#i think this is the longest thing ive ever posted

[craqueluring]

lets talk about dracula

TLDR: in both hannibal and dracula, 'man' and 'monster' are uncomfortably similar. the repulsion that 'man' has in response to this grey area is a part of what compels them to attempt to separate themselves from the monster in some way. the only way they actually succeed at this is in complete annihilation of the monster. despite this, their attempts at separation only blur the lines even further between them as the 'men' act increasingly like 'monster' in order to separate them, which is an obvious contradiction. a large part of the horror of both dracula and hannibal is the fact that the line between monster and non-monster becomes blurred. this is not only in that the monsters, hannibal and dracula, look human, but also because the humans can act like the monster, can lose themselves in this, and, eventually, like will, can consciously Become the monster.

i have three main parts to this:

similarity between man and monster

consequent impulse of man to separate self from the monster. the only way to do this is annihilation of the monster

in the attempts at separation, man and monster become even more similar

prepare for a long post <3

1. similarity between man and monster

in both dracula and hannibal, the characters are able to recognize their humanity in the monster in some way. the monsters look human, physically, and can blend in with humans, but they are far enough from humanity to be termed 'monsters.' alana says to hannibal in 3x08:

“You've long been regarded by your peers in psychiatry as something entirely Other. For convenience, they term you a monster.”

and not only can the monsters imitate humans, but the humans can imitate monsters. 

johnathan harker, a main character in dracula, watches dracula disturbingly crawl down the castle wall, and asks “What manner of man is this, or what manner of creature is it in the semblance of a man?” effectively, he is asking 'is dracula a man that is insane, or is he something entirely other that just looks like a man?' in this harker is" [repulsed] by his recognition of humanity in Dracula’s appearance and animalistic behavior."

despite this repulsion, he mimics dracula in the very behavior he was repulsed by in his attempts to escape and explore the castle

"While Harker loathes the “vision of otherness in human shape,” at the same time it helps him to “briefly expand his awareness of his own potential elasticity,”...(Auerbach 89). Although Harker remains disgusted by Dracula’s ability to impersonate humanity while retaining animalistic mannerisms, he nevertheless imitates the vampire’s environmental adaptability and expands his own capabilities. The interchangeability between the two existing beings creates apprehension not only of Dracula’s ability to pass as human, but also, if not more so, of Harker’s identification with Dracula" (x)

this directly parallels will's ability to imagine himself as the killers he investigates. although will and harker are repulsed by the behaviors of the 'monster' in question, they nevertheless mimic it. i will expand on this later.

so, the monsters look human. the monsters can act human. the men can act like the monsters. this grey area makes the men very uncomfortable. 

2. consequent impulse of man to separate self from the monster. the only way to do this is annihilation of the monster

"This concept of [repulsive] recognition with an alien being underlines the entire novel, as Harker and the other male characters continue to reassert a form of difference between themselves and the vampire. Ultimately, their only way to clearly distinguish themselves from the abhorrent vampire is to annihilate Dracula completely" (x)

jack, alana, and will all continually attempt to stop hannibal by trying to imprison him, catch him, ignore him, etc. a large part of their motivation for this is either on the basis of morals and/or revenge, but i think a part of it could also be, like the characters in dracula, their trying to distinguish themselves from hannibal in reaction to such a repulsive monster being so close to humanity.

one of will's attempts to separate himself from hannibal in the face of this uncomfortable similarity/recognition with a monster is when he pulled a knife on hannibal in the uffizi gallery in 3x06 dolce. as chiyoh says in 3x05:

"If you don't kill him, you are afraid you will become him."

obviously will does not succeed. hannibal is imprisoned, but he is still not stopped. hannibal literally volunteers himself to be imprisoned to jack, which completely negates jack, alana, and will's goal of imprisoning hannibal as a way to separate themselves from hannibal. he is in the back of will's head for years: "[i am] where you always know where to find me," always tempting him to take a step towards Becoming. hannibal antagonizes alana in their talks, he is studied in the psychiatric journals. he is still there and he is still a monster that is uncomfortably similar to a man, or a man that is uncomfortably similar to a monster.

like in dracula, eventually, the only way jack, will, and alana can truly distinguish themselves from hannibal is by killing him. 

hannibal is not killing or doing harm in prison. they have him. he cannot do anything. unless he figures out some way to escape, he will never do anything harmful again. there is no real, pressing necessary reason to kill hannibal. and yet, will, jack, and alana plan to do just that in 3x13 TWOTL. a part of the reason i think they do this is because of the uncomfortable recognition of humanity in the monstrous human or humanoid monster that is hannibal. will, though, either no longer desires to be separated from hannibal or cannot be separated from hannibal, so he dies with hannibal.

in dracula, 

"The vampire hunters’ mission can be interpreted as a quest to eliminate the grey area where men and animals merge in a kind of monstrous coexistence." (x)

just as the characters in dracula feel compelled to separate themselves from dracula, jack, will, and alana feel compelled to separate themselves from hannibal. and, in both, the only way this happens is with the annihilation of dracula/hannibal. in hannibal, will is unable to separate himself from hannibal, so he is annihilated alongside hannibal.

semi-TLDR: okay, so it has been established that the line between man and monster is blurred by both. the monsters look human. the humans can mimic monsters. the humans hate this grey area and the similarities between them, and they want to separate themselves from the monster in some way. this is only achieved in complete annihilation of the monster

3. in the attempts at separation, man and monster become even more similar

despite men being repulsed by the grey area between them and monster, not only do they mimic the monsters, but in their attempts at separation, this imitation becomes more frequent and necessary, and the lines between them blur even further. so, while trying to distinguish themselves from the monster, they only become more similar.

in my opinion, the main way the characters in dracula distinguish themselves from him is actually not simply because they are not vampires. i think the main way the characters separate themselves from dracula is their christian religious values. after dracula attacks her, mina is cursed to become a vampire if she dies, and she is burned by the religious ritual they try to do to her. despite mina's almost-vampirism, she remains consciously religious, and is a decidedly 'good', and human, character. renfield is a human, and yet his worship of dracula rather than god contributes to his being closer to monster than man. so, religion, and therefore behavior, is the main way the characters in dracula separate themselves from dracula

as the characters try to distinguish themselves from dracula on the basis of their christian religion and religious behavior, and also non-animalistic behavior, in direct contradiction of this, they are forced to bend their religious beliefs and act in animalistic ways. 

as for simply behavior, harker imitates dracula in order to separate himself from dracula by mimicking him crawling down the castle wall (in "lizard fashion") while trying to escape. 

as for religion, mina is a big part of this. despite mina literally being burned by the sacred wafer, she is still accepted by the men, and her connection to dracula is the reason they are able to find dracula and kill him. in their attempts to separate themselves from dracula, the characters must accept an almost-vampire who was burned by a religious ritual as human and 'good' in order to annihilate something of the devil. the lines only become more blurred between man and monster as they attempt separation.

in hannibal, i feel the main way the characters distinguish themselves from hannibal is their dedication to law enforcement. the beginning of the show makes this separation very clear: hannibal is a criminal, and the other characters are working with the fbi. of course, they are also not serial killers or (willingly) cannibals, but this is all on the basis of their morals which align with and rest heavily on the law.

as jack, will, and alana attempt to separate themselves from hannibal (because hannibal is acting illegally and is a criminal, and they are acting legally and are law enforcement), they, in direct contradiction of this, must break the law, and bend their morals.

will is the first to attempt to separate himself from hannibal because he was the first one to realize what hannibal was. in prison, his lawfulness bends when he sends matthew brown to kill hannibal. he bends (and therefore blends with hannibal) even more while trying to 'maintain his cover' to catch hannibal when he kills and mutilates randall tier and willingly engages in cannibalism with hannibal. in will's attempts in season 2 to separate himself from hannibal, he only contradicts what once distinguished him from hannibal so clearly.

jack and alana aren't driven to do this until the end of season two when they realize what hannibal is. in their desperation, they directly disregard the law embodied by kade prurnell, and jack goes to kill hannibal himself in mizumono, completely extra-legally, and alana follows. 

will, jack, and alana trying to kill hannibal extra-legally rests almost completely on their personal feelings, and not directly the law like before. this is exactly what hannibal does: kill people who he thinks deserve to die. they do this as well. will, jack, and alana are forced to imitate hannibal in order to separate themselves from hannibal.

by season three, will, jack, and alana are have all contradicted the values (the law) that once so clearly separated them from hannibal. they are barely even associated with law enforcement anymore. 

recall the clearly-cut beginning of hannibal: law enforcement vs. serial killer. by season three, the line between them is not only blurred. it is barely even there.

alana works with mason verger, 'facilitating torture and death,' completely extra-legally. jack assaults hannibal and literally almost kills him in florence with his bare hands. not to mention alana and margot killing mason verger in digestivo because hannibal said he would take the blame for it. literally doing something hannibal would do. 

it is continually said that the main point of hannibal's murders and manipulations is theater. in 3x04, alana says

"You're preparing the theater of Hannibal's death. I'm just doing my part to get him to the stage"

alana is the one preparing the theater of death now. not just hannibal. again, becoming more like him as she tries to annihilate him.

in the wrath of the lamb, will, jack, and alana (again, completely extra-legally) plan to kill both the dragon and hannibal together. 

at this point, they are completely dissociated from what once so clearly separated them from hannibal. this is plainly communicated by the reoccurring sentiment that jack, alana, and will have died in some way after mizumono:

in primavera 3x02:

"You [Will] are already dead, aren't you?"

and in digestivo 3x07

"You're dead, Dr. Bloom"

"Oh, Mason. We all are. Didn't you know?"

i don't think i need to explain how this connects to vampirism, lol.

not only they are completely disconnected from what once made them 'human/alive', but, again, they are doing what hannibal, the monster, does. they are planning to murder people who they personally think deserve death, bending their morals to allow torture, murder, etc. in their minds, they think that this is justified because of hannibal's actions, and, honestly, most people would probably agree. (and there is a whole other conversation about vigilantism to be had concerning this) but fundamentally, hannibal does the exact same thing. except his bar for 'someone who deserves death' is a lot lower.

in their attempts to destroy hannibal, they only become more like him.

"Nonetheless, the violent destruction of the vampires proves that, when turned from prey to predators, humans can be just as monstrous as the creatures they are determined to extinguish. Reason gives way to instinct; and science to sheer superstition. Deprived of their usual resources to assess and repress the monstrous menace, the characters rely on their most primitive impulses to destroy it. But, as we all know, vampires never die." (x)

i think this exchange between alana and chilton in the wrath of the lamb perfectly encapsulates this:

"You were never comfortable in your own skin, Frederick. You wouldn't be comfortable in Hannibal's."

"Are you?"

[atomicpirateperson]

so I realized that around this time of the year is already past my 1 year anniversary of being hyperfixated on Rob?? time flies

this is the timeline of how it happened according to some vague memories:

1. i happen to see some random video of The Rerun on like, YouTube I think

2. me: hmm i think that one eyed guy is giving some real gender envy– wait. oh no. its happening. he's the new Chosen One, isn't he

3. im not hyperfixated im not hyperfixated im not–

4. I AM SO FUCKING HYPERFIXATED I LOVE ROB FROM TAWOG HE MEANS EVERYTHING TO ME!!!!!!

5. rob is a major part of my life and my headspace now. i couldn't stop if I tried, because some part of my brain views him as an actual close friend, and therefore abandoning this hyperfixation would feel extremely cruel. i would never do that to him and therefore he will be my imaginary bestie/adoptive son forever. i will never grow out of it. i am perfectly okay with that

[foulfeast]

Ohhhh i now remember why i got shy about talking abt ocs

24/7 fear that someone will tell me my ideas are cliche/stupid/bad in some other and it will hurt more bc these are my own creations and not just fun and play

[unicornsaures]

ill forever adore going through my old sketchbooks because its like going through memories i never knew i had

[shastafirecracker]

THROWS MUG ON THE GROUND FLIPS THE TABLE AND THROWS THE TABLE AND COMPUTER OUT THE WINDOW

IT’S FINISHED MOTHERFUCKERRRRRR

[whoa-where-did-the-pancakes-go]

Forgot to mention that I finished my ela project that was due in November. Finally. Its 8,334 words.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Subconscious (Steve’s Story)

Summary: Steddie Canon compliant/fix-it fic paired with a corresponding story in Eddie’s POV, each chapter happens in tandem with the other. No matter what he does, no matter who he is with or what is happening in the aftermath of their failed battle with Vecna – Steve Harrington can’t stop thinking about Eddie Munson. He’s even begun to see him in his dreams…

(companion to this Eddie Snippet)

((Unbeta'd snippet from Chapter 02. I wasn't going to do another entire dream sequence, but this shows the difference between the stories in comparison to Eddie's version of the same dream. So this is super duper long. Not sorry. Steve's had a Day™ so he's already in need to a dream that's not a nightmare. Luckily for him this one is just jam-packed with nostalgia. The only parts of the snippet that might not make sense are 1. Joyce Byer's bought back her house, hence the Byer's family dinners. It's covered in the first chapter. 2. There's a conversation with Robin in Steve's kitchen that takes place and is referenced a few times in Steve's inner musings. 3. There's also references to the first dream with Eddie, which I have Eddie's version in a snippet that can be found [here], but I haven't posted Steve's version as a preview yet. See tags for CW/TW.))

—

When Steve dreams, he’s usually driving.

Nightmares always begin as something else. Running, hiding, breathing so harshly his throat feels scraped raw. He feels bites, he feels punches, sharp instruments about to cut into his skin or pull his fingernails out one by one, he feels his body thrown against a wall, or something cold and flesh-like wrapped tight around his neck until he thinks he’s going to pass out. Nightmares are always full of the fear induced fleeing for his life, for the lives of the ones he cares about.

