#interesting to try to stay flat and not render anything

[snugglywugglysocialist]

Monotony

Late-night sheets of rain hurl themselves at the living room window of your apartment, degrading the view of streetlights below into nothing more than distorted swirls.

Irritation rises within as you realize the hostile weather has ruined your plans for the night, rendering you victim to a tortuously boring night-in. Monotony has been your most salient enemy since quitting your residency, though you’ve been able to dodge it until tonight.

You clutch the glass in your hand as you move towards the bookshelf seated in the hall. Your eyes rake over the busted spines and heavily annotated texts, realizing you haven’t had the time to leisurely read in months.

You grab one off the shelf and head for your spot on the couch, convincing yourself this is a riveting way to spend an evening; after all, you used to do this all the time. However, multiple futile attempts to keep focused on the work in front of you led to aimless pacing around the beige walls of your living room.

The last thing you expected to gain from your time at Princeton Plainsboro was a diminished ability to bear anything uninteresting, especially since the inherent lack of it in diagnostics often delivered such distress.

The actualization of this newfound intolerance didn’t make itself known so harshly until this moment, the weight of it hitting you like bricks. You toss the book you’d been holding onto the coffee table, and lace your hands behind your neck in disbelief.

Three sharp raps at the door interrupt your brooding, the color from your face surely draining as you realize who it probably is. You stand up, instinctively grabbing your glass of liquor, and begrudgingly walk to the door. You peer through the peep-hole to confirm what you already know.

House.

You swing open the door, already annoyed with his presence. He’s in his usual t-shirt and jeans—with a soaked blazer as an additive—and holding a navy blue case file in his left hand. He looks you up and down, his eyebrows raised, and you mentally kick yourself in the ass for not putting on pants before answering the door. You silently move inwards to let him in, and he does so, sizing up your flat. You slam the door closed harder than intended, and he turns.

“Did you miss me?” He says, his words steeped in sardonic cloy.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, refusing to engage with his attempt at banter.

He says nothing, wriggling the file in his hands as a response. You sigh and grab a towel, tossing it towards him in the same fashion as he does when throwing a case file at an intern. He catches it with one hand, and throws the folder on your couch before shucking off his jacket, and drying off his hair.

“Take your shoes off, you’re getting my floors wet.” You say, and he does so, but not without rolling his eyes and huffing like a toddler.

“Differential. Sixty year old-“ He begins to speak, but you cut him off quickly.

“You remember that I quit, correct?” You say, crossing your arms.

He smirks and sets the towel next to his jacket. It’s his turn to pivot a question.

“I thought you didn’t drink.” He states flatly.

“Ethanol pairs well with boredom.” You respond, your curiosity practically forcing you to pick up the file he brought. He watches you intently as you flip through the pages, trying to pick up on a reaction. You shut the file shortly thereafter, and hand it back to him.

“It’s Myasthenia Gravis; do an SFEMG and start him on plasmapheresis and steroids after the confirmation.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. Your attempt at concealing your interest in this case does not go unnoticed by House, and you can tell. His gaze stays fixed on you, and you fight the urge to squirm beneath it.

“You already knew that though, or you’d be calling one of your lackeys to begin treatment. So again I ask, what are you doing here.” The words spill out of your mouth, and you do little to control the contempt dripping from them.

His eyes dart around before nodding slightly, and he moves to sit down on the couch. He motions for you to join him, and you oblige apprehensively. The two of you sit in silence for a few moments before he speaks.

“Why did you quit?” He asks, almost rhetorically.

“You know why.” You quip.

“No, I know what you told me. I want the real reason.” He retorts, his eyes narrowing, looking to sieze meaning from your facial expressions, to which he finds none.

Wordlessly, you stand to fix him a drink, and he sighs loudly at your lack of a response as you head towards the cupboard. You’re almost done pouring when you hear him coming into the kitchen behind you, the thumping of his cane reverberating off the barren walls of your apartment. He keeps walking until he’s mere inches from you, effectively pinning you between him and the island bar from behind. You set down the bottle with shaking hands, and turn to face him.

The backlighting of your living room shrouds his face, reducing his figure to a towering silhouette. A pang of nervousness barrels into your stomach, a feeling he often aroused in you, and one you’d tried desperately to quell.

You turn your head to avoid his piercing eyes, though you can’t even see them. He shifts his weight, and sucks a breath in through his teeth. Your thoughts drift to imagine the grimace of pain he must be wearing.

