead it’s just...

Isha’s love for Jinx and her life with her.

- -

I also think the flashback creates an unintentional slight problem with motivation (it’s not major or anything), but it irks me there is an aspect of Vander and Silco fighting for Zaun and independence being because of Felicia’s kids and not “just” for the sake of getting out from underneath their oppressor’s boot.

Don’t get me wrong, people are motivated for personal stakes all the goddamn time and I’m not against that at all

               But it just seems like the writers thought there needed to be an additional layer for why they were fighting for Zaun when that alone is pretty solid by itself. Sure, Felicia having kids wasn’t the start or anything, but it just feels unnecessary to me, and not unnecessary in a good way where it fills out the world a tiny bit more.

Like others have said, if anything it makes the world feel more claustrophobic.

I get annoyed when "everything" is connected in a meaningful way from the very start rather than things becoming meaningful over time. Not everything has to be deeply connected or tied together to matter.

Personally, I’m a huge fan of really any kind of relationship where the individuals mean the world to each other but that wasn’t always the case nor was it inevitable or fated to be.

Does that make sense?

It’s not bad, but for me, there’s such a difference of Vander always loved Vi and Powder from the start because they were Felicia’s girls versus Vander knew these two girls and liked them just as much as any other kid running around Zaun, perhaps a bit more, but after he took them in, they were no longer kids of one of his supporters and friends, they became HIS girls, HIS children.

One of the reasons I loved Silco and Jinx’s relationship in S1 was that we literally saw Silco not caring for this little girl at all, like the only reason he would’ve remembered killing her is because of everything else that happened that night and Vander’s corpse being a few feet away to Jinx becoming the most important person to Silco, her being someone he truly loved and deeply cared about, to the point that she became vastly more important to him than his life-long dream of Zaun.

S1 started with Zaun being worth everything to Silco, no price was too high, no act crossed the line, if the end was Zaun than the means were more than justified and then S1 ended with nothing being worth Jinx for him; Zaun was meaningless if Jinx wasn’t there next to Silco.

And look Silco knowing and caring about Felicia doesn’t really change that, because clearly Silco doesn’t love Jinx because of Felicia, since he was 1000% ready to murder Vi without a second thought, but yeah...

I don’t have a problem with things being connected, sometimes it’s great, but I also think there are far too many stories where that wasn’t needed at all.

The flashback didn’t ruin anything for me, but it did...

I guess dull things a bit.

^^^ This “criticism” often comes at the expense of details in the scene they laud so highly.

Vi and Powder approach a burly man beating someone up without fear in a setting where any normal person would be terrified to meet someone who might do them harm.

They approach him and point to themselves, indicating they’re looking for their parents.

Vander ACKNOWLEDGES their gesture and points to their parent’s dead bodies. Meaning not only do they know he’s someone they can trust, but that he KNEW who they were and who their parents were.

The “revelation” in season 2 that Vander knew them doesn’t change the way this scene plays out in the opening. It’s clear as day that they aren’t just some random kids he adopts. He KNEW them. They knew HIM. That’s all shown in the opening scene.

I do not understand where this wishful misinterpretation comes from.

[lotus-pear]

finally started p5 royal ‼️‼️‼️‼️

expect some royal trio art soon they are my dearly beloveds (minus akechi i hope he dies in this reality too)

[pepperpixel]

SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS,

BUT HE HATES WHEN I ACT CRAZY,

IT TAKES TWO TO TOXIC!

FINALLY!!! Finished these pics of jinx I’ve been working on!!!!! HOLY SHIT, these took so long…. But finally… they’re done… pls enjoy this art of my beautiful princess w a disorder. Featuring alternate colors for the big pic and also a closeup! Cuz I rlly like how both the lines and coloring on her face turned out… like the pink gradients w her eye… her deer in headlights expression,, like uve just startled a raccoon digging thru ur trashcan and r two seconds away from getting mauled.. m proud of it!

[ifistayitwillbedouble]

hey, i love ur arcane pfp!! it's cool to see another byler/arcane fan lmao. i was also there for klance :/ and don't even get me started. like that was actually what kept me from fully believing in byler for years cuz it was just so bad. i kept telling myself to never fully hope for queer rep until i saw it just 'cause it didn't seem to matter how bad the writing would be or if it didn't make sense for the characters to not get together, the writers/executives could just not do it anyway. but it was lowkey kinda depressing thinking that way :/

but byler was the first time that i really ever broke out of that and it seems like u and i might have been in like the exact same position lmao so if you want, i can try and tell u what changed my mind.

ultimately it wasn't any of the theories or the textual evidence even though that was SO good. it was kinda like i just needed to believe that the writers were going to act like writers without letting homophobia get in the way, then i could believe all the analyses on writing tropes and all the logical arguments i saw.