But in this dream he isn’t driving. And he isn’t running. He’s walking.

He recognizes Hawkins like he would recognize the shape of his own hand, or the feel of walking around his house knowing where every turn is and which steps on the stairs creak. It’s instinctual, looking up to see a random suburban landscape and knowing for a fact it’s how the houses are laid out Northeast of Maple Street. He knows the trailer park is just behind him, he knows that if he keeps following this road it will take him around town, past the rows of cookie-cutter houses, and into the woods where the Byers house resides. Further on the outskirts of town. If he was in his car, he could be there in 20 minutes.

But he’s walking along the empty street. His car is nowhere in sight, and oddly that feels okay. He’s not worried about it. Up ahead of him, he can see the kids messing around on their bikes, and Steve suddenly knows without a shadow of a doubt that they are going to Mrs. Byer’s house. The one she shares with Hopper, now, and with all of them on any given day of the week. The kids are taking their sweet time, jumping the curb and circling back slowly – he’s almost pleasantly surprised, thinking they are waiting for him.

Then Max speeds past him on her skateboard, and Steve forgets how to breathe for a second.

Max.

She looks over her shoulder at him, a smile escaping her despite every effort to smother it, red hair pushed back by the early evening breeze and mocking him with a tongue stuck out. Then she’s with the boys, schooling their asses on her skateboard even though they could leave her in the dust with their six speeds. They wouldn’t, though, and if Steve hadn’t already been walking he probably would have stopped at the sight. Only the momentum of one foot in front of the other keeps him moving.

He’s missed seeing her with the kids. Seeing her keeping them in line and on their toes, her presence was grounding, and the boys greet her like she had never been missing at all. Like she hasn’t spent every day of the past three months in a hospital bed, with no change and eyes closed. Lost in a dreamless sleep. (He hopes.)

No, he wouldn’t think about that now. Not with the sight in front of him. This… this was how it should be. The sun setting on Hawkins, all of them rounding themselves up and then heading to the one place they are allowed to be themselves. All parts of them, good and bad, strong and damaged. No one left behind.

“Harrington!”

That makes him stop. Steve suddenly doesn’t know how to move his feet. He turns and looks back towards the trailer park, hands in his letterman jacket pockets, and watches Eddie Munson jog up to him. Smiling, whole, as suitable to the late summer evening as anything ever has a right to be. He fits, in his ripped denim and metal band T-shirt, blues and pinks and purples of the sky making him stand out starkly.

“Munson,” he greets, smiling back and it feels more fond than it should. As if they’ve been friends for years, and not days. As if he’s always around to join them on their walk to the Byer’s place. Always around for Family Dinners.

Like he should be.

Steve teases him about it, because even in the dream it feels like Eddie has never been to those pushed together second-hand dining room tables in the backyard. Never been there to help pass food around, or fight the kids for the best hamburger patties, or chuck potato chips across the table to make his point about whatever he and the kids would argue about. Nerd stuff. Dungeons and Dragons. Steve wouldn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but he’d give anything in the world to be able to listen in. “I see you’ve decided to join us.”

“Yeah, well, I figured it was time for me to make an appearance in the land of the living,” Eddie shrugs at him, a handsome smile spread wide across his face. But his words make Steve’s insides go ice cold.

Always joking, even about his own fucking death. “That’s not funny.”

But Eddie cackles with laughter, like the madman he is, who just missed meeting his maker. “It’s a little funny. I almost died, man, let me own it.”

And God, it could be so easy. This would be the easiest conversation to have. It sounds so much like him, and Eddie is so much more vivid here than he is in the nightmares. His words are so authentic Steve isn’t even sure how his brain came up with them. ((This is a dream.)) he reminds himself. It’s only a dream, and dreams have to make some kind of sense if they are to continue. Steve doesn’t want to let go of this dream, with Max and Eddie there – where they should be. So he accepts Eddie’s easy quip, and tries to make himself believe that this is how it could be. Eddie almost died. But he didn’t. Maybe Steve had still done CPR, and maybe this time Eddie’s chest had started to move on its own, maybe he’d been able to help both Eddie and Dustin limp out of the Upside Down. Maybe he’d gotten the other man to a hospital.

Maybe Eddie Munson could have lived.

Maybe, instead of being the government’s scapegoat, they could have created a bullshit cover story like they had when Will ‘came back from the dead’, and he’d still be living in that shitty trailer park with his Uncle and bitching about trying to pass finals with Robin this year. Maybe this year could have been his year to graduate.

Maybe, just maybe… it could have all been so different.

They walk forever, it feels like. But Steve could have lived inside that moment for the rest of his days. He and Eddie talk shit about everything and nothing, the kids are up ahead but never so far that he can’t see them. Their voices trailing back down the street, Max’s laughter louder than all the rest. He doesn’t even remember the last time she laughed in the past year. Eddie is smiling at him, teasing him, pulls out a joint and lights it for Steve to take the first hit. Leaning in close and not caring about personal space in the slightest. It’s so easy. It’s so comfortable. It’s the best day Steve has had in weeks.

“So where are we going, again?” Eddie asks after what feels like hours. Steve has never thought of someone as such a weirdo in an affectionate way until a couple years ago. Dustin, Robin – of course, but Eddie has it in Spades. He owns it to the point that Steve can’t help but lean into it. Can’t help but think that only Eddie would walk for blocks and blocks with him without even asking where he was off to. Just along for the ride. Even though this particular evening was something that Steve had been wanting Eddie to be a part of for a long, long time.

Family Dinner. Mrs. Byer’s house; sweet little Mrs. Byer’s who barely came up to his shoulder and had more strength in her pinkie finger than half this damn town. She welcomes in everyone her boys bring home with open arms and big sympathetic eyes and an air about her that makes Steve think she must have been cool as fuck in high school. And the way she bossed Hopper around was a sight to see. They argued like an old married couple, even though there is some on-going inside joke about an unfulfilled date at that Italian place downtown. (Mostly because it’s not even there anymore, lost to the Upside Down. Steve had taken a few girls there back when his parents were funding his weekend excursions, it wasn’t cheap. And was not re-opening any time soon. So instead the two made spaghetti all the time and talked about Enzos like it had been a person they both knew.)

Eddie flips out when Steve mentions Hopper will be there, scrambling to put out the blunt and spitting saliva on the sidewalk like they would be able to smell it on his breath instead of all over his clothes and long hair. “You could have warned me! Fucking Hopper.” He says it with a smile, and Steve notices he doesn’t say ‘Officer Hopper’ or even ‘Chief Hopper’. Like he knew him before all of this.

“He’s not a cop, anymore,” Steve laughs, pausing their walk to let his hands hover near Eddie’s shoulder. The dork is putting the blunt out on the bottom of his high-tops and is not coordinated in the slightest to do so.

“Yeah but he’s busted my ass far too many times for me to show up at his HOUSE reeking of the devil’s lettuce,” Eddie says so matter-of-factly, and it sounds so genuine that Steve busts up laughing. His voice echoes down the street with it, Eddie watching him do so with a grin that’s a little more soft around the edges. “No joking, he would drag my ass to the back of his cruiser and scare the hell out of me driving past the police station. But he always took me home to Wayne, never booked me.”

“I get the feeling Hop never really booked a lot of us for things he should have,” Steve tells him, still laughing under his breath like he has the giggles, the vibration of them caught up in his chest and spilling out his mouth every few words. “He used to break up my house parties when I threw them, but it was always like… right at 10:00 at night. He let us have our fun, but never let it get out of hand.”

“No shit! I always thought those parties were short,” Eddie grins, glancing out into the night where the kids were still circling their bikes just out of ear shot. “In case you were too busy doing keg stands by the pool back then, I was the dealer set up in your kitchen selling blunts and baggies off to any passerby with a couple bucks on them.”

“Kinda hard to see when you’re upside down and chugging beer like oxygen,” Steve points out, but says it like an apology. He’d never known where the weed came from at his parties. It would just appeared out of thin air and in his hands like magic. Eddie nods along, understanding and not surprised. He’s not exactly a forgettable person, but the few times they’ve talked he always seems to think that he blends into the background. That it’s expected that Steve wouldn’t remember him at his house parties. The pang of guilt Steve feels is short lived, because Eddie glances at him with that twist of a smirk that should not be as handsome as it is.

“I also ate all your Oreos.”

“That was you?” Steve exclaims.

“Every time,” Eddie grins that shit-eating grin of his, not looking the least bit sorry. “I thought you were keeping them stocked for me! Your reputation as a host preceded you.”

“I hid them on the top shelf, by the wine glasses!”

“And I was set up in that little nook right by that cabinet, it was like my name was on them!” Eddie gestures widely as he speaks, moving his hands constantly in grand gestures that make it really hard for Steve to look away. He’d have to ask Robin if she’s ever seen Eddie in drama, he seems like he’d be good at it.

He pictures where Robin had been sitting in his kitchen just that morning, and realizes that’s the nook that Eddie was talking about. So it’s really easy for Steve to imagine Eddie there, instead, sitting on the counter with his container of oreos and his old-school metal lunch box full of blunts, dealing when the party was in full-swing. Holding court and maybe even telling people to back off if they asked for a cookie, pushing them back with his feet and doing that thing where he pretends to be more scary than he is.

“You’re something else, Munson,” he chides with no bite whatsoever. Steve hasn’t stopped smiling the whole walk, something like affection swelling up warmly inside him, and it probably has nothing to do with the weed. But it’s an easy thing to blame it all on.

The evening shifts not long after that; the rows and rows of suburban houses melt into trees that tower and stretch off into the distance, and the winding road comes to an end at the Byer’s place. It is a little one-story house half buried in leaves from the surrounding forest, but Hopper and Joyce have been hard at work getting it back into shape after the property being deserted for so long. It is a welcome sight, far more welcome than his own home has ever been; and Steve is so lost in the little details of it that he doesn’t realize Eddie isn’t walking next to him anymore.

“So this is your dream, is it?”

An ice cold sensation creeps into his chest, forcing Steve to stop and turn to look at Eddie. A good 15 feet back, hands in his jacket pockets, looking at the house like it’s something he’s not allowed to have. But it’s his words that strike to the heart of Steve’s confusion. ((Your dream.)) That’s what he said. But how could he possibly know…

“This. This is what we fought for?” Eddie asks, nodding to the house, the crowded driveway full of cars and bikes and the sounds of too many teenagers in the backyard (in the best of ways, not like Steve used to hear at his own home not so long ago). “No one is dead. Everyone is here. Family dinners.” It’s as if he’s reading Steve’s mind, because yes, yes that is what he wants. This is everything that they shouldn’t have, and can't seem to keep, no matter how hard they try to hold on to it – and he just wishes they could. That they didn’t have to try so hard to be happy.

“Yeah, Munson. This is it.” This is everything he’s ever wanted.

It’s the kind of evening dreams are made of, apparently. The watercolor sky gives way to darkness in a manner that doesn’t make his heart thump faster in fear. Stars poking through the inky indigo above them. Eddie is wide-eyed and nervous, but he’s here and whole and God that’s all Steve wanted. That’s all he’s wanted for weeks. Some days it feels like it’s eating him alive.

“...are you sure I should come in? I mean.” He gestures to himself, as if there’s something wrong with him on principle. Ripped skinny jeans and studded black leather belts, long hair and tattoos. Steve doesn’t think he’s felt this personally offended on someone else’s behalf in a long time. What kind of nonsense was Eddie on about now? Walking all the way here and not coming inside?

“Of course you should come in.”

He might have spoken a little more harshly than he intended, because Eddie’s gaze is avoiding him again. Steve can almost physically see the guy recoil and retreat into his natural defense mechanism. Make it a joke, over-exaggeration and all. He croons at Steve like the girls in high school used to, twisting a strand of hair in front of his mouth and swaying a little on the spot, ridiculous and owning it – asking if Steve would really miss him if he wasn’t there for dinner.

As if Steve hasn’t missed his stupid face every single day.

Yes, yes he fucking misses him. Steve can feel the space in the world that Eddie used to occupy, as if it was torn away violently and is still trying to heal.

He doesn’t know why Eddie doesn’t seem to understand that.

((This is a dream.))

And Steve is tired of not being able to say the words that have been screaming inside his head for months.

“It’s not right,” he grits out, shaking his head and he’s not mad at Eddie. But he can’t look away from him and he’s not entirely sure he’s controlling the expression on his face very well. “If you’re not here – with us. With me.”

Eddie’s not moving and hasn’t blinked, but his chest is still moving and he’s breathing a little heavier. Way to go, Harrington. Elaborate, dumbass. (Why does his inner voice always sound like Robin?)

“You…” fuck it all, he can’t stand to not talk about it anymore. “You died, Eddie. You actually died down there.” He’s moving towards Eddie, and thanks whatever lucky stars are making themselves known above them that Eddie isn’t backing up as he does. “...I did CPR on you forever trying to bring you back.”

He has no idea how long it really was. Chest compressions, counting out loud with every push, tilting Eddie’s head back just the right angle so when he pressed his mouth to Eddie’s blood-stained lips he could breathe air into his lungs and not his stomach. He was certified, but he’d never done it on a living person before, and Steve knows he had been a panicked mess. Doing chest compressions so hard he had been scared he was going to break one of Eddie’s ribs. But he did the maneuvers again, and again, and again with Dustin sobbing next to him and the others screaming at them through the radio that the gate was closing. Steve had never felt so hopeless as he had in that moment – because Eddie never drew another breath, and his dark eyes stared at nothing, and Steve wanted to curl up on the ground and cry but he couldn’t because Dustin wasn’t able to walk out of there on his own. He and Dustin never talked about it, but the kid had been near hysterical about not wanting to leave Eddie there on the ground, and really the only reason they made it out at all was because Steve had picked Dustin up and carried him out kicking and screaming – and also because Dustin stopped fighting him when he saw that Steve was crying, too.