“I asked you a question.” He says lowly, snapping your wandering mind back.

“One which you know the answer to.” You say, causing him to scoff slightly in response.

You move to escape him, but he steps even closer, forcing you to brace yourself against the countertop. Blood rushes to your ears and your heart thrums in your chest with rigor.

“House…” You scold quietly, hoping to elicit some sense into him, but he stays unmoving. Centimeters make up the gap between the both of you; one sleight of hand and you know it’s over.

“My ‘lackeys’—as you so endearingly called them—have placed bets.” He chides.

“On?” You choke out, praying your voice didn’t reveal the effect he’s having on you.

“On when you’ll admit you quit because you have a thing for me.” He says, his words are wrapped in faux endearment, and you can’t discern whether the feeling in your stomach is nausea or arousal.

He closes the gap suddenly, drawing a low whine out of you. His cane clatters as it hits the hardwood floors of your kitchen, and he brings his hands up to grab your face. He nips softly at your lower lip, causing you to gasp, allowing him full access to your mouth. His hands grovel to grasp the seam of your panties, but you grab his wrists, and turn to lead him into your room.

After shutting the door behind him, he walks towards you until you’re forced to step back, the backs of your knees hitting the bed. You sit down, and watch as he grabs the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head, discarding it on the floor, his belt and pants soon to join it. He approaches the left side of the bed and joins you.

With the last shreds of your inhibition dissipated, you move on your knees to straddle him, his hard length making contact with your center. He makes quick work of your shirt, ripping it off of you, your bra soon to follow. He palms your breasts immediately, his thumbs lathing over your nipples, making your body tremble.

As he takes your breast into his mouth, you know he plans to draw this out, and you know that you’ll let him. His tongue swirls and your hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling and grabbing erratically. You attempt to stifle a moan but fail, and you can feel him smirk against your chest in response.

You pull back on his hair until his neck is exposed, and move to lavish it. You burn a trail of kisses from the shell his ear to his collarbone, and the low-octave grunts leaving his throat only spur you on. You push him back until he’s laying, and continue your assault, making bruises along his chest with your teeth.

His hand creeps to your center, and pushes aside the soaked fabric, slipping his middle finger into you with ease. He chuckles condescendingly as you flutter around him, and you bite softly into his shoulder to avoid mewling. He slips the lace garment over your hips to remove them, the wetness from his hand leaving a trail across your thigh.

You go to remove the last remaining barrier between the both of you, but he grabs your hands. He slides his boxers down just enough to reveal himself, but keep the scars on his thigh covered. Pity flashes in your eyes, but you rid your expression of it, hoping he didn’t catch it. You sit up straight on your knees, looking down at him.

“Take ‘em off or get out of my bed.” You sigh out, swathing your feelings with this ultimatum. You know it’s not a lack of trust with you, just a generalized shame, but it still pains you in a way you can’t verbalize even if you wanted to. He looks at you blankly before putting his hands above his head, allowing you to slide them down his legs. You throw them to the floor, and allow your fingertips to ghost over the scars, and he scoffs.

“I don’t care, House. I want you.” You whisper, and he doesn’t respond.

He averts his eyes in embarrassment, and looks as if he’s about to say something, but is thwarted when your hand moves to his shaft. Your movements are tentative until you land on a pace that forces his eyes to roll back, revealing white. He lets out a low moan that shoots straight to your core, and you resume lamenting his neck with your tongue.

Soon, his abdomen muscles tighten, and his legs spasm slightly, letting you know he’s close, and you stop your movements suddenly. His eyes snap open in protest, and his chest heaves as you lower yourself onto him. He grunts and throws his head back into the pillows, harshly attaching his hands to your hips.

He pushes into you slowly until you reach his hilt. Your mouth falls open as you attempt to adjust to the fullness, and a string of unintelligible words fall from his lips. You rock slowly, his hands guiding you up and down. After a moment, you come down off your knees and allow your full weight to fall on his upper body, and he welcomes the pressure greedily.

His arms envelop the small of your back, and he ruts up into you, making your breath hitch. He fucks you from beneath until your body shakes in his arms, and you can no longer control the sounds leaving your chest. You reach the precipice pathetically fast, and he follows, spilling into you indiscriminately. His hands run up your spine as he sings your praises, and forces your face upwards to meet his lips.

