#i wish all his comic appearances weren’t so convoluted

[wishingly-mesh]

Khalid doodle for the besties

I don’t like it too much so I probably won’t finish it :) Hope y’all like it though :D

[doveypink]

come and find me [technoblade imagine]

summary: techno faces the consequences of your death. word count: 5.4k warnings: mentions of death, violence. a/n: this is a sequel to the one i left behind; read that first![ tag list: @shu5h @sylum @zefrenchturtle ]

Time is a tricky thing. It is insistent, always rushing forward without fail and unforgiving to those swept away in its tide. On occasion, though, time is a gentle monster; it takes you in its arms and kisses your head, lays you gently in the waves, and carries you to shore.

Time was not so kind to Technoblade. 

Following the death of his friend, the archer, time became his enemy. Each day thereafter was a living hell full of tsunamis and stormy seas that bellowed within. The voices in his head used to sound like a low hum, the soft slap of waves in the back of his mind. Now, they were as loud as ever; if he didn’t catch himself in time, Techno would be overcome by the crashing waves and the tumultuous ocean inside his head.

“You have that look again,” Phil said softly from across the room. Techno’s eyes jumped to meet Phil’s, no longer burning holes into the wooden planks of the floor. 

“You keep saying that like I know what it means,” Techno griped, instantly feeling sorry at the sight of Phil’s frown. The older man sighed and stepped towards his friend, taking a seat next to him.

“I know it’s difficult right now. That’s an understatement, clearly, but you saw what happened with Wilbur and I,” Phil explained, a cloudy look in his eyes. “It’s not easy to be asked to do something like that. All we can do is hope that it was for the best and carry on.”

The voices swarmed more powerfully in Techno’s head. He knew it was wrong to feel so angry at Phil for trying to comfort him, but it didn’t seem fair. Wilbur was Phil’s son, yes, but their bond was nothing like the one Techno had with his friend. The rage, the emptiness, the carelessness that Technoblade was experiencing reached heights that no person could begin to understand. The pain was his alone to carry.

Phil took note of Techno’s silence and gave his arm a gentle pat. “I’m here if you ever need anything,” he said. The man stood and padded out of the room to leave Techno on his own, his gaze turned back to the wooden planks. 

Techno often wondered about you at times like this, when he found himself boiling in his own rage without someone to level him. Funnily enough, you weren’t much different from him in your anger; you would grit your teeth and quietly stare at some spot in the corner or keep your hands busy with anything you could find until you would tire yourself out. He wished he could see you now or hear your voice to remind him to calm down. He knew you were still around as a ghost, but your presence didn’t ease him as it once did. Nowadays, the thought of you only filled him with guilt, and his heart felt hollow without you around. It was hard to even look you in the eyes anymore.

“Techno?”

As if summoned by his own thoughts, you appeared in the window of the cabin. Your hands were cupped against the glass as you peered in comically, your eyes squinted as you struggled to see through the foggy glass. Techno glanced at you and sighed, rising from his chair to let you in; he tried ignoring you once, but it resulted in you attempting to climb through his window, so he always welcomed you in. Technoblade swung the door open and you jumped into view, cheerful as ever. 

“Techno! I’ve been looking for you!”

“Looking for me?” the man wondered, crossing his arms. “I’m always here.”

“I know, I just got a little lost again,” you said sheepishly, wringing your hands. Techno stepped aside to let you in, foolishly wondering for a moment if he should let you borrow his cloak to keep warm. It would change nothing, of course; you were a ghost, the cold didn’t bother you. It was funny in some awful, convoluted way how often Techno forgot that you were dead. As a ghost, you would come and go at random, yet your presence hung over him like storm clouds. You were everywhere, bouncing around behind his eyes and throughout the cabin: all the books on the shelves you never read, the letters with your handwriting strewn across the desk, the scratches in the floorboards from when you dragged your chair. They were reminders of you, as if he could possibly forget. 

“Don’t you have the compass Phil gave you?” Techno asked, referring to an enchanted compass which directed you to the cabin. Phil had given it to you during your last visit, much to Techno’s disapproval; he hated seeing you like this. It’s like you were a new person entirely, a stranger that wore your skin, but your soul had been exchanged for something else. He wasn’t sure who you were anymore, and every voice in his head argued that this was his own fault.

“I gave it to Ranboo,” you replied, fiddling with your sleeve. “He needs it more than I do, doesn’t he?”

“It was a gift for you,” Techno griped. “You can’t just give it away. Who knows what people could do if they had a direct line to us? Too many know where we are as it is.”

“I thought you wouldn’t mind. Ranboo basically lives here now.”

“Well, you were wrong.” Despite the warmth of the cabin, a chill seemed to run through the room as Techno stared coldly at his friend. He wasn’t sure why this angered him so much; realistically, he knew that what you had done was a smart idea. Ranboo lived just nearby Techno and Phil’s cabin, and with his memory issues, it wasn’t safe for him to wander aimlessly through the cold. Still, something about the way you could give such a tool away hurt him more than he cared to admit. He didn’t even want you around—he could hardly stand having to look at your ashen skin, and hearing your voice made his heart shake with grief—so why did he care?

You frowned, taking a small step forward to place a hand on your friend’s shoulder. Techno flinched at the contact, alarmed by the deadly cold that seeped through his cape. Up close, you could feel it: Techno was alive, yet the dark chill of death seemed to bound itself to him like a shadow. This was your influence; the bitterness that you rarely saw in him during your living days was an arrow, and you were its target. 

“I know you don’t want me here. I can see it,” you said. Techno’s eyes widened slightly as you continued. “You look at me like—like I’m a stranger, but you’re searching for someone else. I know you can’t help it and neither can I, but I want to be that person so bad. I want to be what I’m supposed to be, but I don’t know how. I just miss feeling normal. I miss you.”

Techno swallowed thickly, averting his eyes. “I don’t think I can help you,” he admitted, taking a step towards the cabin door. He felt the cold air press against the wood and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “Whatever reassurance you need, I can’t give that to you. And you can’t come here haunting the place until I do, either. I don’t need ghosts.”

“But you… You’ll still let me visit, won’t you?” You asked quietly.

The man seemed taken aback by your question. He seemed to consider it for a moment before responding, his voice not quite as frostbitten as moments earlier: “You can always visit.”

It was strange how suddenly Techno seemed like himself again. The winter froze him over, encasing all the warmth you could recall from when you were alive, but now the ice shuddered and cracked. The guilt that he had grown accustomed to merged with a longing he had been afraid to feel; he missed you, he missed every second that you weren’t around, and he hated himself for it. It was a selfish thought to want you here when he was the one who tore you away from the life you once clung to. It was selfish to want something good when all he seemed to do was snuff out any glimpse of light that came his way.

You smiled, albeit dolefully, and glanced around the room. You noticed a sheen of silver hanging on the wall and, propped against the wall, was a quiver of arrows—the same weapon you had found in the rubble of L’Manburg. The item you had once cherished no longer served a purpose to you, so you gifted them to Technoblade on your first visit postmortem. It surprised you that he accepted the gift in the first place, given that he seemed completely unnerved with your presence, so it was odd to see it displayed on the wall where all could see. It reminded you of an urn, a tangible indication of someone lost. 

You weren’t sure how you felt by the sight of the item; were you meant to be flattered? Offended? The experiences that followed your death were far more puzzling than the ones you had in your life. When you were alive, you developed how to think and feel through socializing—your life was nurtured, guided along by those you met. In death, however, you were isolated. Techno already said it: he didn’t need ghosts, no one did. No living person wanted to face the dead because they were busy with the troubles of their lives, and rightfully so. Still, it was lonely to be dead. There was nothing that could teach you how to live in shadow, nobody to hold your hand and tell you that you would be alright. Death stole you right when you thought you would have survived to see the day, made a fool by hope, and your only friend was left to see the sun rise without you. This was it, this was the cruel joke nature played on the wanderers of the earth: to live and watch those you love die, or to die and watch those you love live. 

Your gaze was pulled from the sharp curve of steel and you headed to the door. “I should leave you, now. I didn’t mean to…” Uncertainty crossed your features and you gestured your hands through the air to fill in the blank. 

Techno seemed to understand, nodding as he reached to open the door for you. It was a quiet goodbye as you slipped into the snow, only turning back to wave at your friend as his cabin shrank in your view. The man stood in the doorway until you were a speck in the distance, a stir in his heart which rushed through him like a cold breeze. You would return.

* * * * *

“What do you know about necromancy, Phil?”

The older man looked up from his book. His eyes narrowed at his pink friend and held a look of disapproval. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

Techno frowned, crossing his arms. “What? I barely said anything.”

“You don’t have to,” Phil sighed, snapping his book shut. “It’s not a good idea to bring them back, especially if they haven’t told you that they want to come back. You don’t know what it could do.”

“But you do. You can help.”

“I don’t want to help. And besides, the methods I’ve tried haven’t been successful, I know from the attempts with Wilbur. It didn’t change anything. You have to give this a rest, it's been weeks since you slept.”

“Well you’ve done more research, haven’t you?” Techno took a seat across from Phil and leaned in. “There’s gotta be something you didn’t try or somebody who knows enough.”

Phil hesitated and looked down at his hands. “I don’t want you to do this, but… You could speak with Dream.”

The younger man stiffened, trying to mask his displeasure. “What for?”

“I heard that he was doing research of his own. I don’t know what his method is or if it even works, but I don’t trust it. He wants to make himself a god, so it can’t be without its consequences.”

“Godship always comes with consequences. I’ll take my chances.”

“Are you really prepared for that?” Phil looked his friend in the eyes. “It’s too much of a risk to try—”

“I know that,” Techno snapped, rising from his chair. “And I know what I want. I want them back. I want Dream to be sorry that he ever hurt them. I want to—” Techno stopped himself from continuing his enraged rant. He wanted to feel whole again, he thought. He wanted to wake up and feel safe knowing you were in the next room over. He wanted to argue with you over nothing and know that you would forgive him nonetheless. He wanted to wake up early after a long day of travel and watch the sunrise with you, to see the whole world light up in your eyes. The emptiness he was stranded with was from your absence, he knew this now. You were the sun to his moon, but you were forever hidden under the horizon, casting him into the shade. 

Phil’s frown deepened. He spoke softly, carefully. “I know you’re hurting, but you need to think this through. Is this really what you want?”

Techno refused to meet the older man’s gaze. You were gone because of him, and you would come back for him. He wasn’t going to let this go quietly. “Yes,” he said finally. The icy air whipped through the house as he opened the cabin door and slammed it shut, a mission in his mind.

* * * * *

The journey to the prison was an expectedly silent one. Few people were to be seen as Technoblade wandered through the country—whether out of fear for the man or some other reason, he couldn’t be sure. Regardless, he trudged down the paths he used to know, eventually coming upon the evil-looking building. The massive walls loomed over him, the shadows stretching across the grass in sharp lines. After taking a quick glance of the perimeter, Techno proceeded to the entrance of the prison.

Upon entering, he was faced with a portal and a switch off to his right. The man glanced around once before slapping the button, waiting for a guard to come by. There was a brief period of silence, then a disembodied voice: “Hello?”

“Hello,” Techno echoed, unsure of where to look. “How do I, uh, get in?”

“Just step through the portal and I’ll get to you in a second,” the guard replied. Techno followed his instructions and stepped in the portal, a feeling like water rippling against his skin. Techno emerged from the other side to see a desk and a podium in front of it with a large book sat upon it. Behind the counter of the desk was the prison guard, Sam.

“Hello, Technoblade. Step up to the podium, I’ll need you to read that book aloud to me and sign, then I have to ask you a few questions.” 

The piglin stood directly in front of the podium, peering down at the book. He read out the protocols, frowning at the mention of being locked in the prison should the security be threatened. Techno signed his name on the book anyway, handing it to the guard.

“Thank you. Can I ask when you last visited the prison?”

“Never,” Techno replied. “Shouldn’t that be obvious?”

“It’s just an extra security measure,” Sam explained. “Some of our visitors may have a lapse in memory. Now, what’s your relationship with the prisoner?”

The other man considered the question for a moment until he settled on a suitable answer. “Ex-colleague.”

“Alright, and where is your place of residence?”

“Up north, in the arctic.”

“Good, good. Follow me to your locker, I’ll need you to place everything inside the chest. Once you’re done, press that button on the side to get the key.”