so the biggest thing to me is that the duffers and their team say they care about uplifting minorities and outcasts and while they've done that before, they also seem to do it on a deeper level than other shows that i've seen queerbait. plenty of other shows say they want to do that stuff and then crash and burn spectacularly at it *cough cough* voltron *cough*.

like even for voltron, besides klance, they also had weird mentions of race where it was kind of joked about and whatnot. like it kinda felt like it was brushed off and not given much of a focus at all. but stranger things as a show is completely centered around minorities and outcasts and because of that the writers are specifically interested in them. like it actually gets taken seriously. one of my favorite examples is the bathroom scene with robin and steve. it isn't cliche or boring in the way a lot of mainstream shows write queer storylines (because they don't fully understand them or refuse to put in the time to). it specifically straightbaited the audience and reversed cliche tropes AND the writing?? was so much deeper than i've ever seen mainstream shows go?? the stuff about robin being obsessed with and yet hating steve because she wished the girls would look at her instead. like that's more complex and required way more effort from the writers than if they had just gone for "diversity points". it was something that resonated with a lot of queer people that i've talked to irl and online which is always a good sign. also there were a lot of people saying that it was robin's actor that decided to make robin a lesbian, and the actor actually came out and said that was a misunderstanding. the writers already had that and her coming out planned before!

okay so, this was where i started to have hope for queerness in ST because we have the evidence of a full scene/character that was done well, but it'd another thing entirely to have byler. they're like MAIN main characters and i love robin, but she hasn't been there since the beginning like they have. so they'd have to take another leap with bringing queerness to mike and will.

and they've already kinda done that with confirming will as gay and in love with mike which is wild, but it's what we got. that just leaves mike so then the question becomes, even though we have a lie keeping m*leven together (the painting lie), what if they just like,, sideline will and byler anyway?

but then i read the duffer brothers saying in an interview that will was a main character next season and that they wanted to use his "emotional arc" to tie up the whole show and i was like:

will byers! my boyyy!!! they're putting the spotlight on a character they just confirmed as gay and not only will he be relevant for plot reasons, but they're also gonna heavily focus on his emotional arc?? which for the entirety of the last season was about how much he loved mike and how much it hurt him to push mike towards el?? so they're gonna tie up that emotion? that's the setup with will we get before we get his main character emotional arc in the final season?

they just care way too much about will, who they had planned to be gay and have "sexual identity issues" from the beginning, and pay way too much attention to him for me to think that they're planning on doing him dirty. they chose to focus on his love for mike all of s4 and then to make him a main in s5 (and they've chosen to have the painting lie "pay off"). they didn't have to choose that, but they chose to. all the other queerbaits i've seen never put in the time/effort/care into the sexualities of their characters like they have with will.

anyways, there's a bunch of other small things that i've seen that helped give me even more hope, but this post is getting super long already (sorry about that!). i just wanted to sort of walk through what i went through and it ended up being a lot to explain :')

byler would also be a seriously failing queerbait if it was meant to be a queerbait, ngl. the whole point of queerbaits is to be profitable and dangle smth the audience wants in front of them to do so, but byler is so controversial. if they wanted a good queerbait they could've just gone for steddie or even stonathan (i mean the actors literally kissed for a video before lmao) or at least smth that didn't threaten m*leven which many ppl still see as the "main ship", but they chose byler instead

also, the duffer brothers have said that they've had a large portion of the show planned from the beginning and that they lied to netflix about it appealing to a general audience to get it greenlit. from what they've said, it seems like the intended audience was never the general audience we have today and that was more of a happy(?) accident

Hello old friends!! Been a lot time since I’ve made a byler post.

I can’t believe I’m saying this but I have byler doubt yall. I don’t have doubt in us, like I know our analyzing and theorizing and everything is correct and I know that byler makes logical sense. But I have doubt in the writers actually having the balls to do it. Like this is a show that spends a lot of time on their straight romances and love triangles, it’s marketed towards a general audience (most being straight people), and even though their writing sucks, m*leven is at the center of a lot of the marketing. I mean a gay romance plot twist in the last season does sound kinda crazy in hindsight (although I do understand the decision to make it subtle until the last season to ensure the show’s survival). I just don’t know if I can see two presumably straight(?) men willingly pissing off half their audience to make the gays kiss. Don’t get me wrong, I want it to happen. Like a lot. I’ve basically built my whole acc off of it. But idk. I’ve seen destiel and klance and every other queerbait ship and just can’t help but wonder if we’re falling into the same trap.

So anyway. Reply or reblog to help bring my confidence back. Or don’t, idk. Maybe it’ll be better to go in with lower expectations so I don’t have the entire show ruined for me, but believing is so fun yknow?

[brionysea]

if stranger things 5 comes out and they're like 'omg! the upside down has been a product of someone's dark and twisted mind this whole time! it's... WILL!' I'll immediately lose interest