You continue to kiss him lazily as you brace yourself on your knees once more to get up, and he grabs your waist and keeps you there. He’s still panting as he reverses your positions, and begins kissing down your chest to your navel. His lips move to brush against your hip bones, and he spreads your legs.

Heat flushes from your chest to your center, and you fold your arms across your face. His middle and ring fingers enter you deftly, and your hips shoot up at the intrusion, causing him to hook his lithe arms beneath your thighs to prevent any future writhing. He licks a broad stripe up the length of you before coaxing your clit into his mouth, switching between paces.

You’re incredibly sensitive already, and his demonstrations leave your head spinning ten-fold. Your legs press upwards to entrap his head, but his arms keep you spread and pinned. Half formed tears fall from your eyes as you finish, your hands buried so violently in his hair you’re sure it’s hurting him, but you couldn’t care less.

He stops and collapses next to you as you revel in the after-shocks. Your head falls upon his chest, and you crane upwards to leave chaste kisses beneath his jaw. You’re still barely coherent when he speaks.

“So, when are you coming back?” He asks sarcastically, his voice raspy and laced with satiation.

“Very soon if you keep fucking me like that.” You quip breathlessly, and he bites back an assured smirk.

[the-scrappy-stinger]

Honestly I understand you a lot about those same shits stuff in Fiction

I'm trying to be more tolerant cuz there are always generic stereotypes in stories and try to lower my standards BUT it doesn't mean I'm gonna sit and just stay through all of that if it's just not gonna have anything interesting other than basic avoidable dramas

My issues are also with art that I know are from manhwhas that I encounter on Pinterest and I don't like how they're kinda weird in a way, LIKE LOOK

I'm not hating and trying to call these artists shit but that doesn't mean they can't be criticized, I'm not sure about the contexts, but artistically it's just weird, not to mention, the prettiest looking one is called Empress Maria and according to rumours and spoilers I saw on TikTok, it's another of the angst revenge porn so no, also what's with Manhwa artists and over usage of shading??

I also picked out that somehow it's ALWAYS the angst porn romance that has a pretty artstyle as though they're aware it'll distract the readers from the shit writing I think, after all they aren't making money on substance writing, it's the pretty art they can sell

AGAIN, this is just my personal criticism and it has something to do with my preferences so yeah it's my fault not theirs

Well, lemme art critique a minute then:

First one: Not a terrible pose but it doesn't translate well from the front. Shadows on the body are sharp but the one behind her on the chair is blobby and fuzzed. No shading on the face so it looks flat and boring.

Second one: overexposed and overly bright. Realistic rendering on the clothes and hair but not the face, looks uncanny.

Third one: Looks like a 3D model that was rendered TOO much. And the eyes look crossed.

Fourth one: Busy, obscures the facial expression, doesn't read well especially in thumbnail.

Fifth and sixth ones: I actually don't mind them other than the fifth one having that too-bright overexposure problem again.

Last one: just kind of amateur-ish. They should push the facial expression a little more.

[broodwoof]

THE MERRY WHUMP OF MAY

7th — Fallen; “Forget about them"; piano; edge of town ao3: The Evanuris and the Wolf in Their Midst

cws: slavery; whipping

3855 words

These celebrations made his skin crawl. The hall was beautifully decorated, resplendent with a style that would never be done again, each festival necessitating an entirely new theme, wasteful even with aesthetics. There was food enough to feed half of Arlathan, yet much of it would be left to rot; the wine flowed freely, of more interest to the attendees than the food, yet it, too, would be wasted. Half-finished glasses were frequently set down, taken away by the meek shapes of slaves winding through their midst. The Evanuris and other highly ranked attendees were dressed in exquisite, detailed outfits which, like the rest, would be rendered irrelevant by the morrow.

He was expected to participate, just as the chosen of the other Evanuris were expected to participate; still enslaved, but beholden only to one and with a higher position within society. All his peers were dressed as he was, in rich materials that were unpatterned, something to highlight rather than overshadow those they served. His own robes were a beautiful blue, where different lighting displayed them in all shades of the night sky, from the pale blue that followed dusk to near-black. 

There were performers as well, among them an organist; he was hard-pressed to not react to the sharp tones and the memories they provoked, long periods of standing guard while a slave worked the bellows and Mythal played. He hated the sound of it. And she wasn’t a skilled player, although none would ever dare say as much—but she knew and kept her playing private, only he and the other slave privy to it. Another might feel flattered or pleased to be invited into a private performance of the All-Mother, to be able to witness her learning. Despite his respect for her, he could not see those instances as anything other than a small trial, the voice of the organ unpleasantly intense, especially so close.