Techno followed the guard’s instructions, feeling slightly uneasy with the lack of protection in his inventory. He retrieved the key, feeling the weight of the metal in his palm, then deposited it into an ender chest. The guard was waiting patiently outside the locker room. “Follow me and do exactly as I say,” he ordered, leading Techno through the prison. 

Sam guided Techno through a series of security checks and exercises to minimize his strength through potions. The piglin felt slightly lightheaded from the various trials and journeys through halls full of water and lava. Eventually, the pair of men reached the entrance of the maximum security cell, which looked empty save for the switches on the far wall. 

“Stand on that platform right there,” Sam instructed, gesturing towards a number of tiles placed before a large screen of lava. Techno stepped onto the tiles, glancing over his shoulder to watch the guard fiddle with the controls. “The lava will stop in a minute or two. Just stay where you are and be careful when the platform moves,” Sam warned, keeping a firm gaze on the piglin.

Techno grunted a reply, waiting patiently until the barrier of lava parted like a curtain before a play. Between the bright orange drapery, he saw Dream come into view. The prisoner stood silently in the corner of his cell, his dull green eyes bearing a blank expression. There was a pink scar across the bridge of his nose, one Techno realized he received from you. His blond hair was long and unkept, a shadow of stubble on his chin—a blatant difference from the composed appearance he once possessed.

The platform shifted forward, rolling Techno straight towards the cell. A barricade stretched between the walls and the visitor crossed his arms in waiting. Finally, the space between the men opened, and the piglin took a step into the cell. Behind him, the wall of lava fell again, trapping the pair within the confines of the obsidian.

The prisoner inched forward from the corner. “I was beginning to think you’d never visit,” Dream said. 

“I hadn’t planned on it,” the pig-man replied, glancing around at the mostly-bare walls of the cell. There was a clock on the wall set to the wrong time, a cauldron of water, and a desk with writing utensils in the corner. No other possessions decorated the cell.

“Hm. What made you change your mind?”

Techno’s eyes met the prisoner. “I need your help.”

Dream chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “The blood god needs my help? With what, may I ask?”

“I know what you can do,” Techno stated, drawing closer to the prisoner. “I know you can raise people from the dead.”

The blond man scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “So that’s what you want? You need me to bring back your friend?”

“Exactly. And you’ll do it.”

Dream hummed, considering the other man’s words before he finally responded. “No, I don’t think I will.” Dream leaned against the wall, looking bored. “You have nothing for me. And besides, I’m not sure you’re prepared to bring back the archer. It’d be pointless.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Techno growled, annoyed with the prisoner’s lack of cooperation. “You know I’m a dedicated man.”

“And that’s exactly why you can’t bring them back. You don’t have the guts to do it.”

Techno rushed forward and grabbed Dream by the collar, teeth bared as he glared at the man. “Careful there, Dream. You don’t want to provoke your ticket out of here.”

Dream laughed unflinchingly in the god’s face. “Right, and what can you do? Kill me and lose your only chance to have them back? You’re not an idiot, and neither am I. We both know exactly how this would go down if you set me free.”

“I wouldn’t kill you, but I can easily make you regret living,” Techno spat, gritting his teeth. “You’re going to bring them back.”

“No,” Dream scoffed, seemingly unfazed by the other man’s threats. “You think you know exactly what you want, don’t you? I’m not sure you understand how traumatic it would be for them to come back, Techno. Don’t you get it? They’d wake up and feel disgusted by you. You killed them. You could have saved them, but you were too weak to even try. Besides,” he continued, lowering his voice, “I think they look much better rotting in the dirt.”

Techno shoves the prisoner against the wall, chest heaving with anger and guilt. The voices were like white noise in his mind, screeching for blood as his heart pounded. Dream slid to the floor and laughed maniacally; the sound made Techno’s head pound with the dull pain of an oncoming headache. There was no mask to hide the deranged look in the prisoner’s eyes as he held his stomach and howled with cruel pleasure. “They’re dead,” Dream gasped between laughter. “They’re dead and it’s all your fault!”

It was a mistake to have gone to the prison for answers, and Techno felt foolish for his actions as he called for Sam to let him out. Dream remained slumped against the wall, his shoulders shaking with an awful cackle that faded as Techno disappeared from the cell.

Technoblade could hardly recall the journey back to his cabin. Once he was out of the prison, he bounded through the war torn country, red hot fury searing in his veins. The voices wanted blood; they screeched and clamored inside the cage of his skull, raging into white noise that struck Techno like an arrow to the heart. Flashes of memories he had tried to suppress came rushing back—the crack of fireworks resounding in his ears. The smell of burnt flesh. Blood staining him from head to toe. He stumbled through the hills and snow, clamoring up the short set of stairs and through the cabin door. His head was pounding so awfully that the man became nauseous, collapsing to his knees as he dug his fingers into his scalp. It wasn’t until a hand came to rest on his shoulder that Techno finally managed to look up. His eyes burned and, with a start, he realized that he had been crying.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, mate. I’ve got you. You’re okay, take a deep breath,” Phil assured him, a firm grip stabilizing his piglin friend. Technoblade took in short, stuttering breaths, before Phil patted his shoulder and told him to take it easy. He made another attempt, inhaling slowly, then exhaling, repeating the motion until he was calm enough to speak.

“He won’t do it. He doesn’t want me to—He won’t.” Despite how hard he tried, Techno couldn’t stop the tremor in his voice. He hated this, he hated the vulnerability of it all. There was no space in his heart for the amount of pain he had been suppressing, and it was finally overflowing. He wished you were here. He wished so badly that he wasn’t such a fool.

Phil, conscious of his friend’s needs, pulled his hand away. “You know, someone was hoping to see you today.”

Techno looked up, watching Phil move aside to bring you into his line of sight. He hadn’t even noticed you were there in the midst of his agony, but the cold followed you as you drew closer. You were silent until you knelt down, reaching a hand out to your friend. “Come with me?” You asked gently, giving him a chance to refuse.

Techno looked down at your outstretched hand, examining the creases in your ashen skin. After a moment of consideration, he took it, hyper aware of your freezing touch. You led your friend out of the cabin, carefully guiding him to a destination you had yet to announce. Techno was curious as to what you were up to, but he didn’t have the energy to speak, especially not to you. There was so much he wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to apologize to you, to tell you how sorry he was for what he did to you, for the eternity you had been stranded with. There weren’t enough words in the world to admit how sorry he really was.

The pair of you traveled away from the cabin, through a forest of evergreens blanketed in snow; you walked past white foxes scurrying between bushes and birds fluttering overhead; you hopped over fallen trees and climbed a hill, finally stopping once you reached its peak. “We’re here,” you announced. 

Techno stood at your side and admired the view: the sun was beginning to fall, clinging to the horizon. The entire land was bathed in golden hues, causing the snow to sparkle in the warm glow. With this light, your skin seemed to regain its warmth, a refreshing contrast to the ashen look of death which Techno had grown used to. He watched you gaze wordlessly at the sky before breaking the silence. “Why are we here?”

You admired the sight for a moment longer, then, gesturing for Techno to copy your motions, you took a seat in the snow. “Do you remember how we met?” you began.

Techno was surprised by your question, answering quietly. “Of course. I, uh, kidnapped you. Sorry for that,” he mumbled.

Letting out a soft laugh, you continued. “Right. But I’ve been remembering more, actually. It used to be fuzzy—it still is, sometimes, the details—but it’s easier to recall. I mainly remember the good things, but the gaps are starting to fill in.”

The man swallowed nervously. “So… Where are you going with this?”

Your eyes became downcast. “I’ve realized a lot of things. I can sort through my emotions now and it’s been weighing on me just how much you meant to me, how much you still mean to me—and I know you must feel the same way.

“I can remember so much of my life now. I remember feeling some bit of relief when you captured me because I didn’t have to be with Dream—I was free for the first time in my life, and I didn’t even know it. I remember the training, the battles, the betrayals, the exile, but more than anything, I remember you. It’s like a part of me was missing for so long before I met you, and I had grown used to it. I tried to fill it with other things, with other people, but that space was made for you. Once I had you, I was balanced—I had spent the first half of my life trying to find you, so I couldn’t stand to be away from you. I had to have you, always, filling the gap. It seemed wrong to live any other way.

“I can see now where the fault was in my logic. You told me the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, right? A pair of lovers are separated when Eurydice dies, stranded to the Underworld. Orpheus travels to her and all he has to do to bring her back to the living realm is to walk the path to earth without looking behind him to see her. They reach the end, and at the last second, Orpheus looks back. His love is fated to death, and he must live on without her, singing a sorrowful tune to the earth. When I first heard that story, I couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing. I thought it was from a sense of doubt, or maybe he was just a fool, but now I know better. Orpheus wasn’t looking back because he was doubtful—he knew exactly what the consequences were. He looked back because he couldn’t accept her death once, but this time, he could do it. That’s the hidden truth that no one ever tells you: love is letting go.”

You turned your head to look Techno in the eyes. “Do you remember what I told you before I tried to kill Dream?”

The man nodded slowly. “You told me not to look back,” he breathed.

Nodding, you spoke again. “Exactly. Now, I need you to listen to me again,” you asked. “I need you to look back.”

Techno’s eyes became misty. “I don’t—I don’t think I know how,” he admitted. 

“Neither did Orpheus,” you explained, taking the larger man’s hands in yours. “He lived the rest of his life mourning Eurydice through his music, but look at the world now. Don’t you see how beautiful it is? He sacrificed everything to see this. Orpheus did the hardest thing he could possibly do because it was the right thing.”

“What about the gaps?” Techno wondered. “How am I supposed to fill the gap without you?”

Looking down at the calloused hands in yours, you shook your head. “There’s always going to be pieces of you that can never be replaced—they’re not meant to be filled with something else. But there will be other things to love, other things to care about, and that’s how you move on. You pick up what’s left of your heart and put it back together as you go.”

The man looked at you, sorrow and adoration pooling in his eyes. “Will you stay? Will you be there when I carry myself back?” He asked, his voice small and trembling with apprehension.

Your cold hands were firm in his. “Always.”

In the west, the sun sank lower over the edge of the earth. The light grew fainter as orange, magenta, and hints of violet eased their way into the sky above. Clouds stretched on lazily, dragging against the atmosphere like heavy brush strokes on a canvas. Techno tugged on your hand when you got lost in the view. “We should head back before it gets too dark,” he said. You nodded and followed him through the snow, guided by the tracks you left from earlier. It would take him time, you were sure of that, and he would struggle as he always did when it came to his feelings. And you would be by his side, even then.

* * * * *

“I’m thinking of making it bigger, maybe add some glass panes to the top. What do you think?” Ranboo wondered, showing you the plans for his new house.

“Hm… No glass, just the stone here and there,” you replied, pointing at the drawings he laid out in front of you. 

Ranboo was still living near Techno, sprucing up his old shed of a house into something more permanent. The tall boy stood proudly in front of his land, tugging at his coat. “Yeah, actually, that does sound nice.”

You knelt down behind Ranboo, scooping a handful of snow into your palm and carefully shaping it into a ball. “You know what else is nice?” You wondered innocently.

Ranboo responded absentmindedly with “Huh?”

With an evil grin, you shouted, “This!” 

The snowball launched out of your hand as you threw it directly at the back of the half-enderman’s head. Ranboo jumped, shrieking in surprise as he wiped the back of his head. Spinning on his heel, he gave you a mischievous look before gathering snow in his own hands. “Oh, you’ve done it now,” he drawled, narrowly missing you as the snowball flew past your head. You took off into a run, laughing with your tall friend chasing behind you, snow flying left and right as you battled.

From his porch, Techno stood and watched the pair of you playing around, a faint smile on his face. He could see it now, more clearly than ever before: life, all around you, even in death. It was a strange irony, but an honest one. You were different than the person he once knew, but despite everything, your laugh never changed. Every version of you was real and true—you had simply taken a different shape.

The piglin turned to head back inside, but not before pausing as a spark of red caught his sight. There, standing alone at the corner of the stairs, was a bright red carnation. How it managed to grow in the cold, and so close to the cabin, was a mystery. Still, it was a rare beauty, strong in spite of the world it was born into. Techno looked from the flower back to you, an echo in his heart. You would be there—always.

The cabin door shut behind him, and there was no cold to follow.

[cold-neon-ocean]

Concerning the comics, do you dislike Thanos himself or the Black Order's previous (?) affiliation with him?