He hates thinking about that night. It always comes back to him in vivid technicolor, but right now it’s… it’s not so bad, because Eddie looks genuinely shocked by Steve’s admission.

“You did?” he murmurs. And Steve does his best to not be offended, again. Did Eddie really think that they would just leave him for dead without doing absolutely everything they could to try and get him out of there? Did he think they wouldn’t try to save him?

Steve’s heart hurt as it beat hard against his ribs.

“Yeah, I did.” The dream is pressing in on him, it’s threatening to break apart – he can almost feel himself waking up. So he smiles at Eddie, and pretends just a little harder. Plays along. “Thank God, right?”

Because right now Eddie is still in front of him, so if Steve has to play the part to keep him there then he will. Steve can try and believe that all that CPR training hadn’t been for nothing, that he hadn’t failed both Eddie and Dustin in that field. That everyone had made it home.

Eddie holds up his hand, mind whirling behind his big dark eyes, and the grandiose gestures soothe Steve’s very being.

“You, gave me mouth-to-mouth.”

Well, when he puts it like that. Steve shrugs, plays it off as nothing strange. He was certified a couple times over. Lifeguard, Captain of Hawkins High Swim Team two years running. He just hopes the heat flushing up his neck doesn’t show on his face. Eddie doesn’t seem to be paying much attention, anyway, his awe-struck expression melting into disbelief as he cards his ringed fingers through his hair.

“Jesus Christ, Steve Harrington gave me the kiss of life and I wasn’t even awake to appreciate it.” Steve rolls his eyes at Eddie’s statement, rolls them so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t pull something. Like the novelty of ‘King Steve Harrington’ still held any weight anywhere in this fucking town. “My poor little gay heart, high school me would be devastated.”

“You’re still in High School,” Steve tells him on reflex, Eddie flipping him the bird, and the give-and-take of it all is so instinctual that Steve doesn’t really let anything process in real time. Eddie’s commentary is always so flippant and quick that it’s easy to not take it seriously. But he did hear Eddie, he heard every word, and very suddenly Steve feels like he’s back on the Starcourt bathroom floor with Robin and his world has tilted on it’s axis a bit.

My little gay heart

Gay.

Wait. Did he know about Robin? Did he know Steve knew about Robin, is that why he said it?

((Why is he thinking about Robin right now?))

“Wait – what did you just say?” Steve manages to get the words out, although his brain feels like it’s breaking apart a little bit.

And Eddie looks like he’s in the same boat, because he freezes and stares so wide-eyed at him that Steve worries for a second that they just broke the damn dream. Like a traveling carnival ride. He can’t even open his mouth to say Eddie’s name, or backtrack and tell him it’s cool, because like a flip of a lightswitch suddenly Eddie is moving and talking and his whole demeanor is somehow different than before.

“And that’s enough of this round of ‘Eddie Munson Opens His Big Fat Mouth’,” he laments, crossing the distance between them in seconds. His hands are on Steve’s shoulders, he’s so close Steve can smell the cigarette smoke and lingering marijuana and something that must be Eddie’s aftershave or shampoo. Steve about trips over his feet as Eddie pushes him backward, turns him, and traps him against the side panels of the BMW. Realistically, Steve should have pushed him back when it happened – too many nights thinking about the Russians man-handling him or Billy Hargrove beating in his face have made him skittish and defensive, but this was Eddie and how in the fuck did his brain know not to shove him away? He's not even panicking, not really.

When Eddie pushes him up against his own car, Steve doesn’t really think about anything at all… except the other guy’s hands. On his shoulders, steering him, like he’s done it before –

((Because he has.))

”C’mon Harrington. Go back to sleep.” "Harrington’s got her, don’t ya Big Boy?” ”Now you’re talking nonsense. Time for bed, big guy.” ”Just – just go back to sleep, Harrington…”

”You’ll forget all about this in the morning.”

Steve’s mind focuses, then, a metaphorical pair of binoculars adjusting inch by inch until the vision becomes clear. But he doesn’t focus fast enough for Eddie, who smiles in his face (standing so close), winks at him, and taps his cheek twice. The cold bite of those rings on Steve’s skin nearly jostles him into action. His hands were braced against his car to stay upright, now held tight to Eddie’s vest. The one he’d leant him, all those months ago. The one in Steve’s room, right now, that he can’t get rid of.

“Until next time, Harrington.”

((Next time? When was the first time?))

Wait…

He remembers, now.

—

Steve opens his eyes.

—

tbc

—

Series Snippets:

- Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

- Subconscious (Steve’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

[jtbb]

google am i on the aro spectrum or am i just a teenager

[ruairy]

.

[nomairuins]

caught myself being nostalgic for that damn podcast again. we need to kill connor !

[anemoiashifts]

why you should get off social media if you want to shift.

before you scroll away, i want to challenge all of you to read all of this. this is one of my longest blog posts ive ever made with over 1,000 words. if you can or can’t make it through the whole post, please let me know how far you’ve gotten in the comments below. you’ll get a surprise at the end 🥳 !

social media isn’t an inherently bad thing. however, outside & inside of the shifting community social media (specially tiktok) has been shown to effect our attention span. this shows in my comment sections on my longer tumblr posts that i also share on tiktok, such as this one, when people say things like “im not reading all of that” or “can someone summarize” also “what method should i use” and “why am i not shifting”.

let’s start with the basics of shifting. shifting attempts need some kind of focus; an affirmation, a visualization, some sort of task like counting. if you’re someone who struggles to focus, you will struggle to learn how to meditate or any hobby or task you’re tying to accomplish. all shifting methods are is a meditation. while no, you don’t need a method, I would make the argument learning how to meditate & focus your attention to what you are trying to manifest is an important part of shifting. if social media creates an instant dopamine reward without little effort, the appeal of shifting seems less. this is why i think a lot of people actually like thinking about shifting & creating content for it rather then doing it — because trying to shift requires some level of work without instant reward even if it’s as simple as laying down & setting intention.

if you try to shift & you wake up in your cr still, that isn’t as exciting when comparing it to the idea of shifting. rather, if you post an edit or a video about your dr you will receive a dopamine hit through video interaction (comments, likes, how social media platforms are set up in general). even maladaptive daydreaming can fall into this category to some. the interest in attempting to shift dies because we feel like we aren’t gaining anything from it when that’s not true. when laying down & attempting to shift, we are meditating & training the brain to focus on what we desire most: we’re correcting our attention span.

social media destroys the ability to focus & what we focus on & give our attention to allows room for that desire to grow, to become reality. if we’re always so overwhelmed with information & have so much to stress about, it’s important to recognize what we consume & how it effects our mood & mental health & how it can sometimes delay our manifestations. im not saying you have to be positive all the time, but we’re exposed to so much that it’s important to check in with yourself every once in a while. this can be where shifting content comes into play vs non shifting content. think demotivation, you don’t look for it, it just appears. & how many times have you opened tiktok to look something up to only be distracted by a completely unrelated video that automatically started playing ?

what i mean is people are telling you what shifting is, what works for them (which you could register subconsciously & believe that’s a step by step guide), rather then self discovery. people are telling you what shifting is, how to do it, what to think, what to script, what method you need to do, even if they say “this may not apply to everyone” because of how it’s being presented & spoken about. the said popularity of a method or definition may also come into play & feeling like something has to be right or work because other people align with it. its like math class, the teacher shows you one way to solve a problem then says “your allowed to use your own methods” & shows you one example of it then goes back to using the original method in class that you don’t understand.

another reason is opinions. when being shown so many people speaking on shifting & their thoughts it can be overwhelming. it’s a great thing so many people are willing to talk about their experiences in their desired reality or want to share their personal breakthroughs & opinions on what shifting is, it can be confusing. while everything i just listed is well intended, leaning about shifting through places like tiktok & not venturing out & doing your own research — or just searching methods online & trying it yourself while going in blind — it takes away self discovery.

so, how do we learn about shifting ?

when i say get off of social media, i don’t exactly mean all social media. yes, all of these things happen across the internet but the difference with tiktok is that the fyp isn’t so prominent. this of course also applies to other feeds that are generated, but a lot of the shifting community is ok tiktok so im using the most known example. it’s important to search & decide what information you consume & seek out rather then being told something without stopping to think for yourself. you want the chance to be able to create your own thoughts. your own unique thoughts you have about things make them personal & your own beliefs become stronger when you realize things on your own. it’s more satisfying that way.

places like reddit & searching for questions you specifically have so you don’t have ten more questions shoved in your that you didn’t have before that cause you added worry or unnecessary fear is helpful to keep in mind.

there is room for grey area. not everything needs to be black & white. there should be no consciousness vs multiverse theories because two things can both be true at once. Ike thing doesn’t have to be against something, you don’t have time pick a side. it’s all theory & hypothetical. it’s okay that we 100% don’t know (& will probably never know) what shifting truly is. not everything needs to be discovered to preform it “correctly”. you don’t need to be a master at painting to paint, you don’t need to know how paint brushes are crafted or how canvas is stretched to preform, anyone can sit & learn as they create their first & second & tenth piece. even people who have painted & sold their artwork for millions, don’t know the great’s techniques. they know pieces of them & take what works & discards what doesn’t serve them.

this post isnt to negate any of the good social media has done or sound like my mom & preaching about how social media destroys your brain…but i think we should be mindful of what we consume & how it makes us feel & if we’re speaking for ourselves or parroting others words. there are so many great people & advice out there & im not trying to take away from that. i just think taking a moment to stop & digest what we’re seeing is healthy. this blog post has been a long time coming but i know a lot of people wouldn’t want to hear it. i can promise you, you are more addicted then you think — myself included. i just don’t wake you guys to look back in 10 years & have spent more then half of that looking at a screen when there’s so much life to be lived. i don’t want social media to take away from what we are all here for which when we come down to it is living. shifting is literally wanting to experience life & i can’t help but find it ironic that this is the opposite of everything we wish to accomplish through this practice.

please take care of yourselves. much love.

surprise :) congrats you made it ! here’s your digital slice of cake ! 🍰

[arengnera]

@oz-gauze oooooh boy. Okay so

Tl;dr: they're exes because of the worst botched hiest/ghosting breakup and even though they both need closure they need such fundamentally different forms of it that nothing could ever repair anything they had.

Unskippable cut scene under the break

Let's start with Marshall Kidd. He's a kitsune outlaw in the main stretch of my campaign. (imagine a western set on a huge super structure which was left desolate by an apocalypse and only recently breached by human life again. Space western but steampunk level tech.)

This man is reserved and enigmatic and desperate. He runs the largest gang on The Ring and is the main force of structure in the desert. His main racket is getting protection money and supplies out of homesteaders in exchange for protection from other gangs and roaming monsters, and absolutely brutalizing the crown guard (fantasy British empire) any time they step out of civilization.

The players soon come to figure out that he's got a bit of a curse situation. Well get back to this later but the main thing to know is that he cannot make a promise without immediate and painful consequences if he breaks it. (This curse but with some more damage and spice suited to his level). It also becomes apperent that he's holding this gang together because of a promise he's already made.

This promise isn't nessicarily important to this story, but it is to the only other person who knows about his curse. A much worse outlaw who's been using it as leverage to make Kidd do what he wants. His name is Reeves his whole deal isn't that important just remember that we hate him.

From this it becomes increasingly obvious that Kidd is where he's at because he's a coward who can't stick to his word. He is sure that as soon as Reeves returns to the material plane he's a dead man no matter how the cards fall. Another important quirk they learn is that he's a deeply religious man. He's a sorcerer from a divine bloodline, and follows two gods, Pharasma (our lady of graves), and Daikitsu (the matron God of kitsune). As such he's deeply committed to putting every person he kills to proper rest, and purging the undead when he can. To the point where he carries a shovel with him everywhere he goes. He also has 0 tolerance for anyone who destroys or defaces farmland.

The players get an npc friend to find a few leads on who Kidd could have been before he became an outlaw, as the Ring has only been accessible for 20 years, and he is far older than that.

Okay put a pin in all of that because it's time to talk about Ford Darkstone.

At this point in the campaign, the players are forced to leave The Ring and take the space train to a little O'Neil cylinder about twice the size of New York city which houses 99% of this star system's population. Gremtol, it's a packed industrial cluster fuck ran by a monarchy (that only now really wants a piece of the ring now that people trying to escape them have proven its worth something.)

Ford is the best cat burglar in a little thieves union known as The Clockwork Hands. They're a small gang who have been plauged by bad luck for ages, but are on the mend, and have mostly survived by only taking jobs that won't get them properly noticed by The Crown. He's not in charge, but he's not happy with the new leader who inserted herself as an outsider and probably murdered the last leader. The players also want her dead for personal backstory reasons so they strike an allegiance with Ford. Its easy enough to do, he's a good man. Sure he lives in an old noble woman's house without her knowledge, but he also used her funds to send one of the other gang members through nursing school to be a live in nurse for her. Yes he might have murdered a man to cut him out of her will but that rich kid wasn't taking care of his ailing aunt anyway.

I'm not sure where to put this in such a condensed version, but The Clockwork Hands run a drag bar that's like, super haunted. Players didn't figure it out right away, but it's because it's built on an old graveyard, filled mostly with Kitsune. Over 100 years old, burying the dead became an antiquated practice long ago since the city is so tightly packed. By all practical standpoints that ground was going to waste. It's been so long that no one really remembers what's under there anymore.