It was also a reminder that she used slaves for her own ends without hesitation. She was not as brutal as Elgar'nan, did not punish slaves as readily as he and Andruil did, but she did not tolerate disobedience either. If a slave denied her or failed in their duty, they would be punished exactly as expected. She adhered to the standards. Neither excess brutality nor mercy.

Such were his considerations while he idled against the far wall, trying to stay out of the way. Many of the Evanuris enjoyed toying with him, a subtle way to spite Mythal; Andruil was the worst offender, but more than once Elgar'nan had taken a frustration with Mythal out on him instead. Such was disturbingly common amongst them, and the chosen all bore the displaced anger stoically, having no other choice. Still, Solas would not intentionally put himself in harm's way.

But it seemed he could not avoid it tonight, either. Dirthamen’s chosen approached him, her tight, polite smile perhaps mirroring his own. “He wishes to speak to you. Meet him outside.” Her voice was flat and without inflection, but he knew her, knew the fury she unleashed in battle, knew her unwavering loyalty. She was dressed in deep purple, her robes layered in such a way that strips of flesh along her waist were revealed, and he wondered whether he was not alone in warming the bed of his Evanuris. He nodded and moved to meet Dirthamen, curious.

He had always been more reserved, seemingly content to focus on his studies. Oh, he spent slaves just as readily as any of the others, but was perhaps closer to his mother than his father in that respect. Yet Mythal was unique among the Evanuris: she saw them as people. She did not thank them, but she would smile or nod her gratitude. She knew their names, and he had heard her praise their work. Small things, but so unusual compared to how the others interacted with the slaves.

Some of the family liked to make the slaves fear and suffer. Closer to the way a predator might toy with its prey, delighting in the pain they caused. Others barely seemed to see them at all, as if they were tools to be used until they were spent. Dirthamen appeared to be the latter, although he'd not had opportunity to see his conduct directly. 

He may not be given to his father's volatility, but it still would not be wise to keep him waiting. So he made his way free of the festivities with a subtle haste, seeing Dirthamen even as he closed the doors behind himself. He was dressed just as magnificently as the other Evanuris, his shoulder-length hair pushed back from his face and worked through with fine silver and gold filaments that culminated in a thin crown. He briefly met Solas' eyes before walking away, and he moved fast to fall in step behind him. 

They walked in silence, the noise of the festival fading; and when the Evanuris stopped, he made sure to keep a respectful distance. “Slaves have gone missing,” he said in his soft way, not looking at Solas—something he deeply appreciated, uncertain whether his surprise had shown.

Then Dirthamen turned to face him and he suspected what would come next. “It's you, isn't it?”

“I do not know what my lord is asking,” he deflected, earning a tight, sharp smile. 

“Fear not. I have no interest in reporting your… misconduct. However, I do not want this disruption to continue. You have misplaced your sympathy and your loyalty, Solas.”

“I did not know that slaves had gone missing—” He was stopped mid-sentence by Dirthamen slapping him, his calm facade never cracking. Solas, meanwhile, had to force his hands to relax, his fingers to uncurl from fists. He took a deep breath before straightening and meeting his eyes once more, his cheek stinging.

“Do not play with me. I need no confession from you, but I will not tolerate your lies.”

“Some few missing slaves have done little to disrupt Arlathan,” he pointed out carefully, Dirthamen smiling his approval. It appeared that he would be allowed to disagree, so long as he did not lie.

“It is true that this ball is as extravagant as any. But there is a balance to all things. We cannot risk an uprising, not now.”

“Not with the Evanuris on the brink of war?” The other man's eyes widened slightly and Solas felt a visceral thrill at the show of surprise. Afterwards, Dirthamen appeared to be studying him. And eventually he nodded, more to himself than to Solas.

“Yes. Come. There are ears everywhere.” Solas nodded and followed, once again a few paces behind. But as Dirthamen continued to speak he drew closer, not wanting the other man to raise his voice. “We are on the brink of war. There are uncertain forces at work—and some certain ones that will undoubtedly become threats in time. Preemptive action is the only way to assure our continued survival.”

“At great cost,” he observed coldly, a little surprised when Dirthamen simply nodded.