A mix of both but primarily the former. Thanos is my least favorite fictional character in existence so I’ll always grind my teeth at The Order’s subservience to him seemingly without much reason in the earlier comics aside from “they’re evil and Thanos is the biggest evil so they worship him!” because to me it’s boring. I don’t like god-mod characters and Thanos is the epitome of that trope. “He’s so powerful that only gets defeated by the heroes because he subconsciously wants to lose as punishment, isn’t he just the most tragic villain ever ;A;” gags

Regarding The Order’s affiliation with him I don’t.. MIND it, in fact I do like it as a set up for their coming together, I just wish it was written where the characters had some more agency and Marvel would actually allow them to move on once he’s gone. Admittedly with the Thanos 2019 comics they did seem to attempt this (despite how many holes it poked in the known canon among other things), and I liked some of the ideas presented, mainly The Order starting out as hired mercenaries with Proxima and Maw, I loved that a lot, and how their loyalty is conditional so long as they are benefiting from the partnership (maybe not as flip-floppy as they were in the comics) and are willing to dip out if they aren’t. THAT I really like even though that was clearly never the case in previous comics lol. The problem is that I- love Proxima SO MUCH, and I hate Thanos SO MUCH so my brain doesn’t want her anywhere near him, especially as some mindless lackey because she deserves better lol. Also my issues could stem from my primary introduction to The Black Order came from the MCU where they are VASTLY different characters than what they are in the comics, and far less developed so I had a lot more room to headcanon and make up my own stuff about them freely before I started looking into them in the comics (which could also explain my mixed feelings about how they’ve been written lately in the comics post-Thanos). I do want to preface that I don’t have a complete knowledge of The Order’s history because I can’t find complete lists of all the comics they’re in. Though from what I can find I’ve read most of their content if I’m not mistaken, but I’m sure there are some more obscure minor appearances that maybe explain some things that haven’t been listed anywhere that I’ve missed.

If I were to throw in my input and talk about MY rendition of The Black Order which is how I choose to write them based on my own personal tastes in my side AU where the Marvel Universe is much less CONVOLUTED(the same AU all my Ronan and Crystal content exists in), I have things set up jumping off the initial ideas of Thanos 2019, where the mercenary group Maw and Proxima were in were initially hired by Thanos, with Cull (I refer to Black Dwarf by his MCU name because I like it better lol) and Corvus being added later. And the affiliation is very conditional from The Order’s perspective. The Order are always watching and judging and gauging whether or not the partnership is worth maintaining, Maw and Proxima especially, and even though I try to write for Thanos as little as possible because I hate touching him and only do what’s absolutely necessary, he can feel the pulls of their defiance at times (with Proxima ESPECIALLY) and has to really think about how he holds onto them, hence the change from hiring adults to kidnapping children who are much easier to condition. Think of them as akin to the hyenas and Scar in The Lion King, loyalty and a willingness to do as they’re told until they stop benefiting from it (though the fear of being hunted down and killed for disloyalty keeps them there as well) and later on realizing, and some having known from the beginning, that they’re meant for more than just being servants and want more for themselves. But that’s in my perfect would. 

What I mainly don’t like about how The Order were written under Thanos in the canon is that they’re just lackeys with not much to them, we know nothing about them like when or why they joined (prior to Thanos 2019 ofc but even then we still don’t knew when or how Cull and Corvus came into the picture), just that they did and that’s all that matters. They’re there because they’re evil and that’s about it, they’re blind followers with not a single thought going on in their own heads. That did change over time of course but The Order are STILL functioning under a “what if Thanos comes back” basis, like they’ll have no choice but to go crawling back to him whenever/if he does because that’s just what they do? I knew Marvel would never keep Thanos permanently dead in the comics like they said they would lol I called bullshit on that from day one. When Maw mentioned Thanos’ return in Star #5 I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out of my mouth because I KNEW that was coming (though I do appreciate how Proxima didn’t give a single shit about it lmao). There was also something said preceding the Black Order solo comics in 2019 about how Corvus will still ALWAYS choose Thanos above all else, even his wife and brother, which made ZERO sense??? and also I wasn’t sure why this needed stating when Thanos was canonically dead in the comics following the statement that he’d be perma-dead. It felt like they just weren’t gonna let him grow as there was always that possibility they’d bring Thanos back and send The Order right back to him, undoing all the development they’ve done without him like they’ve done before. I remember when Thanos made Corvus kill himself after he returned and formed a new Black Order and Proxima just... didn’t react to it, though this seemed to be retconned after the universe reset so I’m still confused about that. I also think about how in the Death Sentence novel (and I know this kind of exists in it’s own separate universe but just discussing the overall mentality of writing The Order), again Corvus in particular is written like he needs someone to lead him or he can’t even properly function and he even has a full blown emotional breakdown when he realizes Thanos is back and I just… hate it. Him and Proxima “needing” Thanos to be their god and lead them it’s just stupid and weird and I can’t stand it. I remember Proxima even makes an internal statement about how Corvus falls apart when he doesn’t have someone leading him???

So my main issue in regards to Thanos’ affiliation with The Order as it’s written in the canon is that they’re written as if they can’t do anything without him, ofc this is all before the big universe reset with The Challenger where Thanos is supposedly dead for good but we all know that isn’t true. They were given some agency when they were on their own but with the mention of Thanos in the recent Star comic I have… little hope for them remaining their own thing. They talk about how they don’t want to be servants and how they want to do their own thing then the writers have them fall right back into their old beats of being servants for someone and chasing infinity stones and worrying about what T fucking Hanos will think when he comes back and I just…….. want more for them. I want them to be more fleshed out as characters and have actual ambitions and goals that align with their actions. Because they’re such interesting characters that I genuinely love(well most of them) and have a lot of potential, and I want to see them grow and develop and actually follow through with what they say and not get dragged backwards every time the plot requires them to. I’m still catching up on all my Black Order related comics (there aren’t a lot of complete lists of their appearances out there for me to refer to sadly but I’ve read most of the major ones I believe) but all I really want is for them to finally and actually be able to move on from Thanos. Especially with Corvus because (prior to Star #5 which I’ll expand on in a sec) it makes him look fucking stupid to have him default to “we chase the infinity stones because that’s what we do” after having them talk in previous comics about about how they want to be different and work for themselves, and Black Swan is like “chasing the stones has only ever made us miserable, whymst are we doing this???” and have her bring up valid points about how they don’t need to and Corvus is still just like “nope, nope we gotta.” and doesn’t even explain why. And now apparently that ‘why’ is because they expect Thanos to return? Or at least Maw does? I choose to believe that Corvus wanted the reality stone because it could give them some protection from a possible return of Thanos and allow them to stay together and do as they please like they want. To “forge their own reality” as Corvus said in the Death Sentence novel ironically, that would at the very least be a reason to continue infinity stone hunting that I’d be on board with.

I dunno, lol perhaps my lack of the full scope with missing a few things from sporadic comics and just my own personal views and tastes regarding the characters clash a lot with how the canon wants to portray them and at the end of the day that just is what it is lol. I didn’t intend this to get so long and.. rambly, the subject of Thanos in general gets me on a soap box and I never know how to get off aah. But yeah I hope that made some semblance of sense? The main gist of the story was really that sentence about loving Proxima and hating Thanos so I just naturally want her nowhere near him; and it was actually that affiliation that put me off of The Order for so long before I finally saw the light and realized they’re all vastly more interesting characters than he is LMAO. But I’m gonna stop because this just hit it’s 3rd page in my google docs and I’m starting to get embarrassed wheezes :’D

[narwhallove]

Behind the Curtain: Interview with Romy Writer Ludi-Ling

House of Cards actually started out as a random smut scene that burgeoned into something far, far more.

@ludi-ling goes meta in our final interview about her writing process; how the Romy fandom’s changed over the years; alternate universes (AU); and the role of smut for Romy fans. (Spoiler alert, our heroes are hot.)

No surprise that it’s a pleasure interviewing Ludi. I kept sending her more questions (25 total!) because her responses fascinated me and inspired me to ask more. It’s a rare person who writes visceral, startling prose and can also talk about her work with clarity, intelligence, and an affection for her characters that doesn’t occlude good writerly judgment.

The superlatives don’t end there. Anyone who knows the community knows that Ludi is a friend to her readers and to her fellow writers. As we all enter a heady 2019, reading Mr. and Mrs. X together, Ludi is someone to cherish.

If you haven’t read our other interviews, please check out: Part 1 of interviews: X-men Origins Part 2 of interviews: Going Dark

As a scholar of fan studies, do you believe Romy fanfiction fulfills needs that Marvel never can? What needs might those be, for Romy fans?

Certainly I think that fanfic is built on the premise of filling in the gaps, scribbling in the margins (to quote the seminal fan studies scholar, Henry Jenkins!) and fixing perceived wrongs. Comics are unique in that regard because the characters and stories within them continue for years and even decades. Comics continuities are convoluted and complicated, and there is a constant churn of writers working on them. Many fans have followed characters for far longer than the writers, and may know the characters more intimately than the professionals. Comics are full of retcons and contradictory takes on the characters. And I think fanfic is an important medium for allowing fans to “fix” that, to negotiate it. Because of the ongoing nature of comics, and because the futures of the characters are always going to be nebulous and subject to the whims of Marvel and the writers indefinitely, I think it’s going to continue to be important. Romy may be married in the comics, but there will still be plenty to write about—kids, divorce, a reconciliation . . . who knows? ;) 

What do you think Romy readers seek out when they read fanfiction? If it’s wish fulfillment, what kinds of wishes are being fulfilled? If it’s looking for “gaps” that the comics skip over, what have you found to be the most common sorts of gaps?

I think Romy is a very interesting example of the “wish fulfillment” function of fanfiction. Because part of the mystique of that ship (no pun intended) is that they can’t touch, they can’t consummate their relationship . . . And fanfic is a way that fans can get them to touch, to work out that angst. I think that one of the staples of Romy fic is the sexual tension between the two, and how they resolve that; the push and pull between them. Sometimes these take place in epic, superheroic backdrops, sometimes in AUs, where they have no mutant powers and where the tension between them is born from other factors (such as already having significant others, or being enemies, or in illicit lines of work).

What draws you to AUs? Your stories aren’t a case of fanfiction filling what’s “between panels”; you tend to shift characters and relationships to entirely different settings, whether it’s a Strange Days–like world or another genre, like a Southern gothic procedural. Can you talk about AUs and how they play out in your imagination?

What I’ve always liked is world-building. One of my first large-scale writing projects was a fantasy trilogy called The Legend of Elu. Most of the fun I got from that was actually building the world, the kingdoms, the mythology, the theology, the languages, the history of that story. That definitely bled into my fanfic.

Now I tend to write canon stuff as one-shots, and novel-length stuff as AUs, because they give me more space to play with world-building. That was something I realised I enjoyed more when I wrote Threads. Writing all those little worlds in a series of one-shots felt too “small.” HoC was originally an expansion of the Threads tale Touch and Go, but it grew into something else, and since then, I’ve preferred to go the AU route for the longer-form stories. :)

We’re living in peak Romy times—I think we’re still reeling from the wedding! Let’s say you had the power to go back in time and drop a pin into an earlier moment in the Romy timeline that you felt truly represents what Romy means to you (which isn’t the same as when they’re happiest!). When and in what universe? Why this choice?

There are so many iconic moments from Romy’s past, but, for me personally, I always go back to their time in Valle Soleada (in X-Treme X-Men). That’s not because they’re happy per se, but because I think that that period was the perfect example of how great they worked together on every level, and was proof positive that they were a good match. I often say it, but I will say it again here, because it’s the truth, and y’all can fight me to the death over it—if there was a time they would’ve got married and I would’ve bought it 100%, it would’ve been in Valle Soleada.

On Tumblr, it seems a large contingent of Romy fans are women in their 30s who discovered Romy at a tender age, thanks to the animated series. This includes you and me! There are exceptions, of course. What’s it like for you to have been in the fandom from the early aughts? What changes in the fandom have you noticed between 2003 and 2018?

I really joined the fandom at an exciting time for Romy—they’d just got back together properly after all the turmoil of the Trial of Gambit. X-Treme X-Men was a treat for Romy fans, and Claremont wrote such a great dynamic between them. As fans we were all excited and happy and well-fed on all that Romy goodness.