Anyway the players get to talking with Ford, and bring up one of the names they were given as a lead to Kidds past identity. A man named Hitoshi who used to run with the clockwork hands 20 years ago.

Ford knows him. He knew him very well. They had something once. Hitoshi had been the one to help set up the hiest on the Royal Arcane Academy's museum gallery. They'd assembled a team, 5 of the best people in the gang. Ford hadn't been part of them, he'd wanted to but they'd chosen a different lockpick. Ford's task was to be a distraction, run a small hiest in some offices badly enough to draw security to the other side of campus and then disappear. But of course, no one showed up. He'd tripped through several alarm spells on purpose, been louder than he should have but he went unbothered.

Later he found out why. They'd been set up. Most of the team died, one of then was captured and later executed, but the only person who'd gone unaccounted for was Hitoshi. He'd just disappeared. The gang had to lay low after that for years, but Ford could never rationalize why they'd been betrayed like that. There were too many pieces missing. He thought he'd known Hitoshi. They'd been something. Lover was too strong of a word, but friend wasn't nearly strong enough.

So the players go back to the Ring. Reeves shows his ugly mug again, kills the undead sheriff (again) almost kills them, Kidd turns on him, and when the dust settles and it becomes very clear that the only reason Kidd isn't dead is because of the players intervention (only suffering pretty badly from breaking 3 promises) they bully more of the truth out of him.

He's quite a bit older than the train line to The Ring. 120, give or take. He grew up on Gremtol, where his family cared for a shrine to Daikitsu overlooking a graveyard. At this point, the burying of dead was falling out of fashion. Most of his family succumbed to a plauge, and by the time he was 17, it was just him and his mother, caring for an antiquated graveyard in a city that was rapidly outgrowing them.

At the time, clockwork hadn't yet reached the peak it is at today, and there existed a thieves guild by the monicure the Silver Hands. And they wanted the land. They had an inn to build, booze to sell and a brothel to run, just no where to put it. And so, when they found the mostly empty grave plot, ran by just a widow and her son, it was simple.

They killed her, and framed her son for the murder. With a couple greesed palms he was arrested and without enough gold to pay for a defense team, and a few false witnesses, he was behind bars within the year. Then it was a simple task of intimidating other auction goers, buying the land, and constructing.

Kidd (not his name at the time but if I use every name he's ever gone by this will be incomprehensible) was only imprisoned for a few years. It didn't take long for the need for revenge to consume him almost completely. He broke out, changed his name, and burned the first bar to the ground. It didn't matter they rebuilt. And so began what would be his life for the next 80 years.

He would change his name, integrate himself into the guild, then make sure they never prospered again. It started off small, but eventually he knew he would kill the man who masterminded his misery. The whole time he tried to satiate the ghost of his mother who still roamed the place, unable to move on. But he needed her remains, which had been cremated and sent to the newly built necropolis. It was formidable and warded heavily against grave robbers and necromancers. Perhaps if he wasn't wanted under his birth name he may have been able to do it legally. But every attempt he made over the following decades was a resounding failure that he barely escaped with his life.

And so Kidd became The Hand's curse. They made the slow transition to clockwork, and eventually started requiring amputation of the right hand to be replaced with the prosthetic. An attempt to rat out whatever mole was plaguing them. But Kidd was patient and singularly driven. Eventually he managed it. Their old leader died, but not before living almost a complete life where he managed to cause even more destruction. He'd been a powerful man and by the time Kidd was strong enough to face him, he was already practicly on his deathbed. By the time he managed it, old age was only a few steps behind the poison he'd used.

And so with his task complete, it didn't matter. He'd still failed to put that ghost to rest no matter how many times he placated her. With his purpose failed, he did the only thing he'd known for years. Continued to sabotage the Hands. Revenge wasn't fulfilling, but it was all he knew.

Then, he met Ford. No different from many of the people who find themselves in a life of crime, except for perhaps his dedication to gentleness. He didn't catch feelings on purpose, and when he did, he panicked. He resolved to expunge the Clockwork Hands entirely, set them up for a failure big enough for The Crown to remove them completely.

It didn't work. Nearly everyone who he got killed had been his friend. One of them had been a psychic. And with her last dying thoughts she saw through him. Saw that he'd worn nothing but masks for years and had said nothing but lies. And with her last breaths she cursed him. That he may never break an oath again, that he could never hide his kitsune nature, that until he was an honest man he could never find peace.

He fled to The Ring. A newly opened frontier where none of the ghosts of his past could find him. He had a contact, Reeves. A fence who was planning a similar move. A thaumatuge who could smell his fresh curse form a mile away. He'd promised he'd come back for his crew, and it was his first broken promise. Vowing that he owed Reeves his life for helping him to regenerate his missing hand locked him entirely into another gang, and another mask.

By the end of the full confrontation with Reeves, he was a mess, covered in the weeping open wounds of broken promises, but also at the most honest he's been for nearly a century.

The players promised him to help him find his mother's remains, so he could send her on to Pharasma for judgement and close that chapter of his life completely. But they also asked him to set things right with Ford.

More than anything else, Ford needs an explanation. He needs closure on why someone he thought he knew could turn on him so completely. He's a logical man, and a good judge of character, and the one person he could never understand still haunts him.

More than anything else, Kidd needs to be seen. To be understood as a full person that he's never been able to be because he's only ever worn a rotating facade of masks. He's carried a little tin type of the only person he's ever maybe loved for 20 years, knowing that that man never really knew him. Because no one has ever really known him.

So how could they reconcile? The man Ford love never existed. How could he possibly forgive Kidd, who really did stab them all in the back and leave them to die. How could Kidd, after all that time, ask Ford to get to know a totally different man, and expect to be forgiven for what he's done? He set out for revenge and since then hasn't stopped digging graves. In his own mind, Ford is already in one of them.

For deserves better. He deserves closure and to move on. To fully bury the only loose end he hasn't been able to tie up.

Kidd deserves nothing. He cannot expect forgiveness or kindness for the amount of carnage he has left behind him for a blood debt so old it should have been fully burried long ago. How could he ask this man to know him, when he doesn't even know himself?

So no they can't on purpose kiss because it so much more tragic if they never do. If the only thing they ever see in eachother are possibilities that have long since passed.

Do you think a suave cat bugler and a scruffy outlaw could on purpose kiss?

A couple npcs from my home game with some loosely leyendecker inspired rendering

[fir3ylolol]

hi fir3y :3333 can we have more johnny cage x camera stuff (anything related, nothing specific; cameras in house, recording w phone etc) w him having a long time crush for y/n 😁 kind of like how you did w smile! you're on camera (i cant remember if i sent this if i already did im sorry 😥😥)

dazed and confused

pairing: Johnny Cage x Reader

summary: it's been a while since you've seen your good friend johnny. but what happens when long-time crush mixes with weed?

tw: vaginal sex, vaginal penetration, oral sex, blowjob, eating out, cunnilingus, long-time crush, weed usage, intoxicated sex, loss of inhibitions, praise, filmed, sex tape, cumming inside, cum eating, putting on a show, whimpering men heheheh, afab!reader, gn reader

a/n: YAYYY finally another post!! its been forever. this was requested by @keiiikomegumi. gotta love men who fall hard and fuck desperately O.O also i think this is the longest fic other than we want you! ive ever written lol

word count: 2.65 k

Ao3

It’s been about 3 weeks since you last saw Johnny, which kinda sucks. He’s always a lot of fun, and you’ve been really stressed lately. So when you get his text reading, “come over 4 dinner, we can chill 0.o”, you quickly respond, “see u thennn”. You leave shortly afterward, excited to finally relax. You roll into his driveway after about 30 minutes of driving, seeing Johnny’s shadowed figure standing in the doorway. You hop out excitedly, walking over and capturing him in a tight hug. He laughs, hugging you back just as tight. “Hey! I’ve missed you, it’s been wayyyy too long. Come in, I’ve already got some food ready.” You walk in, drinking in the familiar sight of his home. You see the table set, two spots right next to each other, with a suspicious look on his face.

“So what do you have in store for me?” You sit down, watching as he disappears into the kitchen. “Well, I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, and so have I. So…” He walks out, a large silver plate covered with a cloche. “I figured we deserved a treat,” he says with a smirk, lifting it and revealing two brownies. Realization hits you hard. You see, this is California, and if there’s any pastime Californians love, it’s getting high. Johnny is no different; in fact, he likes edibles more, since he says smoking will “damage his star-quality voice and flawless skin.” But he lives a stressful life, and he needs a break just as much as you. So seeing two, delicious-looking brownies on separate plates, you know exactly why you were invited. And you nearly cry.

“Johnny…” you smile up at him, “thank you. So much.” His eyes light up, placing the plates down for you two as he sits down next to you. “Yay, I knew you would be happy! Ok, I’ve got plenty of snacks in the fridge and cold ass water, so we’re set.” He picks his brownie up, and you follow, clinking them together like glasses before taking a bite. It’s rich, fudgy, and absolutely one of the best brownies you’ve ever had. With a mouthful of food, you try to speak, “Schit manm, ‘his is schoo good.” He laughs at you, finishing his bite before speaking, “It’s been barely a month and you’ve forgotten your manners?” You smack him lightly, before standing up and getting a glass of water, downing the whole thing. He follows you, giving you a big hug from behind. He’s rocking back and forth, face buried in your neck. He’s always been more touchy with you than his other friends, but you don’t mind. He’s warm and gentle and always smells fancy. But you laugh, rocking with him. “The room’s already spinning, oooooh.” He lifts you slightly, walking through the kitchen. “You’re so high, oh noooo!” He set you down, laughing still. “You’re so much fun, I missed you.”

You feel a slight twinge in your heart, the words must mean more to you than it does to him. You’ve been a little glad not to see him honestly, but only because your feelings for him have gotten that intense. A break was just what you needed, but now? When you’re going to be wasted and he’s just so nice and so close? You might break. But for now, you appear cool laughing as well before managing to say, “I missed you too” without seeming suspicious. And you start to fall into the same routine as usual, he leads you to the couch to chill together and watch something fun. He used to go to the cinema room, but once he got too high, watched Rambo on the big screen, and had a panic attack. Plus, you can’t cuddle in there, and he can’t stand for that, loudly declaring that he’ll rip the chairs out every time you two go in there. But he never does. You two end up talking about the weeks you didn’t see him. He’s been working on a new film, but won’t reveal any details other than it’s “based on a super true story”. And he laments how hard you’ve been working, trying to convince you again, “You should just quit and hang with me all the time. It would be awesome.” But alas, you turn him down again, as tempting as it is.

Before you know it, it’s been almost two hours, and you’re definitely feeling it more, the buzzing in your brain is a little louder, and Johnny’s touch gives you more goosebumps. But he leans back suddenly, looking you up and down. “Wait, I just realized, I can’t remember the last time you told me one of your famous bad date stories. What’s going on?” You fluster at his words, so direct and to the point that you can’t think for a second. You finally manage to speak again, your tongue feeling a little too heavy, “I’ve just been busy, man.” He scrunches up his face, thinking deeply. “When was the last time you got some? You know…” He nudges you, eyebrows raised suggestively. You take an embarrassingly long pause before speaking again. “...a year.” 

He leans forward, directly in front of your face. “A year?! How are you even alive??” You push him as playfully as you can, completely flustered by the whole thing. “Quit it, it’s not funny!” He sighs dramatically, splayed out across the couch. “So what’s up? Someone catch your eye or something?” You pause again, trying not to look at him, but your mouth betrays you. “Yeah, maybe. But it’s fine, he doesn’t like me like that.” He scoffs, head still tipped back, “What an idiot. You’re awesome. He’s really lucky I don’t just snatch you away for myself.” His whole body freezes as if he said something he didn’t mean to. You look at him, eyes wide and muscles tense. “W…what?” You ask tentatively. But he stands up, walking away while waving his arms around, “Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry about it.” But you can see the tips of his ears are bright red, and he’s tapping his foot on the ground, something he only does when nervous. You stand up and walk over, staying behind him. “Johnny, it’s something. Just tell me, it’ll be ok.” He takes a deep breath before speaking, still turned away from you. “I said he was lucky I didn’t take you for myself. I didn’t mean to say it, but honestly, it’s true. I mean, what kind of idiot doesn’t like the most stunning person alive? I just…I said too much, and I didn’t want to weird you out because you’re such a great friend and…” He’s babbling on, saying way too much and not making a ton of sense.

But you grab his hand lightly, which causes him to turn around. His eyes are watery, his cheeks and the tip of his nose are red, and his mouth is scrunched up in a frown. You can’t help but smile at him, squeezing his hand tighter. “Do you like me, Johnny?” He nods like a child, free hand coming up to wipe his eyes. “I like you too,” you say with a smile, no longer nervous or guilty of your feelings. He sniffles, looking at you with his wide brown eyes, “Really? You do?” As you nod, he sort of snaps back to usual, but not in a performative way, in a happy way. “Well of course you do! Who could resist all this?” He smiles before pulling you into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers in your ear before he pulls away. But not fully, as you two lock eyes, and the air grows thick again. You swallow hard, eyes darting across his face nervously. He cups your face with his left hand, and slowly leans in, pressing his lips to yours. It’s exactly like him, warm and gentle, and it makes you dizzy. In fact, you feel your knees buckle slightly, which he laughs at into the kiss. As he pulls away to breathe again, you can’t help but feel hungry for more. You’ve only gotten a taste of what you’ve wanted for so long, and it’s very appetizing.