“Great indeed.” They were heading into the forested outskirts of the city, the organ music fading into a soft background noise. At this distance, he could almost enjoy it. As they passed the great oaks that marked the edge of the forest, Dirthamen turned to him. “What would you have us do?” His eyes flashed with some strong emotion, there and gone again so fast Solas could not place it. Could not even be certain it existed, that it was anything save a trick of the light.

“The Evanuris are destroying Arlathan as surely as any conqueror. You do not seek to preserve Elvhenan, only yourselves.” Dirthamen seemed unsurprised by his bold declaration, and Solas had to wonder at the other man. What was he like, under the guise of disinterest, of detachment?

“And what use would a city of slaves have, were they freed?” The question was soft, seemingly earnest, but Solas felt on edge. Suddenly it felt like more than just his life was at stake here. “How could they defend themselves? There are forces out there that would grind Arlathan under heel, given half the chance. The Elvhen would have no recourse. What use is their freedom if they will all be wiped out?”

“There are alternatives,” he spat out, surprising himself with his vehemence—but once again, not surprising Dirthamen. 

“Name them.” Were it a challenge, Solas might have bristled. Instead, it was presented as an opportunity—which put him on edge in a different way. For so long he had been moving in small ways, building up the means and courage needed to take his final plunge… for this to be dangled before him now that he had finally begun, it felt cruel. Yet it would be foolhardy to turn down the opportunity just because he feared what it meant.

“The Evanuris could be guardians rather than overseers,” he said softly, searching Dirthamen’s face for reaction, but he wore his impassivity well. “Free the slaves, let them become whole citizens. There was a time when the Evanuris were heroes rather than rulers, when the population was not enslaved to one or all. You could push for a return to that time.”

“When does one of our kind die?” The sudden question took Solas by surprise and he frowned, which made Dirthamen smile. “The durgen’lan, they live and die in a fraction of one of our lives. Generations rise and fall like the tides. But for us? When does it stop? How many would have to surrender to uthenera to keep the new-born housed and fed? How long until we had outgrown our empire and needed to expand? How long before peace and equality became in-fighting? Until the freed tried to impose rules? Some would want their elders to live, to continue to pass down knowledge—others would want them to sleep, that the youth could grow in peace and have their own reign. What of them?” 

“We could limit childbirth—or determine an age of passage. Many do not wish to live forever. If they knew to expect surrender to uthenera at a certain point…”

“And what point would that be? What age is the right time to ask someone to die? Would none push against it? Would they be hunted down and slaughtered if they do not surrender?” Solas was shaking his head, frustrated.

“What use is this? This invention of problems to forestall any action, any change, any bettering of their condition? Yes, there will be challenges—but are challenges not better than slavery? How can you advocate for this?”

“Think,” Dirthamen hissed, a hint of frustration slipping into his voice. It was a surprise. “Think, Solas. Who would be the first to be asked to die? My father is eldest of all. Would the ‘heroes’ of Arlathan be permitted to live while their people died? My family does not want to be killed. I do not want to be killed. We will never be agreed on this matter, and we would fight. Battles of word and wit would become physical ones, in time. Physical would become magical. Think of the destruction we would wreak.”

There was a logic to this, and it infuriated him. Dirthamen was right—the Evanuris would be expected to surrender. And they would not. And if they fought, if they tried to destroy each other to save themselves, the fallout would destroy Arlathan, perhaps all of Elvhenan. But he could not sit back and accept that it must be this way. He would not. 

“Would that the Evanuris dedicated themselves to restoration as they do to self-preservation, we would not be having this conversation now.” He did not bother to disguise his contempt, surprised when Dirthamen laughed. It sounded genuinely pleased rather than contemptuous.

“You fascinate me. It is a surprise that your bold tongue has not gotten you killed. But,” here he turned serious, meeting Solas’ eyes, “you should not push your luck. Forget about them. They will remain enslaved, whatever your feelings. The ones you have freed will be found and killed.” Dirthamen's expression softened slightly. “I would not see you killed as well. Give up.”

“Why do you care about me?” It was as blunt as it was foolish, but it did not seem to throw the other man off. Instead he looked contemplative, staring out into the forest.