So it was weird (not to mention disappointing) when the 2004 reboot happened, and Marvel did everything they could to tank Romy. Which is one thing, and I can stomach it if [it were] logically and well written, but it was just so terribly done that I think many of us just tapped out of the fandom completely. I’d say 2005–2018 were fallow years for the Romy fandom. Most (if not all) of the fan friends I made at that time completely left the fandom. For myself, as someone who enjoys writing AUs, it was the perfect time to branch out from writing in canon and fitting Romy into my own world.

Who are your influences? What writers do you feel a particular affinity for? Are there writers whom we might be surprised to discover informed your work, but you feel have, despite appearances?

I was heavily influenced by the dark, modern fairytales of Angela Carter about the time that I was writing Queen of Diamonds and Threads. She had a really magical way with words—her prose was lyrical, sensual, and unbelievably rich. She was a huge inspiration, but later I moved away from her tone, firstly because I felt I was doing a poor imitation of her, secondly because it wasn’t really appropriate for the direction I wanted to move my fics in, and lastly because I was becoming self-conscious of my insane verbosity and wanted to pare down my prose. That’s something I’m still working on!

At some point during the writing of House of Cards, I finally got round to reading Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, and I think it was Douglas Adams who convinced me to move away from Carter’s beautiful but too-flowery prose. I loved the way his narrative just sizzled. I’m bad at capturing that energy—but I do think that from HoC onwards, I’ve tried to learn to be more economical with my words—which is hard for a florid soul like mine. 

Threads—structurally at least—was influenced by Italo Calvino’s If On a Winter’s Night a Traveller, and later, by David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas. 

Let’s say you can pair your fiction with other works of art—of all forms, films, paintings, music, etc.—as if you were pairing wines to foods. What other pieces of art might you say go along with yours?

Wow! OK—that’s hard. Threads I’d probably pair with Cloud Atlas (the book, not the film, which I haven’t yet watched). HoC—I don’t know that there’s any one thing I would pair it with, but you can bet a load of post-apocalyptic stuff was thrown into that stew, along with a bit of The Matrix and probably some Inception.

52 Pickup was influenced a lot by Asmus’s Gambit run, cos I really wanted to write a heist fic with Remy and Rogue rather than Remy and Joelle (who I freely admit kicked ass). But if I had to pair it with a piece of media, it’d be with the video game Remember Me, which dealt a lot with themes of how memories inform our identities, and the ethical concerns of having memories essentially become “documents” that are uploaded and shared digitally through the cloud.

This is a good segue to talk about high-low culture. We may not want to believe in a hierarchy of culture, but we can certainly talk about the differences between fanfiction and “regular fiction.” When you read fanfiction, do you approach it differently than you would regular fiction? Are your expectations for form, reading pleasure, or anything else different? If so, how so?

Interesting question! I don’t know whether I approach it differently per se, but I think that readers have different expectations of fanfic. Hopefully we all read “regular fiction” for the same reason we read fanfic—for pleasure. But I don’t think there’s really a binary between regular and fanfiction. I think both exist on a continuum. There is a lot of “regular fiction” (I prefer to call it “profic” or “professional fiction,” because I think that’s where the binary between the two exists) that is actually very close to fanfic, and vice versa. By that I mean that there is plenty of fanfic that is epic in scope, deals with serious themes, and might be considered “classics” if they weren’t fanfiction.

And there is also profic, like romance, that is more similar to fanfic in terms of the kind of functions that it serves. There is an illicit pleasure to reading romance—for example, it’s not the kind of thing you’d openly read in public! There’s a similarity between that and fanfic, and I think, as readers of fanfic, we anticipate some level of illicitness when we approach it—even if the illicitness is only in the format (i.e., it’s fanfiction!), not in the content.

Fun question: What role do you think explicit smut functions in a fic? How do you deal with smut in your work? There’s an interesting moment that’s not in HoC, in which you write about Gambit and Rogue’s first time having sex in his point of view. It’s a separate chapter that exists as its own entity on your fanfiction.net page. Notably, it is much more explicit than the scene in Rogue’s perspective. Can you talk a little bit about this decision?

Well, I do think that fanfic is a safe space for writers to explore their sexuality (and I think that’s a huge part of the reason why fic is looked down upon), and smut plays a significant role in that. And smut certainly plays a part in my own fics. HoC actually started out as a random smut scene that burgeoned into something far, far more. Generally, I do try to make the sex scenes have a purpose in the plot (’cos I’m kind of anal about plot structure!), but in the particular case of Slow Burn and the other HoC vignettes, those are more self-contained one-shots where I could explore things that I couldn’t explore in the main story. So I could indulge in the smut a bit more! And let’s be honest—Gambit’s dark sexuality makes it thrilling to write smut from his perspective—of course his “thoughts” are going to be more explicit! ;)

But I also think that it’s interesting to write their individual perspectives on their sexual encounters, because of that tension between their characters. Rogue is the quintessential virginal Southern Baptist gal who’s inexperienced; whereas Gambit is the sexually aggressive alpha male who’s probably never had a woman turn him down in his life. That makes for a very combustive love affair between the two, and makes it fun to write that love affair (and all the smut in-between) from both their points of view.

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Trial by Convolution

Somewhere you hear ticking, far in the back of your mind, steady and stoic, as familiar as breathing. You distantly recall a cat with a technicolor coat, and a smile like the moon on her side. You shut your eyes and pull away, nearly tripping on your own tail.

“You can’t keep me here forever, not without a trial, otherwise its just wrongful imprisonment.” you grit between clenched teeth, your eyes are bleeding. The Queen laughs, a sound like a choir of tiny silver bells in the breeze, her Charm retracts from your mind. Your heart aches when it does and you are enveloped by such a profound feeling of being starved for touch, you have to choke back a stray sob that materializes in your chest.

“A trial? You want a trial? Very well, I’ll humor you.” she sneers, her hand suddenly at your throat, fear raking icy talons down your spine. Your eyes fly open automatically and you instantly wish they hadn’t, the world is a maelstrom around the both of you, a sickening whirlwind of colors and noise that drops you into a courtroom somewhere on the vast edges of space, floating in some hollowed out asteroid. There, in the judge’s seat sits an unknowable creature with eyes like the passing stars, one of it’s many limbs coiled around a gavel. It looks almost comical. In the corner stands a bailiff with a face like TV static and a voice that comes from everywhere at once.

Other beings start to appear in puffs of smoke and light, the jurors box filling with fae your age. The Queen summons a demon with cartoonishly red skin and cloven hooves, he grins at you like he’s done this a thousand times and won every case. His suit is sharp and smells strongly of smoke, you hate him and his serpentine tail instantly. The trial hasn’t even started and you’re already tired, dragging your hands down your face as you find yourself sitting in the defendant’s chair as the bailiff starts to call the case. You are without a lawyer, panic courses through you in an instant before a cloud of opalescent smoke coalesces into the shape of a person, rapidly solidifying until there is an androgynous figure sitting beside you. They have eyes that shift in hue every second and the widest smile you’ve ever seen.

Cheshire pats your shoulder, “Don’t look so grim,” it says, “I know what I’m doing, I’ll have you free in a jiffy.”

This fails to fill you with confidence as the bailiff speaks in a voice as bleak and baleful as the surface of some long forgotten moon,

“All rise. The Court of Wonderland is now in session. Honorable Judge █ █ █ █ , presiding.” the judge’s name was something you couldn’t exactly hear or see, but kind of felt and tasted in the back of your throat. It makes you shudder, just a little as you and everyone else did what they were told. The judge banged it’s gavel and the prosecution gave his opening statement. You really weren’t paying attention like you should have been, so all you caught was that his name was Minos, he was representing Wonderland and the Queen by proxy, you were on trial for both your “crimes” as well as to prove your character. The whole thing seemed like some tedious formality or a D&D session gone off the rails, but you were too tired to do much more than sit and stare and disassociate a lot.

Cheshire said some words too, you still aren’t listening. You honestly feel like crying a little. Minos is still standing, eying you darkly as if you are a slab of steaming meat on a platter. He licks his lips and clears his throat, before calling his first witness to the stand, one Kiran Misra. Your blood turns to ice as a portal yawns above the witness stand and Kiran dropped down with an oof, she was scarcely given a moment to adjust before being sworn in and approached by the demon.

“Now, miss Misra, I hear you and the defendant have a bit of history… Would you say he’s a good person in any capacity, or that his impending punishment is cruel?” his voice is smooth and oily, dripping from his jaws like poison. Kiran glances at you, first confused, then angry, before her eyes light up with malicious glee. She leans forward in her seat, smiling a little,

“Oh no, it’s definitely warranted. Dude took out a whole secret lab on Earth, killed all the scientists there and blew it into a smoking crater. I don’t think he can be trusted with the power he’s got.” she thinks for a moment, tapping her chin with a finger. “Oh, and I think he destroyed a priceless, irreplaceable magical artifact, too.”

Minos grins, glancing at the judge,

“That will be all your honor.” he purrs before sitting, long tail dragging on the floor behind him. Cheshire stands, ready to cross examine the witness, it’s smile is gone.

“Miss Misra, is it true that you and my client have gotten into numerous altercations?”

She nods, opening her mouth to elaborate, only to be interrupted by Cheshire,

“And is it true that you were the aggressor in all but one of those altercations?”

Kiran’s mouth snaps shut, her expression going from smug to offended, Cheshire continues, voice coldly even and calm

“And is it true you caused life threatening injuries to my client, in addition to endangering his home and children?” Minos attempts an objection but is quickly overruled, Kiran quickly grows angry and quiet, teeth gritting as she realizes the hole she’s been backed into. Cheshire snorts softly it turns to walk back to you,

“No further questions your honor.” Kiran manags to glare daggers at you the split second before a new portal opens beneath her and she drops out of view. You shudder, looking at Cheshire for comfort. It gives you a double thumbs up and the case progresses. Bendy the dancing demon is called to the stand next, disorientated and shaking as he struggles to figure out where he is. Minos badgers him with questions in an attempt to get him to admit in his involvement with your assault on the Red Queen, which Cheshire quickly objects to. Minos can only growl and cease his questions, Bendy has been reduced to a quivering puddle on the stand, Cheshire doesn’t bother to question him so he is soon sent home. The seat is still damp and sticky, likely to remain that way for the remainder of the trial. You have no way of knowing what time it is out here, but it feels late, you’re having a rough time keeping your eyes open.

A chunk of the trial passes by in a blur before you hear Cheshire say,

“I call Marcela Closer to the stand.” your head snapping up so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. Like before, a portal opens above the witness stand, rudely depositing your sister into the damp chair. She is topless, in her andrid body, her hair a mess and her face partially obscured by a sleep mask. She tears the mask off, gurgling and hurgling in agitation and alarm before glaring sabers at the court, eyes wild. The bailiff steps forward to swear her in and she flinches like a suspicious animal, teeth bared. After a mild amount of screaming and biting, Marce’s hand ends up on what is hopefully not the Necronomicon.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” intones the static faced bailiff. Marce looks it where it’s eyes should be and says in a practiced deadpan,

“No.” much to the amusement of the court. The judge simply sighs and the examination begins. Marce spots you, squints, and then sighs, rubbing her temples as Cheshire approaches. “Miss Closer,” it begins, “You are very close to my client, correct? Would you say that he is a good person and that this trial is unnecessary and abhorrent?”

Marce looks at the grinning cat, exhaustion evident on her face as she speaks,

“Mothers and fuckers of the jury,” she says, with no hint of irony, “Alright, listen. I really, honestly have no idea what kind of weight my words here’re gonna have. Part of me suspects it’s none, this whole thing just feels like a shitty formality that has no bearing on the actual course of events, like the bullshit trials the Sheriff’s Secret Police set up when they’re bored and wanna fuck around with the family members being held at the abandoned underground missile silo during election season so that the town can ensure that everyone votes correctly, but anyways. Ever since the first day we met, Jack’s never been anything but good to me. I can’t remember us ever having a single fight.”

Of course, that’s because she can hardly remember anything, but she’s not gonna tell them that. “Like, he’s just this dude, y’know, just this dude tryna make his way. He’s just sort of, fumbling through, trying to survive an onslaught of absolute bullshit he never asked for, shoved into this shit he never wanted, trying his best to do right by the people who have suddenly come to rely on him. He never asked for this, none of us ever asked for any of this, you think I ever asked for the bullshit I’ve seen? Remind me to tell you about the demonic beagle puppy sometime, because THAT’S a fucking story.”

She spreads both hands wide in an accentuating gesture. “Point is, he’s doing his best to survive through all the shit that’s been going on, the cards have been stacked against him since day one, but he’s still here. And so are all of you. We’re all just, still here. The universe is crazy and cruel and arbitrary and unfair, so we’re all just… trying to survive.”