Johnny quickly pulls you back to the couch, barely able to think before you find yourself on his lap, hands wandering around your back, eyes locked onto yours. His touch is even more intoxicating than normal, with heavy breathing and racing hearts shared between you two. One hand reaches your neck, pulling you back in. But he’s not as gentle this time, like he’s trying to devour you whole. His other hand is on your hip, guiding you to grind against him slowly. Your hands wrap around his neck loosely. He groans into your mouth, squeezing tighter. You feel his tongue in your mouth, desperate for more of you, more than there is. You can feel yourself growing wetter, so high that your previous inhibitions are gone. Everything is happening so fast, and you’re starting to feel desperate.

He finally breaks away, panting heavily, before looking at you needily. And with how pretty his flushed face is and how badly he wants you, you can’t help but slide down to the floor between his legs. His pupils are blown out, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He tries desperately to pull his pants down quickly, struggling slightly.  But he finally frees himself, cock bouncing out as the angry red tip leaks out. He’s embarrassed, turning his head away slightly, but keeping his eyes locked on you. You have no time to tease, absolutely hungry for him, for this. You take him in your mouth, getting most of the way down before you stop, looking up at him sweetly. He gasps, eyes wide and hands clutching at the couch cushions. You start to move, swirling your tongue around him as you keep a steady pace. His eyelids are fluttering, and very quickly he darts his hands out to grab your face lightly, bringing you up to face him. “C-can I film you? I just…I’ve wanted this for so long and you just look so pretty and I just…I don’t want to forget this, any detail of this.” 

You nod lazily, a smile spreading across your lips as you watch him scramble for his phone. He holds it up, hands shaking as he starts filming. You decide to put on a show for him, looking up through your lashes as you go down again, able to get almost all the way down, gagging slightly. He white knuckles the phone, staring at you intensely. His other hand comes up, grabbing your hair in one hand. His voice rasps out, “Wanna see that face, all of it. God, you’re so good at this. Fuck…” He sighs as you reach your hand out, starting to stroke him as you lean your head down, licking at his balls. He jumps slightly, but the most lovely whine escapes his lips, so you continue, trying to overwhelm him with pleasure. And overwhelm him you do, as he starts squirming back and forth at the intensity of it all, more heady whines. He finally remembers to hold the camera steady, trying to still himself. But as you go down again, rapid and sloppy moves, eyes watering as you look up again, his grasp on your hair tightens. He cries out as he cums, shuddering as you keep going, swallowing it all. You pull off with a pant, looking into the camera and sticking out your tongue to show what you did. He’s breathing hard, letting go of your hair and going slightly slack on the couch. But he tugs at your shirt, pulling it over your head. Even fucked out, he wants more.

You stand up, half-naked, and he tries his hardest to get your pants off too. But his hands are too shaky, and he’s trying to keep his grip on the camera. So you step back and slowly peel them off for him, and you can see his cock twitch slightly at the sight of you. You climb back on top of him, kissing him gently. But he leans to the side, propping the phone against the arm of the couch, and flips to the front camera. He shuffles down a little, leaning slightly to pull his pants down further as you pull his shirt off, wanting to feel his warm skin against yours. He kisses your cheek, and down your neck, reveling in the way you arch your back at the feeling. He whispers out shakily, “You ready? Gonna put a show on for me?” You nod, head dizzy again, as he rubs himself against you, audibly groaning at the feeling. He has no time to waste, sinking into you with a heady whimper. You gasp, taking a second to adjust to him, feeling his hands cling to your hips.

But it’s not long before he’s bucking up into you, using his grip on you for leverage. He’s bit down on your shoulder, whimpers slipping out. Your arms are behind his neck, clinging to him like your life depended on it. You feel him let go, raspy whispers in your ear, “You’re so hot, shit, so tight around me. You like putting on a show for me? Yeah?” You nod, moans pushed out at the force he’s moving now. His voice is shaking more now, but he can’t stop talking, “Shit, I don’t know if it’s the weed talking or what, but you’re so fucking good. Can’t believe I didn’t tell you sooner-” He’s cut off, a whimper as he manages to push deeper, completely enveloped in you. He’s losing his mind, hands wrap around your back for more leverage. But it’s not long before he’s cumming again, a whine as he pushes you down as far as he can. He’s trembling more, heavy pants in your ear. But finally, he’s lifting you and setting you down on the couch. Both of you are breathing heavily, trying to calm down after everything. 

That is until he grabs the phone and puts it in your hands. Confused, you look at him, but suddenly, he’s between your thighs, kneeling on the ground. “Can’t leave you wanting, especially after all that.” He dives in, with no sense of patience, as he sucks at your throbbing clit. His fingers pump inside you, your wetness mixing with his cum. You keep the camera on his face, legs pushed apart as you flinch at your sensitivity. He’s looking up at you, sweet eyes locked on you. He lets go slightly, mumbling into you, “Good job, baby, you’re doing such a good job.” You’re moaning, high-pitched, and slipping from your lips. He’s whining into your sopping cunt, vibrations against your clit causing more jumps. But you cling to him, eyes screwed shut as you cum hard, feeling his tongue lapping everything up with fervor. He finally separates from you, sitting down on the couch with an exhale.

He takes the phone, stopping the recording as he puts his arm around you. “I’ll save those for later,” he says, making you giggle slightly, but you’re quite tired. “We should get high more often, huh?” You snuggle into him, enjoying the feeling of his heartbeat under your ear. “Maybe. But hey, those videos better not get leaked or anything.” Your words cause him to whine out, slightly annoyed. “Come on, you know me! I would never. Besides…it would make too many people jealous, you know? Such a pretty thing like you, all for myself.” You laugh again before looking up at him, sleepy but happy eyes. “You’re stuck with me now, by the way.” He hugs you tight, squeezing you with a wide smile on his face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[froggibus]

Resurrection - Wally West

Pairing: Wally West x gn! Reader, platonic! Dick Grayson x reader

Genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: it’s been almost a year since Wally died, and life has not been kind to you. it doesn’t help that when you get the flu and your fever spikes, you start seeing the speedster everywhere you turn

CW: loss of a loved one, grief, sickness, hallucinations, reader is worried they’re going crazy, overactive imagination, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, panic attacks, ghosts, reader was a part of Young Justice, mutual pining, friends to lovers, resurrection

This alludes heavily to the Young Justice tv show, especially Wally’s death. I apologize in advance because I have poor knowledge of the Flash Family and speedforce!!

day 1 of me pushing my Wally West agenda!! i absolutely adore Wally, and im so happy to be writing about him. this is literally the longest thing ive ever posted on this site but I got so into the story that I couldn’t stop. hopefully this makes sense and isn’t just a jumble of words 😭also i think from now on im gonna include wally in any of my dick/jason/tim hcs

also im very tempted to do a pt2/make a series of wally adapting to life afterwards

————

You groan in your bed, your fever spiking to an almost unbearable temperature. You spend a lot of time in bed nowadays—ever since your best friend died almost a year ago, you haven’t had the drive to do much. But being sick the past week has only confined you to your bed even more. 

You roll over, hoping the other half of your pillow is somehow cooler than the side you’re on now. It’s not, and your body feels like it’s going to overheat. If it was possible to put less clothing on, you would, but the chances of your roommate coming in and seeing you naked are too high. 

Speaking of your roommate, you know that when Dick comes home and sees how bad your temperature has gotten, he’ll rush you to the hospital. Paranoid, big brother Dick who insists he can’t lose another friend. Dick, who moved in with you a few months after Wally died because he was afraid you might hurt yourself. Dick, who forced you to put socks on and keep most of your clothes on because even though you feel hot, he knows you’re still vulnerable to the cold. 

The socks scratch at your ankles now and you long to pull them off, lazily dragging your feet together. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your burning nerve ends. 

As much pain as you’re in, this is the most you’ve felt since Wally died. From the day you watched him get vaporised, everything around you has just gotten duller by the day. You can hardly stomach to put on your costume, let alone look at Barry or Bart. Even seeing The Flash on the news is enough to make you sick. 

“Y/n,” a soft voice echoes from the bed next to you. 

You force your eyes open, your dark room greeting you. “Hello?”

There’s no answer, and you’re able to close your eyes again. You relax into your bedsheets, kicking the blankets off of your legs in a desperate attempt to get some relief. Clearly your fever has spiked to the point where you’re losing it. 

“Y/n!” The voice is stronger now, and it sounds more desperate than before. More than that—there’s something familiar to it. 

You open your eyes again and gasp, all of the breath leaving your body. There, sitting on the bed next to you, is Wally. His green eyes are full of concern, his mouth pulled into a tight line. 

“Oh god,” you whine, “I really am losing it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the hallucination of your dead best friend to go away. How could any god be so cruel to inflict this on you? Knowing how you felt about Wally—and what he’d said to you during your last moments together?

When you open your eyes again, he’s still sitting there. His unruly red hair is falling into his face and all you want is to reach out and brush it away. 

“You’re not losing it,” he says. 

“I’m so sick that I’m hallucinating my dead best friend. How is that not losing it?”

He shrugs. “I mean it does sound pretty crazy, but I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re dead,” you say simply, voice void of emotions. “You died and you left and you’re never coming back.”

“I got better.”

Everything about him screams Wally. His voice, his mannerisms, even the stupid jokes he makes. But you know it’s just your brain playing a stupid trick on you. Your braincells have overheated and you’re left staring at a ghost. 

“No, you didn’t. And you never will, Wally. And I know that so I don’t get why my stupid brain can’t leave this alone.”

He lays down on his side next to you, looking up at you with those doe eyes. “There wasn’t a body, you know.”

His words make you angry, they make you choke on the lump in your throat. But he’s right. Something about his death always seemed wrong to you, and even after this long, you still can’t accept it. He’s saying all of the right things, and it almost makes you believe he’s really here. 

“So say you are here…why now? Why here? Why am I the only one who’s seen you?”

He strokes his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. “I don’t really know, y/n. I’ve been here the whole time. I’ve watched everything. I know how hard things have been for you guys…” 

You don’t say anything, just staring at him expectantly, forcing him to keep talking. 

“I’m sorry you’re sick, but I’m glad Dick is taking care of you.”

“Answer the question, Wally. Why now?”

He sighs. “I think it’s because you’re sick. I think once your fever got past a certain point you were able to hear me, and once you could hear me, you could see me.”

“How would that even work?” You squint at him, “how did you even know I could hear you?”

“I didn’t it’s just—it’s a habit to talk to you, you know? But anyway, I think it has something to do with the speed force being attracted to the release of energy, and whenever you have a fever, you release massive amounts of it. But since yours is so high…” he gestures at himself for emphasis. 

“So as long as I stay sick, I can see you?”

“I think so.”

“Then I never want to get better,” you murmur. 

“Y/n,” he sighs, and the tone he uses makes you freeze. You’ve only ever heard him use it once before—with you on the day he died. 

The thought brings a tear to your eye, his words echoing in your ears. I love you, y/n, I always have. I’ll be back for you, okay?

When Dick gets home from work, he’s surprised to hear you talking. His first instinct is that you’re feeling better and you’re arranging to go back to work, but as he gets closer to your bedroom door, he realizes it’s not the case. 

He listens in for a bit, hearing a one sided conversation. As soon as he hears you say ‘Wally’, he’s barging through your door only to find you talking to the air. 

“Dick!” You cry out, gesturing to the empty bed next to you, “look! He’s back, he’s here. Wally’s here!”

Dick’s heart aches for you. You’re clearly unwell and in your feverish state, your mind is playing tricks on you. 

“Y/n,” Dick sighs, “I think it’s time we go to a doctor.”

He approaches your bedside slowly, trying not to startle or upset you. He knows you’re hallucinating, and he really doesn’t want to trigger anything worse to happen. 

He kneels at your bedside, just behind Wally. “Come on, we need to get you to the hospital.”

“N-no! I can’t leave Wally!”

Wally’s face crinkles up the way it always has when he feels guilty. “Y/n, I think you should go with Rob.”

“No!” You cry out, “you can’t leave me again!”

Dick gives you no warning before he’s pulling you into his arms, your feverish skin scorching his. He holds you securely, even as you cry and beg him to take you back to Wally. 

“Wally, please! Do something! Let him see you! Don’t—don’t leave me again!”

“Y/n,” Dick rubs your sweaty hair out of your face. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re really sick, and you’re hallucinating, but we’ll make you all better. I just need you to trust me.”

You take a deep breath, and then another, looking over Dick’s shoulder at the redhead sitting on your bed, giving you a sad look. He gives you a wave, “it’s okay, y/n. Everything will be okay.”

You just hope he’s right. 

��

The hospital takes an eternity to admit you, leaving you lying on Dick’s lap in the waiting room. You keep your eyes closed, hoping that if you open them Wally will be there, but you know he won’t. 

Dick strokes your hair, rubs your back, does anything he can to keep you comfortable. When a nurse finally calls your name, he helps you to your feet and half carries you down the hall. 

They leave the two of you in a small, isolated room with a bed covered in scratchy sheets. Dick helps you climb up while the nurse insists a doctor will be by shortly. 

Dick holds your hand the whole time, the skin on his palm turning sweaty from where your hand touches his. Your fever has only gone up since you left the house and you feel like you’re going to burn alive. 

Finally, a doctor comes in and she starts to run all kinds of tests on you. After a while, they insert an IV into your arm and push fluids to keep you hydrated. They give you medicine to help you drift off to sleep, your eyes fluttering shut before you realize what’s happening. 

You wake up a few hours later, Dick no longer asleep at your bedside. Your temperature has gone down, and while you still feel feverish, you’re coherent enough to know what’s going on around you. 

“—hallucinating our best friend who died almost a year ago.” Dick tried to keep his voice down but you can hear it from the hallway. 