“Falon’Din and I, we were born first. You know this, of course. It was a period of… hope, you might say.” He still stared off into the forest. “My father and mother were inseparable, our people were flourishing, and it seemed that nothing would disrupt the peace we enjoyed. Our siblings were born, and each one of them shone with the power of our bloodline. Our childhood was marvelous. As we grew, things changed. Slowly. Subtly. But inexorably. Pageantry became formalized; spontaneous celebration of plenty transformed into recurring festivals. The changes were not bad, but they spelled out a new direction for us.” Solas was listening intently, hanging on every word. Dirthamen was a natural storyteller, it seemed, but it was more than that—this was the first time he had heard of the Evanuris’ beginning in such detail. He dared not miss a thing.

“Elvhen had always followed my mother and father,” he continued, “but now they built a city around them. Our family was the center, the touchstone, but we did not command. We led by example, and the people followed of their own will.” He paused for so long that Solas began to think he was done speaking, but eventually he sighed. “Time changes people. You are young yet. You do not know. It all happened so slowly that we did not notice, but one day I woke and realized I was frightened of my father. And I knew that my brother felt the same. Our mother. My siblings. And Mythal was changed as well—where before she had been so warm, now she was distant, imperious. Once inseparable, they were now rarely seen together.” He blinked, looking back to Solas, and he saw in golden eyes the weight of countless years. Dirthamen still looked youthful, but he was ancient, had lived through centuries.

“My brother tried to become our father,” he said slowly, his distaste evident. “To fulfill the role he thought Elgar’nan expected. Andruil tried to make him proud with her might and her skill, things he had once commended her for. But he did not care any longer. No matter how well they performed, he was unmoved. Sylaise became withdrawn and strange, until she eventually found some measure of peace with June and their seclusion. And June himself, and Ghilan’nain, neither belonged. They would never fit, and came too late, never saw what had been lost.”

“Your family fell apart,” Solas said carefully, “but how did that lead to… this?” He gestured back to Arlathan, and a small, wry smile curled Dirthamen’s lips.

“Time, again. The Elvhen had children. Their children had children. Soon the city was an empire, but the people were hungry. Oh, they could hunt, they could farm, but we did not have enough land for them all. My father—” the single word dripped with a startling contempt, “decided that the only answer was to claim more territory. So he gathered an army and marched. Destroyed countless towns and villages, supposedly to give our people shelter.”

“‘Supposedly’?” Solas pressed.

“It was never for them.” Dirthamen sounded distant now, lost in memory. “My father has a terrible rage. The battlefield was the one place he could quench it, at least for a time. When he returned he was a changed man; charming, sociable, warm. We all tried to ignore the blood on his hands. What else could we do? Our people had land, and the grim deeds were done.”

“It did not last.” Dirthamen’s smile did not reach his eyes as he nodded.

“No, it did not. Would that it had. Instead, our people continued to grow. And instead of changing anything, father just… went to war. Again and again. Our population of artisans and philosophers slowly became a population of soldiers. We became known for conquest. Our banner was a bloody one, and it sent fear through those who bore witness to it. Things changed. The time of hope and peace was dead.”

“When did they become slaves?” The question seemed to startle Dirthamen—apparently recounting all this had taken him into some sort of reverie. Solas cursed himself for interrupting. 

“Father told soldiers what to do on the battlefield, and they did it. Eventually he told Elvhen what to do in Arlathan… and some did it. Because Elgar’nan asked it of them. But some did not. Those who did not were punished. Those who continued to refuse were killed. Eventually all knew they could not deny his requests. In time, it became clear that they could deny none of our requests.” The answer was more satisfying than Solas had hoped for, but he suspected there was far more to the story. But Dirthamen was alert now, staring him down, and he knew the time for questions had passed. And yet…

“You never said why you cared about me. About my life.” 

“I did not,” Dirthamen confirmed, still meeting his eyes. He seemed to be considering, then eventually smiled. “You have my guile and my brother’s determination. And not many could deceive any of our number. You perform ably. In time, you might even be inducted into our ranks.” He took a step closer, his stare seeming to pin Solas in place. “But first you must give them up. Forget the slaves. Those you have freed, I will work to allow them to live, to distract from their loss, but you must stop. And perhaps, in time, we can work out a permanent solution. Together.”

“And how many more will die in that time?”

“Many,” Dirthamen admitted. “But fewer than if you force our hand. The full might of the Evanuris against you… none foolish enough to follow your banner would live, and ruins would proclaim your mass grave.”

“I thank you for your insight,” he said icily, “and for your offer. However, I have no intention of committing myself to your purposes. I am no one’s tool.”