The cat seems satisfied, glancing at the vast judge, “No further questions.” it says, softly and returns to you. Minos declines to cross examine. Marce is soon sent home, her sleep mask left laying on the floor of the courtroom. Hopefully, you’ll give it back to her later.

[dailydbleblog]

Spider-Man: Homecoming was...

And it definitely was.

So if you guys have made the mistake of following me, first off, I am so sorry. Also, you know have talked a bunch of stuff about the movie before it actually was released in theaters, but I didn’t want to jump too much to any conclusions without actually watching the film first.

Finally got to see it and it was actually pretty surprising for the most part. Off the back, the movie get a solid B. Some things were great, others not so much. So if that’s all you wanted to hear without all the fancy logistics as to why, then that’s it. You’re done. You can go home now. But if you want my full on spoiler filled opinion, HERE IT IS.

STORY:

The most important part to any movie is its story and a superhero movie is no different. Kind of like Man of Steel; great cast, great characters, not a great story. Actually, that can be said for almost every DC movie that’s not animated. They really just need to make their animated movies Live Action at this point. Anyway, the main plot featuring the Vulture hijacking and selling weapons in order to provide for his family and take down higher corporate powers was brilliant. This was a realistic, fantastic villain that honestly made the movie so great. The scene featuring him intimidating the young Parker to stay out of his way or he’ll kill him in order to protect his family was the best scene in the entire movie. It was the only time where it felt that there was actual costs at stake and it was handled well.

They also handled Peter well for the most part. He’s a 15 year-old kid who’s still getting used to being a hero while balancing school. Its pretty straight forward as it gets and runs like a basic retelling of the old comic book but without the campiness of the old comics. He likes a girl, he wants to save people, Aunt May’s there I guess, the usual. That’s pretty much it. It was great that he was still a rookie and made very rash decisions like a teenage kid would. He thinks he’s so much better than he really is which hasn’t been seen a lot in the movies but was definitely focused on a lot in the early Amazing Spider-Man series of comics so I really appreciated that. He’d normally go head first against a villain, get his ass handed to him, and then discover a way to defeat them the next time they meet. It was handled very well. Again, for the most part.

CHARACTERS:

The main characters were all great! And by that I really mean the main plot line characters such as Peter, Aunt May, and the Vulture. I actually think Tom Holland is by far the best Spider-Man AND Peter Parker hands down. He has the athletic ability, the quips, and even his look. Its very Peter and fits the already established universe. He fits right in.

Aunt May was also great and her having the last line in the movie was phenomenal.

And like I said before, Michael Keaton as the Vulture KILLS (literally)! He by far was the most interesting and well developed character in this movie and his storyline carried everything.

It all came together well and there’s definitely a lot of fun moments to this movie that I really enjoyed. So now let’s get to the fun part!

FLAWS:

There wasn’t actually that much that was bad with that movie, but the things that weren’t great ultimately made the film suffer as a whole.

I’ll start off by saying as much as I appreciate the diverse cast of supporting characters, they honestly didn’t offer a lot of anything. Liz was just an obvious one-shot love interest that they could’ve done a lot with, but for some reason didn’t. Her and Peter never really had any iconic scenes or moments together to actually build some sort of relationship so when she had to get up and move at the end of the movie, I didn’t even care. Its like she was just in the movie for the reveal that she was Vulture’s daughter in order to some how connect that to Peter. And that wasn’t even an original idea since Peter dating the Vulture’s daughter was literally a subplot for Rami’s Spider-Man 4 that was scrapped.

Michelle (once again NOT Mary Jane but a new character to take her place), was very fun. Had a lot of fun remarks. And was played by Zendaya which already made her a favorite from the start. But she offered literally nothing. She was just sort of there, said something, then was gone. Which is really disappointing since I actually liked this character but they chose to do nothing with her. They just had her in this movie just for the MJ reveal and to set up for future movies. If that was the case, I’d rather her just have 1 scene at the very end to suggest her being a love interest for later movies than not use her to her potential.

Flash I actually liked. I thought the whole rival thing would get annoying or childish, but it was surprising to me how well they made it work. So I appreciate that a lot! I’m only adding this in the “flaws” category because my big question was: why is everyone a scientific mind? Like everyone. I get Flash being smart to rival Peter, it works for this movie a lot, but EVERYONE else? Can’t people have other interests? Maybe a sport? Crafting? Swing Dancing? Something? The entire cast had to be in an academic decathlon. I mean this isn’t a huge issue, but I just found it pretty plot convenient.

I actually didn’t care for Ned. If anything he was annoying and an obvious trope of “my best friend is a superhero” cliche. I kind of felt that he was there just so Peter didn’t have to use any monologues while at the same time giving him a friend who wasn’t Harry Osborn. I really had no attachments to him at all and he kind of seems replaceable. I guess if it worked for Mile Morales it could work for Peter, right? Honestly, they could’ve just replaced this character with the A.I. suit and expanded on the storylines of literally every other supporting character and it would’ve worked just fine. I also wasn’t a fan that he seemed just as intelligent as Peter who’s supposed to be this gifted mind who invented his own materials which was why Tony recruited him in the first place.

And there were also a bunch of plot-holes and continuity errors that you would of actually worked had Spider-Man not been in Civil War. For example, the lack of Spider-Sense. It was pretty obvious after the 9th time Peter gets hit with something that he does not have a Spider-Sense. But when Iron Man was recruiting him for the Civil (Disagreement at best), Peter was explaining why he had the thick goggles on his mask which he replies it for him to focus more because of his ADVANCED SENSE he got with the Spider-Powers. It was already implied he had a Spider-Sense so it would of been nice to of actually had that used. It seems like it was scrapped just to make the plot work more so he can appear to be still a rookie, but that just seems lazy.

I also loved the Captain America tapes. They were one of the best gags in the movie, but I was kind of surprised they would still show those since he’s practically a US fugitive now. Like, remember, the entire plot of Civil War. Of course maybe people don’t since they’re still trying to convince themselves it was such a good movie since its Marvel and all. And its not like the character in that world know that he’s actually still a good guy. From their perspective it should look like he turned against the Avengers and escaped captivity. Its not like any of the normal people in that world know what really happened so them showing the tapes and Tony moving some of Captain America’s new shield designs to the new location seem a bit of a reach.

Another scene that many people found very deep and heartfelt was the whole “I’m nothing without the suit” moment with Iron Man. Honestly, fuck this part. It actually doesn’t make any sense. Yes, it was performed well, it was a touching moment, but that doesn’t make up for it not adding together properly. First of all, Peter JUST activated the suit to its full potential just a few scenes before the boat incident so he’s been working without it the entire time before that. Second, when Iron Man recruited him, he already spent MONTHS as Spider-Man prior. Its not like Tony just kidnapped a kid who just got bit by a Spider like last Tuesday to take on Captain America and other Ex Avengers. Also the way Peter fought seemed like he at least had some experience before AND a SPIDER-SENSE. I get they wanted a whole mentor “NOTICE ME SENPAI” moment, but its dumb. If Civil War never happened, sure. But it did. I’m not sure any one actually remembers that convoluted movie besides the badass Black Panther moments, but it happened.

I was also surprised that he hasn’t tried expanding to Manhattan like at all. I mean if he really wants to help people, the giant city part of NYC seems like a good place to check out. I’ve never heard the use of “Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man” taken entirely literally before. But I guess that’s so God forbids he swings by Hell

s Kitchen and have When he was climbing the Washington monument and said he never has been that high up before, I was honestly confused. Did he not Web to his locations. I mean apparently not since he drove Flash’s car to the Vulture for some reason when webbing would’ve been twice as fast through Queens. It honestly comes down to the writers wanting to emphasize so much that Peter is a high school student that they were like “Eh, FUCK Continuity!”

And another thing that bothered me was why. Why did he want to be a hero so bad? Why did he want to risk his life saving so many people when he’s just a kid? My only answer would be because he let his Uncle Ben die, but they didn’t even mention his existence besides “I can’t put Aunt May through that! Not after all she’s been through”. I mean I guess he looks up to these heroes and wants to be like them, but that doesn’t really give someone the boost to be like “Yeah, I’ll totally die for a bunch of people!” I really wish they made him wanting to be a hero more personal than they did and as much as they obviously tried to avoid it, Uncle Ben is the best way. Even to just mention it or have Peter talk about how much of a father he was to him. Just something to make it a bit more believable.

OVERALL

Its a good movie. Its not THE GREATEST MARVEL MOVIE EVER or such a fantastic film, bit it meets expectations and was enjoyable to watch. I honestly liked it and the flaws that didn’t involve the lack of continuity are tolerable. But the way its looking, the sequel will be amazing and I’m actually looking forward to that!

[hansolmates]

vernon; drunk on youth (m)

genre: fluff/romance and a lil bit of the steamy steam ;)

word count: 8495

characters: Hansol Vernon Chwe/Original Female, bff!Jeonghan + various

prompts: seven(teen) minutes in heaven, university!AU with fraternity!Seventeen, one night stand(?), friends-to-lovers 

*this references to traditional American University Greek life, referring to members as “brothers”, if you’re confused please message me! feelin hella clever that SVT/ ΣΛΤ was managed to be made in the greek alphabet

a happy birthday gift to my sol @vernkn

Hansol Vernon Chwe, she tried to unsuccessfully convince herself, meant nothing to her.

Not when he walked into 18th Century Children’s Literature every Monday and Wednesday, looking like the dead bird her pet cat dragged in when she was three. His ebony strands would stick out like dead twigs, usually muffled by a worn navy baseball cap with the lid twirled behind his neck. He never made a fuss when he entered a minute before the class would start, rushing to the nearest empty desk with his head down, lost in thought. Even though it was an afternoon class, he still managed to look like he walked right out of bed and into lecture.

He meant nothing to her, when he seldom spoke in their seminar, tucked away in the back scribbling notes. Especially not when he’d pipe up for class participation every other blue moon, speaking with sudden austerity about how the English language is so convoluted, his voice strangely comparable to the thickness of raw honey.

Not when at the end of each month, he’d show up looking like a human being. His clothing range was thin, in the warmer months he had basketball shorts and a colorful t-shirt, and during the colder months it seemed like he had an infinite number of hoodies and sweatpants. For whatever reason he would take the last Wednesday of every month to look stunningly decent. Last month, he showed up in a crisp black and red flannel over a wool cardigan. His denim was ripped around the knees, revealing a pale, yet strong set of thighs that left much to the imagination. Cap free, his hair was pushed away in a black silk coif to accentuate the twinkly, attentive milk chocolate eyes that hit a little too close to the blooming butterflies in her stomach.

Nope, he meant nothing to her. Not at all.

“If you’ve checked the syllabus, you should know that the final project is due at the end of the month in addition to the final paper. In order to save time to focus on your papers,” she let out a long sigh of relief at her professor’s short-lived reprieve, “I’m cutting your workload in half. There’s thirty-two of you, so I expect sixteen pairs by the end of this week with a working thesis.”

Fuck.

Her hand immediately reached for Yoon Jeonghan’s, clutching the cuff of his pearl white button-up. “Jeonghan, be my partner.” she blurted with pleading eyes.

He raised an eyebrow, quirking an amused smile on his features. Delicately removing her hand from her grasp he said, “I’m the TA. I can’t be anyone’s partner.” he stated like it was the most basic thing in the world. “I think Hansol’s free.” he jerked his head towards the middle of the room, where sure enough, Hansol was looking wide-eyed at the number of already established pairs, looking for an available patron. 

“Exactly. That’s why I need you to be my partner.”

“Like I said, Hansol’s free. And by free, I also mean he’s single.”

“I didn’t ask about his relationship status.” she deadpanned, giving him a deadly look.

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”

“Goddammit Jeonghan go to hell—”

“Hansol-ah! Do you still need a partner?” Jeonghan called him out like the perfect teacher’s assistant he was paid to do, waving his hand towards her.

Hansol’s gaze drifted to the pair, his eyes lighting up like the way birthday candles sparked as he went up to their desks. He gave her a warm smile, nodding his head towards her. “Hey.” he said easily.

“Hi.” she piped out, willing her voice not to squeak at how close he was. God, he was adorable.

“Well, my job is done.” Jeonghan clasped his hands, giving the two the fakest, brightest commercial smile he could gleam. He squeezed Hansol’s shoulder, “I’ll see you later at the house?”