“It’s common in extremely high fever’s to experience visual, auditory and sometimes even tactile hallucinations,” the doctor explains. “Y/n’s fever was beyond high enough to cause any number of these complications.” 

Your shoulders slump. You knew deep down that Wally wasn’t really there, that he was a hallucination, but a part of you just hoped…

“But it’s going to be alright? There’s not any permanent side effects?”

The doctor sounds tired of Dick’s questions. “No, we’re keeping y/n overnight for observation but there shouldn’t be any long term side effects.”

Dick thanks the woman and slips back into your room, stopping in his tracks past the door when he realises you’re awake. “How are you feeling?” He whispers. 

“Somewhat better,” you admit. “Not hallucinating anymore.”

He sits in the chair next to your bed and squeezes your hand. “That’s good to hear.”

“I-I’m sorry if I upset you earlier…talking about Wally and everything. I just—it seemed so real, you know? He was right there, Dick.”

“I know. You don’t need to apologize. Your mind was playing tricks on you, n/n. I know you didn’t mean any harm by it.”

You can’t help the tears that trickle down your cheeks. “I just—I miss him so much!” 

“It’s okay,” Dick leans over your bed, pulling you tightly to his chest. “I miss him too. I miss him so, so much. And if there was any chance…you know I would take it too.”

“Did I ever tell you what he said to me that day? Just before he passed?”

Dick shakes his head. 

“He said—,” your voice shakes so severely it’s hard to get the words out. “He said ‘I love you, y/n. I always have. I’ll be back for you, okay?’” 

The gears in Dick’s brain click together, and suddenly everything makes sense. It was no secret that you and Wally had been pining after each other for years. Always cuddling and fighting and loving and hating each other. Dick was close to both of you, and he of all people knew how your feelings were bubbling over. He knew how badly you wanted to be with Wally—and how badly Wally wanted to be with you.

It’s a cruel joke, he thinks. That in one day you got everything you wanted, and an hour later had it ripped away. No wonder you’d been like a zombie this year.

“Y/n…” he squeezes your hand reassuringly. 

You squeeze his hand back, and between the fever and the medicine and Dick’s skin on yours, everything in the world feels right for a minute. 

—

It takes two weeks for you to fully recover from being sick. If it weren’t for your roommate being the ultra rich adoptive son of Bruce Wayne, you probably would have had to go back to work sooner. Dick insisted that you stay home until you were fully recovered, though, offering to cover your bills for the month. 

It’s also been two weeks since you saw Wally. It’s been easy to brush it off as a fever dream, but something deep within you wants it to be something more than that. Still, you try to continue on with your day to day life, putting thoughts of the speedster as far away from you as possible. 

You pull into the Bludhaven News parking lot with ten minutes to spare. You grab your bag from the passenger seat and clip your badge to your shirt before grabbing the coffee you’d stopped for on the way. You’re determined to make today a good day. 

You settle in at your desk, smiling at the picture of you and the original Young Justice team was kids. It makes you happy, but in the most bittersweet meaning of the word. You run your fingers across the glass, stopping them at the lightning symbol on Wally’s chest. 

You’re interrupted by your boss stopping at your desk. 

“Hey, l/n, good to have you back,” she smiles, and you feel as though she really means it. “We’re having a meeting in five minutes.”

You nod, thanking her. She leaves you at your desk, letting you get organized before you have to meet them in the conference room. 

You bring your laptop and coffee and settle in at the big round table in the spinning desk chair. Other journalists, reporters and higher ups slowly file into the room, filling it up until it’s so full it feels almost hard to breathe. 

Your boss enters the room last, standing at the front in front of the tv. She welcomes you back before explaining what’s going on in current events, and what she expects everyone to report on. 

You sip your coffee, zoning out for the majority of her presentation. Every once and a while, she clicks a remote and the screen changes to a new slide. You don’t pay much attention to the tv, only glancing at it every so often. 

When the screen changes to three familiar figures, you freeze. It feels like someone dumped cold water on you, and you’re painfully aware of everything going on around you. 

The screen shows Wally, Bart and Barry on the day he died. Wally has a big grin on his face, clad in his Kid Flash suit, giving a salute to a security camera. You’re not sure how they got this picture, but a part of you wishes they didn’t. 

“—the one year anniversary since the Flash Family saved the world, and since Kid Flash bravely sacrificed himself to achieve this goal. We want to honour them for their ultimate sacrifice, and that’s why this month, we’ll be doing daily pieces on the great exploits of the family. Also—,”

Her words echo in your ears, everything feels far away from you. The only thing you can focus on is the way your heart is pounding and the way all the air is sucked out of your lungs. Wally’s face stares at you from the tv screen, and the walls close in. 

You’re on your feet in an instant. “Pardon me,” you rasp out, before almost running out of the room. 

You’re not sure where you’re going. Your head is spinning, your heart is racing, everything is fading away. You stumble your way into the bathroom, locking the door behind you before your knees buckle and you hit the floor. 

You claw at your throat, desperate for air. You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching your fists, desperate for pressure. When you open your eyes, you swear Wally is there. 

“You’re not here,” you gasp. “You’re not real.”

Wally’s green eyes are wide, staring at you with concern. “Y/n—,”

“You’re not real! You’re just some ghost—fucking haunting me for no reason at all!”

It breaks his heart to see you like this. So sad, so hurt, barely able to breathe. 

“Stop,” you choke out, “stop haunting me! Stop, stop, stop it!”

Wally hasn’t seen you have a panic attack this bad since you were kids. Curled up in a ball, gasping for air and repeating the same word over and over again. He’s desperate to help you—help you like he did back then. 

He doesn’t even register what he’s doing until he pulls you into his lap, arms tight around your waist. He keeps a hand over your heart, tracing circles over it. 

“Y/n, y/n…” He murmurs softly, “y/n, listen to me. Deep breath in, okay? Follow my example, feel my heart beating.”

You’re not sure how you can feel his arms on you, feel his heart beating against your back. You’re half convinced you’ve already fainted, and you’re laying on the bathroom floor having another fever dream. 

Still, you follow his example. You breathe in when you feel his chest rise, and breathe out when you feel his chest fall. You stay silent for a few minutes, leaning completely against Wally until you can breathe again. 

Wally rubs your hair, his other hand tracing circles on your hip bone. “How are you feeling?” He asks. 

“Better,” you admit. 

It takes a few minutes longer for either of you to register that he’s touching you. His hands are on your body and you can feel them. 

“Wally, you’re touching me.”

“I’m touching you?”

The shock is almost enough to send you back into a panic attack. Ghosts can’t touch people, neither can fever dreams. But somehow, someway, Wally West is holding you in his arms. 

—

You leave the bathroom ten minutes later, after you and Wally went back and forth on if he was really there with you or not. You insist you’re losing it, but Wally insists he’s there, and somehow when you were sick, you connected to the speed force and now you can see him. 

You head back to your desk with no intention of working, set on researching the speed force and if it’s possible to connect to it without being a speedster. Of course, Google doesn’t yield the results you hope, so you decide to go a different route. 

You pull out your phone and text Dick. 

You: do you think you could get me Barry’s number? need it for work 

Robin 1.0: I think I can manage 

You: you’re the best 

Robin 1.0: don’t you know it

It only takes a few minutes before he texts you his contact for Barry Allen. You waste no time in opening the contact and sending him a quick text. 

Of course, you don’t get to see what he responds because suddenly your boss is over your shoulder. 

“Y/n, you know what our policy is on personal devices at work. There’s too much sensitive information here.”

“I know, I know. But if I play my cards right,” your ability to think on your feet coming in handy, “I could get us an exclusive interview with the Flash.”

She lights up at that. “Okay, but remember, no pictures or recordings.”

“Sure thing,” you nod and wait for her to leave before opening up your phone and seeing that you have a new text. 

You: can I ask you a few questions on the speed force?

Barry Allen: sure thing

You: i know the speedforce is like it’s own separate thing that speedsters connect to, but is it possible for non speedsters to connect to it? 

Barry Allen: only under extenuating circumstances. not every ordinary person can just connect to it, but if you’ve been in contact with the speedforce unwittingly or if a speedster has accidentally shared particles with you it’s possible. why?

You: just…a theory im working on for work. we’re doing a piece on Flash Family to honour you guys for saving the world and I wanted to look into it more 

You: thank you

Barry Allen: do you think you’ve been in contact with a speedster recently?

You: i don’t know, if I’m being honest. 

Barry Allen: okay…keep me updated, okay? if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask 

You: thanks

You frown, your conversation with Barry only making you feel more confused. How would you have had contact with a speedster or the speedforce? It’s been almost a year since you last touched Wally, and there’s no way the symptoms are only coming out now. And the speedforce—there’s no way for you to have connected with it either. 

You look up from your phone only to see Wally sitting on your desk, looking at you with amusement. “Get what you wanted?”

“Why are you still here?”

“What?” He holds his hand over his chest, feigning hurt. “You don’t want me here?”

You go to speak but realize your coworkers are giving you strange looks. You quickly put your phone up to your ear, pretending to be on a phone call. 

“Of course I want you here. I lo—miss you, okay? But it’s not possible. You shouldn’t be here.”

“But I am, y/n. And did Barry not just confirm that to you?”

You sigh. “I will admit, what Barry said does confirm my theory, and what you said while I was sick but…”

“But?”

“It shouldn’t be possible. You were vaporized, Wally. You’re dead. So even if you are here, you’re just a ghost.” 

“Ghost, schmost,” he rolls his eyes, leaning in to flick your arm. “Does that not feel real to you?”

“I don’t know, okay? Just—I need time to think. About everything.”

You don’t say it, but it lingers in the air: I need time to think about you. 

You put your phone down, indicating to the boy that you’re done talking, before returning to your job. The day goes by fast when you’re contemplating if you’re actually being haunted by the ghost of your best friend or not. 

Before you know it, you’re heading home. When you get through the door of the apartment, Dick is nowhere to be found. He must still be at work, you think. 

You kick off your shoes and set your bag on the counter before throwing yourself on your bed. You lay down for only a minute before a familiar cologne fills your scent. One you haven’t smelled in a long time. 

You don’t need to open your eyes to know that Wally is back. “What are you doing here?”

“I was hoping I could catch you changing,” you can hear the grin in his voice. 

You sit up, staring at him with wide eyes. “Wait—if you’ve been here this whole time then…?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I didn’t! I mean, I thought about it but…it feels wrong.” 

“More wrong than confessing your love to me and then dying?”

Both of you freeze after that, and your hand flies up to your mouth as if you can force the words back in there. 

“I—y/n…you know that if I had a choice, I would have come back to you. Right?”

You nod, “I know. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he places a hand over yours. “I wanted to come back to you. Even though you didn’t say it back, I just thought—”

“You didn’t give me a chance to say it back! You dumped all that on me and then you ran away and left, Wally! You didn’t give me the chance!”

Your outburst surprises both of you. Wally isn’t sure what to do—if he should apologize or be angry or both or neither. So he says nothing. 

“I-I think you should go, Wally. You’re only doing harm by being here. You’re dead and I need to move on and I never will if you’re just here haunting me.”

You expect him to argue or to make a joke, but the boy doesn’t do any of that. He gives you a lazy, one handed salute, like the kind he would give before speeding away as kids. 

And then he disappears. 

You feel sad and angry all at the same time. You know it’s not fair to Wally to lash out at him like that, but how is it fair for him to open up old wounds? For him to haunt you? 

When Dick gets home, he’s surprised to see you dressed in your old costume. It’s been so long since you put it on, you look almost strange to him. 

“Uh, y/n?” He asks, “not that I’m against this but, what’s up with the costume?”

“I was thinking I could go out on patrol with you tonight,” you explain. “It’s been a while. I need to blow off steam.” 

“Okay, let me get changed.”

That’s good enough for you, so you settle in at the counter and wait for Nightwing to suit up. He comes out a few minutes later, clad in the black and blue Nightwing suit. 

He looks at you seriously through his domino mask. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“If I don’t get out, I’ll go stir crazy.”

“Okay, okay,” he raises his hands in surrender. “But don’t push yourself, okay? And I’ll be there the whole time.”

“Alright, dad,” you roll your eyes. “Let’s go.”

—

Patrol goes fine. It’s just the usual robberies and gang violence, nothing that you and Nightwing can’t handle. Of course, that’s until you hear there’s a bank robbery over the scanner. 

The two of you are about to take off and head towards the bank when you hear the radio go off again. This time, it’s a jewellery store being robbed. 

“Go!” You say to Nightwing, “you get the bank, I can handle the store.”

He seems content with that answer, grappling to the nearest rooftop and heading off towards the bank. You turn and head towards the jewellery store, hoping it’s enough to take your mind off of Wally. 

You get to the store just in time to stop the robbers from shooting the owner.  You knock the gun out of one of their hands, turning to fight the other one. There’s five total, maybe six, but your vision is tunnelling and all you can focus on is the adrenaline pumping through your veins and your need for a distraction. 

You make your way through three of them, and just as you turn to fight the fourth, you hear someone yell from behind you. 

“Y/n, look out!”

You knock out the fourth and turn around, just in time to see Wally West pass through you and punch the man in the face. He hits him hard enough to send him falling to the floor.

You stare at Wally in shock. “You—you hit him!”

“Are you okay?” He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“You saved me…” You mutter. “How did you do that?”

“I-I don’t know,” he admits, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I just didn’t want you to get hurt and then I passed through you and—”

“Dick!” You exclaim, realising you haven’t heard anything from him in a while, and that he still hasn’t returned to you. “Somethings wrong, Wal. We—I gotta go!”