“Ah, but you are,” Dirthamen said softly. “Did you not hear me, before? Those who refused were punished.” Solas felt his stomach drop as Dirthamen looked beyond him and nodded. “It is better than death. But know, Solas, that death is what awaits you on this path. Heed this warning, for it will be your last.”

He felt strong hands encircle his arms and spun around, ready to fight, but—

They were slaves. He felt Dirthamen’s hand against his shoulder. “Would you fight those you seek to free? You will have to kill them to escape unscathed. It is your choice, Solas.” And with that he walked back towards Arlathan, towards the festival, towards the organ music that Solas could still hear.

Two slaves stared at him, a man and a woman, both strong. The man would not meet his eyes, while the woman did, letting him witness her regret. He swallowed. “I suspect you have been told what to do.” She nodded curtly. “And your handiwork will undoubtedly be examined…” She nodded once more, as did the man. Solas sighed. “Very well. Do as you must, then. I know whose hands bear my blood, and it will not be yours.”

“Come with us,” she said flatly and he followed them away from the party. By the time they stopped he could only hear the faintest strains of the music. “Please, remove your robe.” He did as she asked, the man taking it gently and folding it before setting it carefully on a nearby stump. Solas noticed wrappings nearby as well. And rope. He picked up the latter and approached, pausing until Solas nodded and then tying his hands together in front. The rope bit into his wrists but he bore it silently.

“Can you tell me?” He shook his head and Solas nodded, expecting as much. The man moved away, behind him, and he bowed his head as he waited.

He had his suspicion of what the punishment would be… and he had his confirmation in the split-second crack of the whip before it tore a line of white-hot pain along his back and he cried out, falling forward onto his knees. But they did not relent. They could not relent. By the third line tears were rolling down his face; by the fifth he was sobbing openly, trying to crawl away, but they pursued him. How many would it be?

He lost track. He might have lost consciousness, startling when he was suddenly drenched with ice-cold water. And then the whip sliced through his back again and he screamed, the water making it worse, somehow. “Forty lashes,” came her quiet voice, and he did not understand. He kept tensing, preparing for the next, only for her to repeat the phrase.

Forty lashes.

Wait, did that mean…?

“It’s over?” He gasped, turning to face her.

“Almost,” she said, then squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. He watched as she took a deep breath, forced her eyes open, and slapped him as hard as she could. Startled and reeling from the force of her slap, he could not resist when the man came over and pushed him onto his back, his foot on Solas’ bare chest as he forced the wounds into the rough grass and dirt below them.

He thrashed for a moment before realizing it was useless, allowing himself to go limp and bear it. Distantly he heard the man counting under his breath, and when he lifted his foot away Solas slowly sat up. In a moment they were both tending to him, one drying him while the other carefully cleaned the lashes—its own misery—before tightly binding them. In the end they helped him stand and don his robe again, even securing it for him. “You are expected to rejoin the party,” she told him and he nodded, unsurprised. His absence would not go unremarked. “Drink this,” a small vial was pushed gently into his hands and he downed it in one.

“What is it?” He asked as he handed it back, curious that it did not seem to numb his pain. 

“It will help with the blood loss and shock. Nothing more.” Ah. Of course. The punishment was not yet done—he would be expected to suffer the pain the rest of the night, and to withhold his reaction. This was only to ensure that his body not betray him.

“Take care,” he told them both quietly before making his way back to the city, each step sending a spasm of pain across his lacerated back. The festivities would go on for the entire night, and even after he would be expected to stand guard outside Mythal's chambers until she dismissed him.

Well planned.

But it would not break him.

[luveline]

you know, I'm coming right back [Fred Weasley x Reader]

summary: you're a lonely artist and Fred is your adoring model

word count: 2.4k

tags: reader insert, lonely reader, artist reader, seventh year, kids in love, first kiss, getting together, pining, fluff, friends-to-lovers

It was easy for you, usually, to act fine. To feel fine. Any loneliness that clouded your life was pushed firmly into the depths of your thoughts. You tried to focus on the things that mattered, essays and charms and your art.

You loved to draw. You had sketchbooks filled to the brim with sketches, some half finished, others coloured and lined. You drew everything, though you struggled to bring anything from your memory. Everything you drew had to be done right there, right then, with unsuspecting models. You sketched students eating their dinner, scribbled side profiles when you managed a spare minute in class. But you're most impressive artwork was done in the library, where nothing moved. Everyone was silent. You had pages and pages of bored, tired looking students. When exams approached, you hurriedly copied down the expressions of people on the edge of depression and panic.