“Yeah man.” Hansol gave him a little fistbump. To her, Jeonghan twiddled his fingers in a goodbye, snatching away his briefcase and walking out the classroom.

In a span of thirty seconds she was putty under Jeonghan’s grasp, falling into a trap she was probably fated to meet all along. Hansol Vernon Chwe, would absolutely destroy her sanity. How was she going to force herself to focus on passing this class if she had this boy, both gorgeous in intellect and just plain gorgeous, working with her the rest of the semester?

“So uh, you live with Jeonghan?” she tried, hoping her tone was as even as possible.

“Yeah.” he replied easily, leaning against the desk. A lot of the students were filing out of the classroom after finding their partners, but Hansol didn’t seem to be in too much of a rush. It even looked like he was settling, enjoying his time making small talk with her. “We’re brothers in Sigma Lambda Tau. He was the one who convinced me to take this class.”

Of course, it was all Jeonghan’s fault that she had this silly crush. She forced a laugh, her eyes scrunching into crescents. “Good thing you did! It’s a great class, the pieces we read are really beautiful.”

“The class is interesting, and you’re right. Everything here’s really beautiful. Good thing Jeonghan suggested it to me to fulfill my English requirement.” Hansol bit his lip, breaking his gaze from her to look down at his beat up Timberlands, which clashed against the soft material of his light grey sweatpants. “You make a lot of good points, I like hearing your ideas during debate.” 

She tightened her hold on the desk, fingers curling at the thought that Hansol was actually listening to what she said in class. “Your points are good too!” she shot back, causing his eyes to widen comically. “I mean, uh, when you do speak in class. Which is like, never.”

He chuckled, tilting his head so that she could see the onyx strands flutter over his forehead. “It’s hard to speak in class when there’s people like you, I bet you’re really smart.” he said.

Was this some sort of strange, intellectual way of flirting? She hoped so, it felt a hell of a lot better than being complimented on her appearance. At the same time, his notice seemed like wishful thinking. It looked like Hansol was the kind of guy who’d go out of their way to make everyone seem extra special, he was just that positive a person. Her thoughts flashed back to the smug look Jeonghan gave her, probably reveling in the fact that she was being taken over by a little crush over someone she barely knew. And now that Hansol was right in front of her, there was no way was she letting these petty feelings ruin herself.

“I guess you’ll have to find out when we work together.” she finally managed to say, nervously biting the inside of her cheek.

Hansol’s eyebrows shot up to his cap, and she got a clear view of how absolutely stunning his carmine eyes were, both enthralling and mesmerizing. He gave her a funny look, “Is that supposed to be a challenge?”

Either she was a terrible flirt, or he was just downright oblivious. Putting herself out of her misery, she threw in the towel and pulled out her phone, handing it to her. “Depends if you’re up for it. Let’s exchange numbers so we can set up a work schedule.”

He pursed his lips, pulling out his matte black iPhone in return. “Sounds like a plan.” it was only a couple swipes before he handed the phone back to her. He grinned toothily, “Pleasure doing business with you.” he drawled, picking up his things.

“Uh, same here?” she replied dumbly, letting the proffered device fall back in her grasp.

“I’ll see you soon,” his bag zinged with a sharp whirr of his zipper, throwing it over his shoulder.

“Okay, I’ll text you later.” she said with a wave.

He wasn’t even a quarter way out the lecture hall before he popped his head back in view, his dimples jutting between his grin. “I’ll be waiting.” he said, before running out to his next class.

It was only five seconds later that she allowed herself to breathe, swooning against the edge of her desk as she let her thoughts bounce in the confines of her brain. She didn’t think it would be that damaging to her heart, but she swore she could feel a tingling sensation in her chest, one that worked its way through every nerve of her body. She let a small, secretive smile worm its way onto her lips as she packed up her things. First impressions weren’t so bad, it confirmed her thoughts that Hansol was a complete and utter sweetheart, and she had his undivided attention for the next few weeks.

So maybe, Hansol meant something to her.

A couple days later, they managed to snag a team room to themselves in the library. It was one of those fancy ones with those smart computer boards and wheelie chairs that no one needed, and completely and utterly soundproof to the rest of the building. She already had the basic outline of the project down, and Hansol so graciously took care of the other half, so all they had to do now was put it together over the course of the month.

Hansol was a little late to their meeting, and it was strangely quiet and slightly uncomfortable for her to be taking up this space alone. So she tried her best not to let her eyes linger by the door’s window, and made sure to keep her face glued to her computer screen which showed parts of their presentation. Slightly flustered she ran a rough hand through her hair, forcing her eyes on her open document. Her palms were sweaty and her face was flushed with heat, she slapped her hands over her face to stop the nerves from getting to her. It was just Hansol and her studying.

Hansol. And her. Alone. For hours. In this room all to themselves.

She let her forehead crash on the linoleum table with a muffled groan, the impact echoing throughout the window spanned room.

“Hey uh, are you okay?”

Her head shot up, nearly crashing into Hansol’s, who deflected just in time. He was unbearably close, that she could make out the way his long eyelashes fluttered in her direction.  She forced an uneasy smile, rubbing her head self-consciously. He just walked in, backpack and coat still on his body, and the frosty remnants of snow glittered on his fringe. He was wearing the same clothes she saw him in last class, she noted. Dammit, why didn’t she notice him walk in?

“I’m fine,” she managed to say, “Just stress. The final paper is just killing me.”

He gave a wan smile in return, pulling up a chair for himself. “Nah, I get it. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I gotchu.”

She laughed, this time genuinely. “Thanks.”

“So uh, I’m sorry I’m late. And since I was late anyway I figured, why not get breakfast on the way too? Did you eat?” and Hansol pulled out a metal thermos and a paper bag from his backpack, neatly arranging two plump blueberry muffins side-by-side on a napkin.

She paused, her eyes drifting over the humble looking breakfast that he probably dashed from the dining hall on his way here. Fuck he got me muffins. That’s so adorable.

He took her silence as a subtle rejection, and his face fell, spluttering in defense, “Oh, god. Please don’t tell me you’re allergic to blueberries or something. Or I’m offending you if you hate muffins or something, although I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to hate muffins. I think there were chocolate croissants too if you want—”

She giggled, shaking her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s just,” she picked up a muffin, still warm from the hotplate, and she took a bite.  “It’s just that you’re really, really cute.”

“Cute?” he repeated dumbly, as if she had said the farthest potential reply from his mind.

“Yes, cute. You show up here apologizing with muffins. That’s cute.”

“Well, thank you, I guess?” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking the other way.

Finally, a giggle escaped his lips, sounding melodic and bubbly to her ears. It seemed like he hadn’t been called cute in a long, long while. Even moreso, Hansol seemed both easy to tease and fluster, and it made the time they had together a whole lot easier for her. He coughed, his cheeks a pretty petal pink as he pulled out random textbooks, occupying his hands and taking the first one he could open.  

“So uh, let’s start working?” he asked, covering his blush, “Paracyclic reactions by organic synthesis, right?” His book was upside down.

“Uh, Hansol?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re studying English, not Organic Chemistry.”

“Oh, right.” he crinkled his nose, giving a shy grin in apology.

And from there, the semester ended gracefully. She felt a sudden surge of pride knowing that the two of them worked surprisingly well together, and even though they had a few glitches on the fray, within a couple weeks they were able to successfully present their final project. Hansol spoke more in those ten minutes presenting than he did in the entire semester, and to her it was one of the most satisfying ten minutes of her life, knowing that she was able to help him raise his voice and work together to get their thesis across. Jeonghan was impressed, their professor was impressed, and she was incredibly happy with the progress they made in such a short amount of time.

Their class ended like any other class. She and Hansol shook hands, a warm attachment of palms that may have grasped a little too long, accompanied with gazes that were a little too deep. She shook those romantic thoughts away, knowing the forced smiles and cordial lines she had said over and over to countless other students (“Good luck with everything! Hopefully we’ll see each other around next semester!”) would only be in vain.

And so with those goodbyes, so went the delayed goodbye of her crush on Hansol. 

She decided she was going to leave this semester on a high note, filling it with copious amounts of Rocky Road ice cream and her favorite fuzzy blanket. She was the only one in her suite tonight, the rest of her roommates either studying or taking the last round of exams. So when the door clicked open just as she was ready to take a nap, she didn't bother turning to greet anyone.

“What, did you forget something?” she murmured sleepily, muffling a yawn as she sunk deeper into the couch.

“Yup, I forgot you.”

Wide awake at the familiar milk-and-honey drawl, she shot up, already fearing the worst. She ripped off her blankets, whipping her body around to face the wicked gaze of Yoon Jeonghan.

“I knew giving you the pass key was a bad idea.” she sighed regretfully, dropping to the couch. “What do you want?”

“Our house is throwing a party, and you're coming with me. And I brought pre-game.” he waved a flask in the air, closing the door behind him. He made a show of slipping off his khaki canvas sneakers, putting them on the shoe rack next to hers. He then took off his blazer, putting it on a hanger like it was his place. “Your room is here, right?” he said, walking into the nearest bedroom like it was muscle memory.

“Jeonghan, I don't want to go to some party. What’s it even for?” she sighed in exhaustion, following him into her bedroom. He was already halfway with digging through her wardrobe, making the messy lump of clothes an even messier lump than it was before.

“Soonyoung’s throwing a party before he sells his soul to the Dance Department and becomes a graduate student.” he said loftily, picking away an item with his two fingers.

“I don’t even know that guy.”

“Oh, it doesn’t really matter if you know him or not. But in any case, you will.” Jeonghan was finally satisfied with a particular article, and threw off its wire hanger. It was a simple black number that cut off to her mid-thigh. This one hugged her body sinfully well and had cap sleeves and a scalloped neckline that dipped invitingly to her chest. He threw it on the bed. “Wear this one.” he commanded, going through another set of drawers.

She made a face, “The last time I wore that thing was at a funeral.”

“Then you’ll look so sexy in it that it’ll wake up the dead.” he pulled out a comfy but flattering bra, and gave an experimental squeeze at the colorful lilac padding. “This one makes your cleave look real good.” he couldn’t help but chuckle, throwing the garment in her face.

“I hate you.”

“Trust me, you won’t be hating me later.”

And that’s how she ended up with an uneaten pint of Rocky Road ice cream that had to be put back in the lonely freezer, walking into a fraternity house with a bunch of students she never met in her entire life. She held Jeonghan’s arm in a vice, fingernails curling over the edge of his charcoal button down. If he so dared to leave her alone in the middle of this, she’d really kill him.

The house was like any other house on Greek Row, one with history and a reputable brotherhood. The party itself wasn’t overly crowded like typical social fraternities, there was enough dancing space to avoid but there was certainly a sizable enough group that had an air of fervor and bumbling energy that already had her itching for something to drink. She fixed her vision multiple times on girls and boys alike, fascinated at the way their bodies captured the music, running on alcohol and the pent-up stress of finals week. Jeonghan pulled her to the refreshments table in the corner of the living room, with a walkway that led to a small kitchen. On top of the table there was a simple picture frame tacked to the wall, a happy image of thirteen boys sitting atop a backyard porch.

As Jeonghan mixed them their first round, she slowly scoped out the people in the room, letting the colorful EDM music wash over her ears. By all means, spending the evening here wasn’t a bad place to end the semester. They were a good group of brothers, with a clean reputation and a sizable dent in community service. Her eyes drifted to the person at the front of the room who wore a large pair of headphones which engulfed his ears as he bobbed his head to the beat. While she didn’t know all the people here, she definitely knew Lee Jihoon, which guaranteed a great party if he was managing the music.

“It’s been awhile since you’ve been here.” Jeonghan said, loud enough to hear over the music, but soft enough for her ears alone.

“Yeah, probably in the summer? When we were picking classes and stuff.” she took his proffered drink, taking an experimental sip. The warm buzz that she had sorely abandoned for the past few weeks returned to her like an aching crave. “It’s nice, for once I can finally see the floorboards.”

“And you know what else is nice?” he jerked a pinky at her form, “My jacket. Can I have it back, please? I let you wear it on the way here because it was cold, but you don’t need it anymore.”

She glowered, tugging the long blazer closer to her body. She turned her head self-consciously to a group of girls, about nine or ten of them huddled amongst each other by the DJ. They must’ve been freshmen or something, because they were dolled up to the nines. She noticed them immediately upon walking in, like diamonds in the middle of the dark. Despite the fact that they were all wearing sneakers they had glossy pale legs that lasted for miles, and they all looked so pretty and pristine it made her feel like a grandma. She didn’t know whether she should approach them and ask for tips or to be sorely intimidated.