Wally goes to protest, but you’re already running away. Not only are you running away, you’re running at the speed of light, yellow lightning crackling from your ankles. You don’t realize it, too focused on getting to Dick. 

You arrive at the bank to see a bunch of lackeys passed out on the floor. Nightwing is leaning on a counter, holding his hands over a bullet hole in his side. 

“Hey!” You cry out, skidding to a stop next to him. The bank smells gross, like gunpowder and..burning rubber? “Are you okay? Did you get them all?”

He clenched his jaw. “All but one. He headed North, there’s no way we’ll catch him. He’s probably out of town by now.”

“No, he’s not going to get away with this. We’re going to find him.”

And before Dick can ask, you’re tearing away from the bank, lightning in your wake. His jaw falls open at the sight. In the dark, with the speed you’re going and the lightning coming out, you almost look like Wally…

You run as fast as you can, keeping your eyes peeled for the man driving the truck of jewels. You catch up to him in no time, throwing your body weight against the truck fast enough to tip it over. 

Your veins are electrified, pure lightning in your system, better than adrenaline ever could be. You rip the man out of the truck and toss him onto the street. It only takes one hit for you to knock him out, and only a few more seconds to tie him up. 

It’s then that you realize what just happened, how fast you were going. You look down to see the soles of your shoes on fire, the thighs of your costume torn open from the fabric chafing so fast.

Something about the ruined shoes and the torn fabric makes you think of Wally, and the thought of the ghost in the bank saving your life only makes you want to run even more. Is this how he felt everytime he ran? It’s exhilarating, it only makes you want more.

You keep running, running straight up the side of a building before stopping in your tracks on the roof. How did this even happen? You look around, half expecting to see Wally there, but he’s not. 

Your legs quiver, threatening to collapse beneath you. Your feet ache from all of the running and your shoes have practically disintegrated into nothing. You know you’re done for the night, your body at its absolute limit. 

Your knees buckle, but before you can hit the ground, there’s a streak of yellow and suddenly Wally is holding you up against his chest. 

“I—what’s going on?” You ask. 

Wally holds you up with one arm, staring at his other hand. He shakes it, going fast enough to make it seem as though his hand is vibrating. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I—something’s changed. I can feel it.”

You hear the unmistakable sound of a grappling hook before Nightwing is landing on the roof. “Holy shit, y/n. How were you going so fast? For a second there, I thought it was—Wally?”

His face pales at the sight of the redhead, clad in his Kid Flash suit, holding you up against his body. There’s no way he’s here now, alive and well, right in front of his eyes. 

“You…you can see him?”

Dick is running across the roof in an instant, feet pushing him closer to his best friend. He jumps on both of you, arms wrapping around you both. “Wally,” he sobs into his shoulder. “How—how are you here?”

There’s another flash of lightning—red lightning—and suddenly The Flash is standing next to you guys. “I can answer that.”

Wally grins insanely wide, making sure you’re steady against Dick before jumping to hug his former mentor. 

“How did you know I was here?” He asks. 

Barry smiles, “I could feel it. In the speedforce. There was a huge amount of energy released and then for the first time in a year, I could feel you.”

“But how did that happen?” Dick interjects, before adding, “not that we’re not happy to see you.” 

Wally goes back to hugging you, wiping off the tears that have slipped from your eyes and kissing the top of your forehead. “I think y/n here somehow borrowed my speed and-and opened a portal into the speedforce.”

“I brought you back?” Your voice is so quiet it’s barely a whisper. 

“You brought me back!” He’s beaming at you. 

He wraps his arms around your waist, spinning you in a circle. He sets you down on the ground, only to tip your head back and plant a kiss to your lips. It’s intense, passionate, full of the longing he’s felt for you since you were kids. 

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, using him to keep yourself up. His body is so warm and hard under your touch, so familiar to you. You draw him closer, not even caring if Dick and Barry are standing there staring at you. 

When he finally pulls away, he flashes you the biggest smile in the world. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that.”

“So,” Dick awkwardly says, “why don’t we take this back to our place?”

Wally grabs your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “I think that’s a really good idea.”

[imustbenuts]

nuts reading in jp 11 - wrap up for vol 2 + i can talk about TriStamp undertaker wolfwood a little!!! whooo!!!

its been hella weird to read trigun in japanese since my first read was in english. i think i dug out a few extra stuff i didnt know existed in the work during this little journey. (thank you for joining in on my rambles!)

no real translation word related stuff today. mostly culture stuff dump.

but man i was right on the money when i said vash was stressed in #10. i forget he actually falls unconscious after dominique quits the narrative. yay~

me after i finish these posts at 5am every time

and then, him.

🥺✨✨raidei the blade. ✨✨ 🥺

listen. this guy. this fucking guy is, personally, the funniest guy in the entirety of trigun. for that line above in the 98 anime, and also for some stuff he represents. ...and it's not for larping reasons. ill get into that another day, please look forward to it. (i say this knowing his backstory was rough.)

anyway its time.... for Wolfwood's 'job change'.

in the manga he introduces himself as a tradesman Priest. it doesnt make much sense to outsiders but despite people getting confused, it mostly gets hand waved off as the guy being a little eccentric. and also prideful.

we then get more information about that being a cover for him being one of the Gung Ho Guns, Chapel. he can fight, hes an assassin, his job is to somehow get at Vash while being technically employed by Knives.

this wolfwood has absolutely no struggle with himself as a Priest specifically. heck, its even giving him some confidence bc he actually knows his stuff and can get by with those priestly things alone. at least, i assume so, bc otherwise the pride thing would be very misplaced as he is revealed that he really wants out of the insane GHG business, and wants nothing to do with his coworkers, as it were.

but TriStamp Wolfwood is... different in that pride regard

this version of wolfwood introduces himself as an Undertaker. he's technically a Priest, but he clearly lacks so much pride that he chooses to be an Undertaker.

the narrative tracks since he's the guide to send Vash to hell in tristamp, but theres at least 1 more layer to this.

so, Shinto! Shinto has played a very big part in Japanese culture and history since idk the beginning of Japanese history, affecting society and culture and governance.

key thing for this post: Shinto has a concept named Kegare/Defilement, which you can think of as an accumulation of evil energy. bad energy. bad enough to attract misfortune, evil spirits, and evil evil evil bad bad bad. (ive actually written about this in video game context before if you wanna read it here)

Kegare is generated upon death, blood, menstruation, and all that. in some modern media, Kegare can also be depicted to be generated by an accumulation of negative emotions from people. but for the longest time, it was mainly Death. (oh and somewhat also women with the whole uh.... you know, menstruation, childbirth, and stillbirths etc.)

but: Kegare is NOT sin, and should not be seen as such.

old japan governance also used Caste System. so combine that with shinto, and society and here's the not fun stuff: we now have a discriminated class of people who did all of society's very necessary but deemed dirty jobs. these are the Butchers, Leatherworkers, Executioners, and Undertakers. (which is wild. a society would not be able to function without them.)

they are shunned, deemed too dirty, too tainted, too polluted to ever have a hope of having a better life. since social mobility wasnt a thing with Caste System. and coming too close to them means pollution on the self too.

the Caste System got abolished, and today the descendants are called Burakumin 部落民. they are still being discriminated against to this day. the remnants of the dirtiness with certain jobs still remain, especially with jobs that involves the dead. its also possible to know who is a descendant of one through family names, which can be used to trace family registry and sus out old residences etc.

feel free to watch the above video for a clearer explanation by a japanese man instead of just taking my word for it >_>

back to wolfwood.

studio orange making him go from Priest to Undertaker is likely rooted in a logic associated with this. that TriStamp wolfwood lacks the confidence to have a strong identity outside of GHG, whereas manga wolfwood has. that TriStamp wolfwood really does think of himself as trash and worthless even before outsiders' judgement, whereas manga wolfwood's struggle is more about an internal struggle of being lost.

manga wolfwood is also never truly free from his identity as Chapel until the very end.

but TriStamp wolfwood gets a full contract saying that hes free from Chapel (i assume!)

i think theres also additional implications but im losing braincells by the minute. the change makes so much sense and tracks so well that apart from the confidence thing, everything is more or less intact.

(worth possibly nothing also, I think TriStamp wolfwood isnt fully checking boxes of uhhh Normality in japanese context. hes dressed in a mess, hes not clean shaven, his skin is kinda dark and not fair, he speaks in non-standard japanese. but ymmv, he will be ok in kansai at least, but not fully fitting in in Capital Tokyo nor ex-Capital Kyoto.)

i also, admittedly, dont know much about the culture surrounding death and undertakers within the states or europe so i cant comment much on that aspect. im aware i must have missed something. on that front, sorry D:

anyway thats all i got for now! thanks for reading this long ass post!

[algea]

Ghoul School (pt 2)

prompt: when you get out of the hospital, Lars has put it onto himself to take care of you until you're healed. I can confirm that there is a big chuck of text where you're really pissed off at him before he gets his shit together!

warnings: tbh i literally dont even know. umm yeah your shin is broken and you're concussed so. things may or may not get a little steamy...cussing duh

a/n: im super mega surprised all my Lars stuff has gotten popular; i think it’s very insanely unhealthy how much i love James Acaster.

~ there are a LOT of little secret references to James in here, comment what you picked out ;)

~ also this is probably longer than the first part idk, but its officially the longest post ive written @jesssuperwholock03

~requested by @thestralluvr

Lars visited you everyday. Every morning, every evening after work, sometimes even over his lunch breaks, like clockwork. You were beginning to think it was seriously unhealthy. You were lying in the hospital bed, 4 days after the incident, with your eyes closed. You heard a soft click of the door and you cracked your eyes slightly. You, being oh-so-surprised, were met with the tired face of your crush colleague and work partner. He wore his jumper tied around his waist, a dark colored button up adorning his body. His hair looked disheveled, which could only mean he had just finished a job. He looked so tired, more tired than you've ever seen him be. It was annoying, honestly. Annoying how attractive he was without even trying. 'Why can't I look like that' you thought to yourself, mentally frowning. You decided to acknowledge his presence, seeing how he took time, again, out of his day to come and visit you.

"Lars." You stated, turning your head look over at him. Lars froze, gazing down at your solemn face. You started to reach out to him, but thought otherwise and rested your hand back on the crisp sheets. You watched as he pushed his glasses up and pulled a chair to sit beside you. Lars rested his forearms on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped.

"I was told that you'll be able to get out of here today." He whispered, his tired eyes searching your face. He was desperate for you to come back, back to how things used to be, where he would tease you, and you would always find witty comeback. But he knew you couldn't, not for a while at least. Lars was so scared you weren't going to be able to work for Ghost Corps anymore, especially since the concussion you got really fucked up your head. Not to mention your shin, which was a huge impact on you.

Lars let out a shaky breath. He unclasped his hands and ran one through his hair. You reached out, more confidently this time, and rested your hand on his. He didn't move his hand; he was scared if you let go, you'd disappear.

"Lars." You said again, your face flashing with worry. Your other hand softly touched his chin, holding his face so delicately.

"I'm scared that you're not going to come back." Lars stated, grimacing at the words that flew out of his mouth.

"Why wouldn't I come back? What made you think this?" You asked, your eyebrows drawing together in a sad furrow.

"I want things to be the same, I don't want things to change." He whispered quietly, his eyes cast down.

"I think you and I both know that it won't be the same, neither of us want to admit it. Normally, you don't go around kissing people and pretend like you hate each other for the rest of your life." You explained, searching his eyes for an answer. His eyes glanced back at you as his cheeks burned with pink. You tipped his head to the side ever so slightly, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

"That's unfair, Lars. You can't expect me to leave you alone after that." You pleaded.

"Can we just drop it? It really doesn't fucking matter right now.” Lars snapped. You drew your hand away from his face, hurt flashing across your face.

“What I meant was that we should focus on getting you out of here.” He frantically explained. He reached for your hand, but you pulled away again. Lars had never felt an emotion like this. His ears were ringing and his brain was hazy. It could’ve only been described as embarrassment. He wouldn't cry, no, that's not what he wanted to do. He wanted to apologize over and over again until you'd forget he ever did anything or said anything.

“I think it's maybe time for you to go. When I get out, do me a favor and send Lucky and Pheebs to get me.” You muttered, looking down at your hands. Lars sat there for a few moments, his jaw clenched. He wanted to say something, anything, to make you understand how he felt. Instead, he got up and, with a longing gaze down at you, left.

You felt hot tears sting your eyes, which you allowed to fall down your cheeks. If he wanted to play that dumbass game again, you could do it, just not like you used to. You didn't realize that you were holding your breath until he walked out of the door, not looking back. You slammed your hand down on the bed in a fit of rage, which turned into a soft cry. You wished that you could make better sense of it all, but your wishes never came true.

It was only 2 hours after that you were discharged. Lucky and Phoebe, just as you had requested, rushed in to see you as soon as they could.

"Y/N!" Phoebe exclaimed, running to you and giving you a big hug. You smiled and hugged her back, or at least as much as you could with your crutches. Lucky joined in on the hug before you parted and started making your way to the car.

"Everyone is so happy you're coming home! We've all been super worried." Phoebe smiled, giving you a big smile.

"I'm so happy I get to see you guys again, Pheebs." You grinned back, ruffling her hair. Your mind wandered to Lars as you crutched your way to the car.

"Has um..." You started, realizing that the words were harder to get out of your mouth than you thought.

"He's not here. I haven't seen him since we went out this morning." Lucky explained, catching on to what you were about to ask. You looked down and nodded. 'Of course, how could I be so goddamn stupid.' You thought. Phoebe helped you into the car while Lucky set your crutches next to you. Trevor was driving, which was a whole other risk to be taking.

"Since when did they let you drive?" You asked, grinning at Trevor.