Jeonghan followed her eyes when she didn’t answer, and he scoffed, ripping the drink out of her hands and putting both of them on the table. “Oh, hell no. I didn’t waste my time for you to get all insecure over some try-hard freshmen.” he quipped, putting an arm around her comfortingly. “You look hot, what’s the point of wearing a cute outfit if you’re not showing it off?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, looking up at Jeonghan with a sudden flash of scarlet anger. She wasn’t angry at him, however she was angry that he was right, and she couldn’t fault him for that. It was the last night of the semester, and she was going to have fun. Snatching the drink from the table, she couldn’t tell if it was her’s or Jeonghan’s, she downed the alcohol raw, smacking the empty red cup against the hardwood. It was definitely Jeonghan’s cup, because it tasted a hell of a lot stronger, but she no longer cared. In a matter of seconds, she ripped off his blazer, and threw it back to Jeonghan, letting the air meet the span of her bare skin. She exhaled, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening her posture, letting her curves and chest perk out fully.

She grinned, twirling around, “You’re right.”

“I know,” he gave a grin of his own, and went over to whisper in her ear. “And y’know what, screw those girls. Because ever since we got here, the only one Hansol’s looking at is you.”  

A bolt of lightning shot through her body, one that both feared and excited her to the core. Suddenly conscious of her audience of one, she subtly inched her gaze around the room, before it fell on a certain someone that took Children’s Literature with her just a week ago.

Hansol was with a group of guys, who were laughing about some insider that she had no care in the world for. Hansol didn’t seem to care much either, a red cup fitted in his lazy grasp, and his head turned away from them. He didn’t seem to notice her, but she did. He looked damn fine, he was wearing those black jeans again, the ones that ripped at his milky thighs, and a burgundy Henley quarter-sleeve with all the buttons undone. With that his collarbones were exposed, and she noted the way his Adam’s apple bobbed slowly, like a pendulum. She was suddenly mesmerized by his darkened caramel gaze, hooded in the low-lights. She had never seen this side of Hansol before, coupled with admiration and curious desire. It was both focused and unfocused as it glazed down-up from her legs to her thighs, lingering to the way her dress hugged her waist and left a sizable expanse of cleavage from the neckline. His lips were glistening like fresh strawberries and parted slightly, like a kitten thirsty for milk.

It was probably the most sensual episode of checking out she had ever experienced. He wasn't even touching her and she was already turned on.

Before she could embarrass him from his staring, she turned her head back to face Jeonghan. He had two tiny plastic shot glasses in hand, giving one to her. He winked, “Liquid courage.” She tilted her head at the thin, crystal clear liquid, before downing it in one gulp. She wrinkled her nose, unable to tell whether the buzz was coming from the soju or a massive headache.

This was it, she was going to snag Hansol Vernon Chwe and end off this semester with a bang.

“LEE CHAN, YOU’RE BACK!”

Jihoon cut the music out with a zzrrt, a strangely fitting rapture that was comparable to tires squeaking on asphalt. Everyone was thrusted on the situation before them, where the moonlight bled into the house. Chan was at the foot of the door, cases of drinks perched on each arm. He didn’t seem amused. The person who outbursted was none other than the star of the party, Kwon Soonyoung. He literally was the highlight of the party as he stood from the center of the dance floor, his eyes sunlight bright and his mouth parted in a wide, excited smile.

“You said you wouldn’t start dancing without me!” Chan whined, the poor freshmen, dropping the cases haphazardly with the rest of the booze.

“Yeah, but!” Soonyoung ushered people off the dance floor, moving in some semblance of a circle as he cleared a space. “Now we can play Seventeen Minutes!”

Her jaw dropped at the show before them. “Does he mean, Seven Minutes in Heaven?” she half-hissed to Jeonghan, giving him a warning glare.

He shrugged, “It’s stupid, I know. Just let him live, it’s his party.”

She felt like she was thrusted in some strange reincarnation of an awkward high school birthday party, the ones you saw in American movies in the comfort of your parent’s smelly basement. But this was a little more realer than that. She didn’t think she’d ever have to face a childish game like this, but she suddenly felt rooted to the ground, caught between a rock and a hard place.

“I already made papers with everyone’s name,” Soonyoung sing-songed, pulling out a neon green snapback from the mantel. True to his word, he shook it once, the soft tumble of folded paper echoing in the room. The eager freshmen walked up to grab them first, in hopes of getting a little something special from any of the house brothers. “The first half of the room gets papers, the other waits!” he trilled. 

“He made papers.” she deadpanned in shock, tugging on Jeonghan’s arm. “Please don’t tell me you put my name down.”

“I didn’t put your name down.” he said immediately, shamelessly.

“Fuck Jeonghan, you’re lying to me.”

“Relax, just have fun.” he filled up his cup, pulling them further into the circle.

She watched with trepidation as each partygoer grabbed a piece of paper, some looking mildly interested to keep Soonyoung satisfied, others with a subtle smile and a secretive nod to others in the room. Jihoon took it as his cue, and started to play some slow, sexy acoustic music that coalesced the room in a wanton heat that prompted gooseflesh on her bare skin. Forcing herself to stay calm because she was an adult with morals, she looked back to Hansol, who hadn’t moved from his spot. This time, he was giving her a gummy grin and a wave, as if he totally wasn’t just checking her out five minutes ago. She couldn’t help but smile and wave back, feeling the familiar butterflies rumble pleasantly in her stomach. This boy would be the death of her.

Her smile faded into a shocked gape when Soonyoung thrusted the snapback in her chest, “Last one.” he drawled with a wink, waving the cap back and forth.

Caught in his positive gaze, she took the last paper, numb. She gave a cautious look to Jeonghan, who already peeked at his sheet. He gave her a curious look, egging her to open her sheet. She sighed, and ripped the bandage, unwrapping the crisply folded paper.

Yoon Jeonghan, 1:40.

A loud laugh escaped from her lips, interfering with Jihoon’s blast of house music, returning the party back to its full swing. She wobbled on her feet, the intake of soju quickly catching up to her empty stomach. “Hey Jeonghan, are you a good kisser?” she blurted, shoving him her paper so it was right in his face.

As soon as he saw his name, a full-toothed grin (if she was in the right mind, she’d be hitting him by now) latched onto his face, and he snatched the paper from her grasp, and handed her the one he took. “Oh, this is cruel fate.” he chuckled.

“What?” she furrowed her brows in snafu, opening Jeonghan’s sheet:

Hansol Vernon Chwe, 12:20.

She sobered up for those few seconds, her eyes focusing on the fact that Jeonghan was giving her Hansol’s sheet. She crumpled the paper, “Nice try. But I can’t do Seven Minutes in Heaven with him.” she replied bluntly, trying her hardest to convince herself that she couldn’t do this to herself.

“It’s Seventeen Minutes. And think how much it would suck for him if he waits all night for someone to kiss him, and realizes it’ll never come.” he pushed her back to Hansol’s direction. “You have five minutes until 12:20.”

She bit her lip, feeling the paper get warm and clammy in her grip. Her face was red, a combination of the alcohol and embarrassment. She felt awfully tight and stuffy in her dress, the bass laden music melting in the background as she watched Hansol take a final drink with his friends in the corner. He took a misstep, moving slowly as he backed away from his crew, walking towards the kitchen.

“C’mon, he’s getting away.” Jeonghan taunted, making a ‘tick tick’ sound effect.

With a final dirty look, she grabbed his cup one more time, downing his shot. “Shut up.” and went after Hansol.

She weaved between the crowds of people, some already cutting to the Seven Minutes and making out against the wall, and her heart palpitated obnoxiously at the thought that it could happen to her. That is, if Hansol wanted it too. She managed to catch him before he left the kitchen, making his way alone to a tiny stairwell that led downstairs. Slipping off her kitten heels and throwing them under a random bench, she went after him. Keeping a tight grip on the banister, she managed not to look that much of a hot mess as she stumbled down the stairs.

These lights were even dimmer than the living room’s, fueled by a marigold yellow lightbulb that barely lit an eighth of the room. It was a laundry room, the faint scent of artificial flowers and fabric softener wafting in the air. Hansol’s back was facing her, his head right under the light bulb like a halo, pressing buttons on the washing machine.

“Hey.” she finally said.

He jumped, startled, his head brushing against the light bulb. It caused the room to dance back and forth, shadows watching over them like saints. He turned, and when he realized it was only her, he softened. “Hi.” he said, leaning against the washing machine.

“Why do you look so good tonight?” she blurted, unable to decipher whether it was her or the soju talking.

“What?” he giggled, making a funny face.

“I mean, you always look good, it’s just.” she walked forward, barefooted, taking careful steps towards him. The light hadn’t stopped moving, waving against the cut of Hansol’s jawline. “At the end of every month, you’d show up to class wearing a nice outfit. It’s Wednesday today, too.” she hiccuped, watching the way his eyes opened like a deep mahogany ocean.

“Y-you notice me?” he sputtered, hands gripping at the cool metal of the washer.

Feeling bolder by the second, she nodded quickly. “Of course I do. How could I not? I’m a sucker for people like you, people who actually care about class and can talk literature with me.”

“Uh, the reason why I dress nicely at the end of the month isn’t anything special.” he managed to say, his eyes trying its hardest not to navigate along the way the light bounced on her ample cleavage. He ran a hand through his dark hair self-consciously, showing off his forehead. “It’s just that I run out of clean laundry and the nice stuff are the only clothes I have left.” he knocked the washer so that the metal would reverberate between them.

She stopped her act of seduction at the genuine confession, and couldn’t help but laugh, a dulcet smile overtaking her visage. It was like they were back to doing their project, spending another sleepless night together, taking breaks and having random conversation. “Why are you doing laundry now?” she asked between her fit of giggles.

“Because I’m pretty super turnt up. I just took four shots and I thought “hey, it’s good time as any since I ran out of underwear like, this morning.””  

“You’re so funny.” she said honestly, clutching her stomach.

He gave a wry grin, “So I’ve been told.”

She held up the piece of paper she had fisted the entire way here, holding it up to the light. “I got you for my Seven Minutes.”

He stared at the crumpled sheet, realizing its implications. His expression was unreasonable, and he made no move to indicate anything. “Oh.” he blinked, the emptiness of his reply leaving an awful pang in her chest. He forced a cordial smile, “You don’t have to do those. Soonyoung was just being silly, he’s always like this. Making up stupid games like that.”

Oh. She slowly lowered the paper, before letting it drop from her grasp. The paper weighed as much as a feather, yet it felt like a deafening echo to her when it hit the concrete. It was a little stupid, letting a paper dictate who she could and couldn’t kiss. But no, she wasn’t going to walk away like this. She wasn’t going to let this fester in an awkward goodbye and a run of shame back to her apartment. She didn’t go all this way for nothing, and she would put up a good try if she had to. She wanted Hansol tonight.

She bit her lip, pouting slightly as she leaned forward. “Does that mean, you don’t want to kiss me?” she lamented, batting her lashes.

His eyes widened comically, and he held up his hands, waving them around like octopus tentacles. “No, no! Why would you even think—of course I want to kiss you—I mean, oh shit.” he smacked his forehead, collapsing against the metal. “The room is spinning and the only thing I can focus on is how beautiful and kissable you look in that dress.” he sincerely looked distressed, willing his brain to stay concentrated.

And she got on her tiptoes, finally close enough to grasp the collar of his Henley.

“Then kiss me, baby boy.” she murmured, closing the gap between them.

He tasted like vanilla and soju, and she was practically melting. Never before had a drunken kiss tasted so satisfying before Hansol. His addictive lips were wind chapped and so definitively him, low maintenance and she loved every bit of it. Before she knew it she was spinning again, this time because Hansol was lucid enough to lift her on top of the washing machine, giving himself better access. His large hands gripped at the curve of her butt, giving a hard squeeze before he settled her down on the cool metal. 

A combination of hard and soft sighs were exchanged between them as they deepened the kiss, coupled with the muffled music that synced in time with their pumping hearts.

Hansol’s hands were going everywhere and nowhere. He couldn’t decide on his method of multitasking, the softness of her hair, or the suppleness of her breasts, or the bare expanse of her thighs. He made sure to keep his lips occupied however, trailing a airily soft trail down her neck and to her collarbone.

She on the other hand, knew exactly what she wanted. Threading her fingers in his styled locks (he looked unbelievably sexy with his hair pushed back) she ran her lips over his sharp jawline, making sure not to miss a single centimeter. She parted her legs, causing her dress to run eagerly up her hips, crumpled and disheveled. Blunt fingernails dug into her thighs, and she sighed, a petty whine escaping her lips as she tugged on the hem of his t-shirt, willing for it to come off. Instead, Hansol took it as initiative to move closer, hips aligning with hers like a magnetic bolt streamlining to her core.

This elicited a groan from her, and he managed to chuckle as he felt her ankles hook securely around his waist. “You’re going too fast, baby.” he murmured playfully with eyes half-lidded in pleasure, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Sorry.” she hushed, “It’s just that—oh god.”

The washing machine whirred to life, vibrating her body in a way that had her senses on hyper-drive. How convenient that in his drunken escapades, his conclusion was to do laundry. She shuddered, diving her head in the crook of his neck as she whimpered in pleasure, biting the dip between his neck and shoulders to suppress her exasperated cries.

“Just what, sweetheart?” he insisted with a tight moan, grounding his hips to hers in a painstakingly slow rhythm. The rough denim nipped harshly at the soft cotton of her panties, doing absolutely nothing to defend herself as she felt his long hardness press against her clothed core.

“It’s just th-that, that.” she sighed in frustration, her hands trembling over his pecs, and then making a definitive pathway to the buckle in his jeans. “Hansol, please.” she panted, ears ringing as she felt the machine rumble faster. Her hands palmed the thick tent in his jeans, rubbing messy circles and stars as she rested her head against his shoulder, simultaneously both tired and revitalized.  

“Say—nngh— something.” he said breathily, licking a trail to her cleavage while  simultaneously rubbing circles under her dress. This new, aggressive side of Hansol was starting to grow on her, making her into a writhing mess between his arms.

“I don’t want to say anything!” she huffed in frustration, gripping his shoulders as she moved against him, already forcing one hand to unzip the back of her dress so it would fall over her shoulders. She rolled her hips needily, mewling in satisfaction at how absolutely full he felt against her thin panties, burning for a reprieve. Words tumbled from her lips like wildfire, “The only thing I want to do is rip off your fucking jeans and moan your name a million times as you hold me and take me and Jesus I’m shaking and absolutely soaking for you andohohmy—”

“Fuck.” Hansol rasped, his lips a glistening cherry red, “I knew you had way with words.” and he pressed her hips deeper into the washing machine, forcing her to face sweet, sweet torture as the machine vibrated and rocked her panties damp, her honeyed arousal dampening against the cool metal. He nipped her bra strap off with his teeth, dipping a finger between her folds. She cried out, digging her nails into his back as the pulsation made her tortuously numb with white hot pleasure.

“Oh, oh please, b-bed. N-now.” she managed to choke out, giving up on figuring out the goddamn zipper in his trousers.

Moving her hands away, he lifted her, walking through clothes both clean and soiled until they went into a narrow hallway. He kicked open a door that led into a room even smaller than the laundry room. It was hazy and delightfully hot, both parties not even bothering to shut the door behind them.

Everything was just so foggy, their state of arousal combined with the glow of liquid ambrosia, anything was bound to happen.

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

She was definitely thrashed around with a train. Or a spaceship that missed the sky and hit her. Or something. Because she wasn’t getting out of bed anytime soon. The tiny window atop the concrete walls had ample power, letting golden rays stream into the tiny room, flashing to her face. She groaned, throwing a pillow over her eyes, praying for sleep to take the pain away.

Melting in the sheets, she decided that she needed to sleep naked more often, it was incredibly comfortable.

Wait.

She threw the pillow to some corner of the room, causing a capless water bottle to knock over the desk and spill over the rug. But she had no concern to the mess, and snapped her head to her bed partner, who was taking his sweet time to wake up.

Frozen, she could only clutch the white sheets closer to her chest as Hansol resumed his graceful awakening. It was a small twin bed, so if she shifted just a centimeter, her legs would tangle between his. Pomade caused his bedhead to be even crazier, silky tufts of ebony black hair going in every direction imaginable. His eyelashes fluttered like deep dark fans, before they finally opened to reveal his pretty golden eyes. He absorbed her stricken gaze.

“G’mornin’.” he finally uttered with a casual stretch, throwing the sheets off him and getting up. His side had another blanket thrown to the doorway, freshly stained with last night’s activities. He walked away from the bed sluggishly.

From there she noted that Hansol Vernon Chwe was very tall, and just like her, very naked.

Oh my god ohmygodohhhhmy—

All the things she wanted to say blanked from her mind, as he bent down to put on his plaid Christmas green boxers (shit, his thighs were a work of god). His back was turned to her, and she could only stare at his back muscles flexing and unflexing as he grabbed a tin of aspirin from the drawer and pulled out a new water bottle from the case, ignoring the spilled water that was quickly ruining his shag carpet. Before Hansol went back to the bed, he murmured a soft “oh yeah” to himself and reached for something on the drawer.

She blushed, watching him grab her thin periwinkle panties from his magenta lava lamp. How on earth did they get all the way up there, she’ll never know.

He handed her two aspirin and opened the bottle for her, bending down so his knees were on the floor, eyes aligned to hers. She accepted the kind gesture, hands trembling slightly as she took slow sips. “Thank you.” she said softly, breaking eye contact in favor of focusing on not throwing up on his sheets.

“Of course.” he replied genuinely, His face was red, too. He rubbed his neck sheepishly, putting her panties on her covered lap. “I’ll wait outside if you want to go change, or something.” he muttered, already turning to leave.

“Wait,” she said slowly, feeling her headache already worsening by the sudden impact of thought. “You’re kicking yourself out of your own room?”

“Well, yeah?” he twiddled with his fingers, looking down. “In case you regretted what we did last night.”

In fact, she wasn't even entirely sure what happened last night. The beginning was crystal clear, Jeonghan barging into her place with a way to blow off steam and infinite support. Her head to throbbed painfully as she attempted to recollect it the end of their night. While last night was clouded and tinted with the heat of the night, she was absolutely convinced that they did more than she anticipated they would do. She could conclude that much, due to the sinfully pleasant soreness that thrummed between her thighs. While she couldn’t remember all of it, she had a feeling she couldn’t look at doing laundry the same way ever again.

“Even if things are still hazy right now,” her voice was very, very small. Vulnerable, and his bedroom seemed even more constrictive than before. “I don’t regret anything that we did, because it was with you.”

His eyes widened at her words, her voice filled with an undertone of confidence and finality that had him reeling. His posture was frozen straight, but his copper eyes were alive, dancing staccato in tandem to the bleeding sunlight, wracking with a litany of emotions. “I don’t normally do this, y’know.” he finally said.

“Is that supposed to make me feel special?”

“Well, I wish it would. Because you’re special to me.”

Her hands curled under the sheets, fisting a full patch of snow white cotton. Special, to Hansol? Her throat was sandpaper dry, even though she just had water. She sat up straighter, letting the sheet slip like the way molasses would drip to the ground. She shivered at the rush of cool air. Hansol’s eyes lingered briefly on her bare shoulders, and now sober, she felt more than just naked to his gaze, arrested to his bed. He got up and picked out a champagne pink sweater from his computer chair. Rolling up the neck, he smelled the collar in approval before deciding it was clean enough to put on her.

“I would’ve wanted to take you out on a date,” he said tenderly, putting one arm sleeve through the other after getting her head through as carefully as possible, as if she were fine china. “And talk about stupid alien conspiracies and bad television, maybe cry over good books and read each other poetry, and call you dorky nicknames like Pumpkin and Honeybear. And hopefully you would’ve liked that too.” He continued wistfully as he cared for her, pulling gently to get her hair out of the sweatshirt. “And then I’d ask you out—or you can ask me out I don’t really care, and after a good amount of time we’d have amazing sex and uh, well—we already cut to the amazing sex part.”

Maybe she was still drunk, because his confession was making her even more emotional than normal. His cashmere sweater smelled of sandalwood and warm vanilla, and she brought a sweater paw up to rub her eyes, hopefully pulling away any potential tears that were worming its way. “Hansol,” she said delicately, pulling him back on his bed, wrapping her sweater-covered arms around his neck. “I think I would’ve wanted all of those things, too. And if you want, we could still do them.”

She felt his muscles relax in her grip, and she felt his gangly arms wound its way back onto her waist, running his nose along her curtain of hair and to her neck. “Oh, thank god.” he exhaled in relief, his fingers curling protectively in the dip of her waist, his voice low and rumbly in her ear. She felt his hot breath dance on her neck, and she closed her eyes, reveling in this moment of blissful acceptance. “I didn’t even know you were coming to the party.” he chuckled warmly, nuzzling his cheek on her shoulder.

They fell back, so that Hansol was lying on the bed again, and she could lean her head on his chest. He threw the sheets over them once more, enveloping them in comfortable warmth of each other’s body temperature, and the afterglow of the night before.

“Jeonghan picked me up at the last minute. Good thing he made me come.” she confessed, pressing a lazy kiss on his collarbone.

“Jeonghan is my new favorite hyung.” he grinned like a dork at the empty ceiling, blindly threading his fingers through hers. “He made me take his class, and introduced me to a wonderful girl along the way who’s hella smart and gorgeous.”

“Are you kidding?” she smacked his chest lightly, “You’re hella smart and gorgeous. And you’re silly, and funny and absolutely sweet.”

“D’awh, thanks Pumpkin.”

“Okay stop. I don’t like that one.”

“Alright, Chicken Nugget.”

“What’s with your strange fixation to food nicknames?” she teased. She leaned in, placing a quick kiss on the button of his nose. It felt good knowing she would be able to do silly things like this on the daily. 

“That’s because I just recently made a deduction,” he put a palm to her chest in reply, and pushed her back, hard. Enough to elicit a laugh from her, but not too hard as to make her fall off the bed. Her back hit the sheets as her giggles engulfed the room, covering her mouth as he hovered over her and switched positions, sticking out his tongue. “That you are absolutely delicious.”

She hummed, running a finger between his bare chest. Hansol was still shirtless, lucky her. “My memory is still a little fuzzy from last night. Care to remind me how delicious I tasted?” she taunted, her hands brushing on the waistband of his boxers.

He replied with a series of kisses, her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. And she felt amazing, her headache miraculously gone and in the comfort of this wonderful, wonderful person who wanted her as much as she wanted him. His one hand lingered on the curve of her butt, giving a long squeeze as his other hand trailed along the sweater he just put on her, lifting it to reveal the smooth expanse of her stomach. He made an animated comment, “Your tummy is cute!” before kissing the middle of it.

And then her stomach grumbled for the longest five seconds of her life.

Hansol laughed out loud, a beautiful, hearty sound. He didn’t remove his lips from her skin, feeling the vibration echo through her body. She felt a little less embarrassed when she could feel his smile against her stomach.

“Do you want to go eat first?” she asked sheepishly, pushing him up. Their night worked up a hearty appetite.

“You mean,” he raised a perfectly threaded eyebrow at the space between her thighs, open for his consumption.

“No, you butt. I mean real food!” she hopped off the bed, smirking at the fact that Hansol was watching every bit of her as she shimmied back into her underwear, still glued to the bed.

He shrugged, not seeming to mind, “Oh, that’s cool too. Muffins?”

“Hell yeah.”

“And then sex?”

“What? No!” she smacked him with the pillow she had thrown earlier, and he clutched his heart dramatically, falling heavily to the mattress as if he were impaled with a deadly shot. “I left my ice cream at my apartment. We’re going back there and we’re going to continue the night in I was supposed to do.”

“But my heart! You’ve wounded it!” he cried in fake agony, holding out a tortured hand to her.

“Because you mean nothing to me. Nothing.” She cried theatrically, unable to suppress her fit of giggles at his cheesiness, pulling him off the bed.

“No, you loooveeee me.” he cooed, trapping her in his embrace. He sat at the foot of the bed, and she immediately bounded onto his lap. Pressing her forehead to his, she let her eyes flutter shut, licking her lips as she basked in this moment. When she opened them, Hansol’s was already open, lashes of wispy caramel fluttering to her body which was cradled within his. When they finally faced each other, he placed a cotton soft kiss between her brows, letting his lips linger on her skin for a second too long.

And at that moment, it was just her and Hansol, which meant everything to the both of them.