"Since Lars bailed at the last minute. I'm a great driver, so I have no idea what you're even talking about." Trevor bragged. 'He bailed at last minute? He never does that...' You thought sadly. He could've just been working really hard on whatever science thing he was studying. You really didn't know, but it did cut a little.

You didn't know you were carsick until you let Trevor drive you home. You thought Lars was a bad driver, but you quickly realized that Trevor was on the list of 'Never-Ever Drive Me Again,' along with Gary and Ray. You made a mental note of that as you struggled to stand to get out of the car. Trevor quickly rushed to your side to help you, easily pulling you up. You casted your gaze up, which fell on the Firehouse. 'Oh good, he won't be here.' You thought, as a feeling of relief washed over you. You hobbled in next to Phoebe and Trevor with Lucky trailing in not far behind. Callie and Gary stood right after the door, waiting for your arrival. As soon as you entered the Firehouse they were by your side, giving you warm 'hello's' and 'I'm so happy you're back and ok.' You were quick to hug them, hoping to talk to them about your situation with Lars.

"Alright kiddos, time to let the adults talk." Gary clapped, shooing away the smaller kids.

"Hey but I'm not-!" Trevor started, but was dragged away by Lucky. You three sat down around a table. It was silent for a moment as you tried to say what was on your mind.

"Did he come see you?" Callie asked, leaning in close.

"He came and saw me everyday. Sometimes up to three times." You whispered, your hands clasped together. Callie and Gary looked at each other.

"But when he came and saw me this morning, he was different. He was super moody, and got upset when I tried to confront him about kissing me like you said for me to do. I don't know if he doesn't like confrontation or if he, yknow, might be seeing someone else." You went on, nervously biting your nails.

"Y/N, I seriously doubt that there's many women who actually like Lars, much less want to even date him." Gary said, using his left hand to talk. 'Is he right? But I'm sure women think Lars is attractive.' You thought, scrunching your eyebrows together.

"I'm pretty certain that you're like the only woman he's ever talked to in a romantic way, probably even the only woman he’s ever even talked to." Callie confirmed.

"Either way, he likes you. We all know that." Gary finished. You were really hoping he was right, otherwise you were a fool being played.

You chatted for a little while longer, mostly about anything and everything that came to mind. After a while, you told them that you were ready to head home.

"I'll drive you home." Callie said, standing up and grabbing the keys. The ride home was filled with you and Callie singing awful 80's songs, the vast majority of them by Tears for Fears. That was something that cleaned your soul and freed your mind a while. Callie helped you into your apartment before she left with a hug and a warm 'see you soon.' You were seriously hoping that your torture would end.

After a day, you got restless. So restless that you decided to go back to the lab and start working again. Yes, it was idiotically stupid. No, you weren't going to listen to anyone and take a break. Honestly it was going to happen anyways. You walked into the lab the first day, partially hoping that Lars was going to be there, but alas he wasn't. You felt disappointment but you were hopeful that you'd see him tomorrow. Except you didn't. More days past by and you hadn't seen any sign of Lars in the lab at all. You were starting to get more and more worried.

It had been more than a week and you hadn’t seen Lars since. Concern was growing and you were growing weary waiting for him to return. It was extremely hard taking care of yourself, especially since you had to trek a long ways to get yourself to your car outside of your apartment. Finally, you decided it was time to go see Lars. It pissed you off so much that you were running to him, instead of him coming to you. You knew his place, mostly because you, Phoebe, Trevor, and Lucky would sometimes prank him by doing something so absurd he would tremble with anger. That was back when you had your little schoolgirl crush on him, before you realized that you loved him.

You decided to walk, opting for the fact that he knows your car all too well. You weren’t even sure if he was there, you really didn’t even bother checking to see in your group FindMy. You didn’t even bother use your crutches because they were stupid anyways, you could walk just find even though you had a little limp. God you just wanted to fucking punch his stupidly handsome face. He made your blood boil so much.

You were only a few blocks from from his house when it started to rain. Not just a light rain, but a pour. You grew a little worried for your cast, but continued on. You were completely drenched by the time you were on his doorstep. Even worse, it was cold out. You stood on his doorstep for a minute before you started to knock on his door. You breathed out, seeing your own breath in the air. You were so cold. No one answered, which was pretty typical for Lars. He was probably standing in the kitchen, not going to open the door.

"Lars!!" You yelled, knocking on the door some more. Water dripped from your face and you shivered again. The door still didn't open. You sighed and started walking away, the pouring rain drenching you again. You started to tread back to your apartment when you heard a loud bang and turned your head. There Lars was, standing in the doorway, eyes wide as he stared at you.

"Y/N!" Lars yelled back, meeting you in the rain. He craned his head to look down at you, his hands flying to meet your face.

"What are you doing here?" He said, his thumb swiping at your cheek.

"I came to see you. Where the fuck have you been, Lars Pinfield?!" You boomed, your right hand gripping the front of his shirt. His head dropped and he closed his eyes.

"I...I couldn't face you after that dumb shit I pulled. I wanted to apologize, really I did, but I couldn't bring myself to face you." Lars explained, his breath creating a misty cloud. All that either of you could do was stare at each other incredulously.

“Are you fucking stupid? I’ve wanted to see you all week, but your dumbass wouldn’t show up. Jesus Christ Lars, do you have any clue how much I’ve missed you? You’re so goddamn unfair you know that?!” You screamed, pounding on his chest. Lars’ hands moved from your face to your waist, holding you steady while you angrily punched him. He could only see you through his hair, which now stuck to his forehead, and his rain covered glasses which were fogging up. He was freezing, but all he could ever think about was you. How cold were you? Why would you sacrifice your time, hell, your health to come see him. He really couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t comprehend why someone would ever do that for someone. You would think with him being such a genius he would figure it out, however some people can be dense. But he realized that you were giving up all your time to invest in him. So, he decided that he needed to do the same.

"Do you think, maybe, that you'd want to spend the rest of your life, with me, maybe not just hating each other. And maybe not while hating each other, you'd like to be with me, y'know, for a long while?" Lars whispered, causing you to stop throwing punches. You looked up at him, in all his rain drenched glory. God, he looked so beautiful. You began to tremble, your hands lifting to capture his face with them. Lars breath quickened, his large hands gripping your waist. His hazy blue eyes captured yours, holding you in his everlasting gaze.

"Lars..." You murmured, swiping your thumb across his bottom lip. It was soft, softer than you thought it would've been. You found yourself daydreaming again about kissing him, though you'd never let him know how many times you've done it. You realized how close you were after you felt his breath against your cheek. You leaned in closer, pressing your chest against his. It was like something out of a movie, the way time stopped then. When your lips pressed against his, your body shuddered. It was like fireworks went off inside of you, making you all jittery and excited. Lars' hands slipped from your waist to your ass, softly gripping the flesh there. You slipped your fingers into his blond locks, tugging lightly. You heard a light groan rumble from his chest as he pressed into you further.

You weren't sure if the rain mixed with the cold had made you delirious, but after Lars had pulled away, it made him look even hotter. His tousled, wet hair, his lips that were red after the kiss, the ruby flush that adorned his cheeks and ears, and his half-lidded eyes made him even more beautiful. You found yourself feeling heat creep up through your neck to your cheeks as he stared down at you.

“Shit, right, you need to get inside, now.” Lars commanded, dragging you towards the door.

“Lars—!” You exclaimed, eyes widening as he basically picked you up. Your hands fly to grip the shirt on his back as you hoists you over his shoulder. He muttered a few things under his breath as he strolled to the door, obviously not caring that the rain was coming down harder. Lars opened the door, set you down, and shut the door with the heel of his shoe.

“Give me a second.” He commanded, leaving you standing in the foyer. You shivered and looked around, noticing some things that seemed quite out of place. Lars had multiple different band posters framed and hung up around the house, most of them signed. You could pick out a few like Pindrop, Temps, and the Timewasters. You also found multiple different movie titles like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and other things. ‘Interesting’ You thought as you took in your surroundings. Lars appeared again with a towel and some sort of clothes he had found for you to wear.

“If you fuck up my good clothes, I’m kicking your ass to the curb again.” Lars sighed, throwing the towel at you.

“Whatever, brainiac.” You bit back, trying to hold back your grin as you shoved past him. That earned a scoff and an eye roll from Lars.

“Washroom is down the right hall, second door to the left.” He called, peaking down at you as you went to change.

Lars had never had a girl in his house before. Other than the times his mother and sister had come over from Britain, obviously. His “outside” friends insisted that he bring a girl home, but he couldn’t ever bring himself to when he could only think of you. It made him a little giddy knowing that you were here with him. It was like a fever dream, if he woke up it all would be gone. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure that there was a way to prove that this was real. Lars found himself wondering if you liked how his house was decorated, the clothes he brought you, even the way the house smelt. At the thought of these, he began to worry that you didn’t like it here. Those thoughts were denied when you waddled back from the bathroom, furiously rubbing at your hair to dry it. It was silly, really. Lars thought you looked a little too good in his clothes. His Temps T-shirt was too big for you, and his plaid pj pants were rolled a few times to even try and fit you.

“You look stupid in that.” Lars scoffed once more, looking anywhere but your face.

“Hey man, you picked this out. Don’t blame me for your shit style.” You tried back. A hint of a smile could be found dawning his face. You smirked and poked his cheek.

“Is that a smile I see? Is the Lars Pinfield smiling in my presence?” You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand to fake gasp.

“No, it isn’t.” He replied, the smile growing wider on his face.

“It so totally is!!! Lars Pinfield is literally smiling right in front of me!” You exclaimed. He shook his head.

“Shut up. Anyways, I’m getting changed, don’t fucking break anything.” Lars sighed, sliding past you.

“You can put on anything, just as long as it’s not some stupid BritCom.” He added, shutting the door to his room.

“Who even watches BritComs…” You muttered to yourself. Walking back into the main foyer, you sat down on the sofa, which was surprisingly nice compared to how you thought your scientist boyfriend colleague lived. You sat down and flicked through the channels, stopping on whatever stupid romcom movie was on. You sighed and put your chin in your hand, anticipating the snappy response of ‘this is the shittiest movie I’ve ever seen.’

“Hey.” You heard from above you. Looking up, you saw Lars resting his elbows on the top of the sofa next to you.

“Hi.” You peeped back. Secretly, you were gawking at him. Lars wore a pair of white sweatpants and a black shirt. You’ve never seen him in casual wear, but you were absolutely loving it right now. His glasses weren’t pushed up, loosely sitting below the bridge of his nose, and his hair was still damp. If this wasn’t heaven, you didn’t know what was.

“What’re we watching?” He asked, glancing down at you. You shivered when his eyes locked on to yours.

“Some stupid romcom, you probably won’t like it anyways.” You answered.

“You’re right, I’ll probably think it’s super shitty, but I’ll watch it anyways.” He sighed, tipping his head towards you. You reached up and placed a kiss on his lips. Lars scrunched his eyebrows and sighed. After you pulled away, you patted the seat beside you, beckoning him to sit down. He all but scrambled to get next to you, plopping down with another big sigh.

“How’s your leg?” Lars asked once more, motioning to it with his eyes.

“It has definitely seen better days.” You replied earnestly. He nodded in sincerity, then turned his attention back to whatever you were watching. You looked over at him again before reaching over and slipping your hand into his. He didn't move, so you considered it a win. Taking matters into your hands again, you slid closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder. Lars' head rested on top of yours immediately and you smiled as he snuggled in closer. You could smell whatever cologne he was wearing, a citrusy, vanilla smell.

"You smell good." You muttered, looking up at him through your lashes. Lars didn't reply, but you could definitely imagine the look on his face. That little embarrassed smile with a scarlet blush dusting his cheeks. You found yourself becoming a little sleepy as you settled in. Blinking a few times, you tried to wake yourself up, but that only made you even more sleepy. Unintentionally, you started to fall asleep. As you drifted off to sleep, you could hear Lars mutter something to you, but you didn't respond.

Somehow, in the middle of the night, you had moved from the sofa, to Lars' bed. Now you only had 2 options as to how you got there. 1. You sleep walked to the bed and magically laid down, or 2. Lars had carried you there. You groaned and opened your eyes, lifting a hand to rub them. You blinked a couple times and sat up. No, Lars wasn't in here. So then, where was he? You slipped out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen, finding that he wasn't there either. A cup of coffee and some breakfast was left on the counter, along with a note saying,

'I'll be back later, got a couple things I need to work on at the lab. I left you some breakfast and I'm sure you can fend for yourself for lunch. Please don't burn the house down. - Lars' You smiled and picked up the coffee, finding that it was still steaming. You noticed that Lars had made the coffee the way you liked it, which meant he definitely paid attention whenever you ordered it.

After basically spending the whole day exploring Lars' house, you settled into the sofa once more with a random book you had picked out of his bookcase. Hearing keys jingle, you lifted your head from the book and saw Lars venture in. You slowly got up, minding both your head and leg, and made your way over to him.

"Hi handsome, how did work go?" You smiled at him, leaning against the doorway.

"It was...eventful. I got thrown up on by pukey." Lars sighed. You laughed and patted his shoulder.

"That was probably hilarious. I'll make dinner while you take a shower." You said, pushing him along to the bathroom.

"Mmmm, fine. But..." He started before he swooped down and kissed you. Your hand flew to his hair, giving it a nice tug. With that came a loud groan. Lars' gripped your waist and pushed you against the wall. His tongue swiped at your lips, which you gladly accepted. You snatched his glasses and tossed them away, squirming slightly as his nails dug your waist. When he pulled away he grinned,

"Looks like I'm not getting my shower in tonight."