You had friends, ish. You knew people. You'd had intense friendships that somehow always ended in awkward drifting aparts. Well, you thought. There must be something wrong with me. They liked me before they didn't, so the fault must've been mine.

You huffed out a sigh, pressing your face deep into the textured page of your sketch book, breathing in the smell of charcoal. You were sketching the illusive Fred Weasley, who you'd never truly drawn before. Maybe you had scraps from your second or third year when you'd still attempted to draw moving objects before getting comfortable and accepting that still life was your forte.

He was maddeningly good lucking when his eyebrows puckered in concentration. He seemed to actually be studying for once, sat at a table with his brother, George, and housemates Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

You were sat by yourself, and couldn't help listening to his lilting voice as he bantered with his friends. They were talking about Umbridge (the current victim of the Hogwarts' student body hate train), and quidditch, and their recent ban from quidditch. You'd never played.

"Watch out, dolly fell asleep," said one of the girls.

You bit your lip. You'd been nicknamed dolly by the girls in your dorm because of your porcelain doll you'd had since childhood. Even though this year was your last, you still hadn't felt the need to hide her away. She made you feel much less anxious and alone.

The whole school knew, naturally.

"Don't get any funny ideas," said Angelina,  to the twins.

"Come on Angie, you think so little of us?" said George.

"Yesterday I watched you trick a group of forth years into taking puking pastilles." Angelina said.

"It was hardly a trick. We told them they were multi-faceted," said George.

You could hear your heartbeat if you focused. It was in your ears. It bump, bump, bumped.

Bump bump. You flinched, a hand settled on your shoulder quickly moved.

"Wake up, dolly. Library's closing."

You squinted up into Fred's face, head halo'd by candlelight. Lifting your head from the wooden table, you stretched your neck to the left. It clicked.

"Uh..."

"Hmm?" You prompted him, smoothing your hair behind your ears.

"You have - dirt. On your face. Here-" He said, reaching forward. You closed your eyes as he gently wiped the skin above your eyebrow.

"It's charcoal."

"What?"

"It's not dirt," you said, peaking at him through your eyelashes. "It's charcoal."

He looked mildly surprised. You shifted, hoping to cover your sketch before he caught sight of it.

It didn't matter.

"It's me. My gorgeous dolly, you've created quite the masterpiece right there, haven't you? I look vexingly handsome, of course. Thought if that's a consequence of your skill or my handsomeness is anyones guess."

You were lost for words. "Uh, quite."

"Yes, yes, quite. Say, could I keep it?"

"... You want the drawing?"

"I'd love it, if that's okay."

"I," you quickly dug your thumbnail into the paper, tearing carefully at the centre. The paper came away a little ragged and smudged. "Of course. It's yours."

He handled it with care.

The librarian jingled her little bell again.

"Thank you. So, see you?"

"Yep," you agreed.

He nodded his head and bowed out with his friends. You tried not to feel paranoid at their laughter.

-

You were curled up in a hidden alcove, though it was hardly hidden. Most students knew where to seek privacy in the castle. You just so happened to get there first that evening.

You were trying to sketch Fred again. It felt weird to be missing a page from your book, and weirder still that you couldn't remember his face when he wasn't right in front of you. You tried, but it kept going wrong.

When you finally managed one you liked well enough, you had accidentally ruined it with a heavy hand and the wrong shade of brown.

He looked much too brunette.

You carefully rolled your coloured pencils back up, securing the leather ties tightly so as to keep every pencil confined.

Sighing morosely, you flipped to a new page. Things got so complicated sometimes, it made you agitated. You doodled a little sad face in the corner of your page. When the one thing that you enjoyed in life started to go wrong, it set off your whole mood.

Your birthday was coming up. It had been on your mind a lot lately. You'd spend it alone. That's what you figured. Nobody would know it was your birthday, or if they did, you weren't friends now, so...

You began with an arching circle, bisecting the lines appropriately. Feeling out the familiar lines of your own face came easy, the slight upper tilt of your brows, your hair and your pursed mouth. You always looked sad in the mirror, and it showed, dotted here and there when the only thing to draw was your own face.

The rudimentary outline of a birthday cake took form. The candles were unlit.

In a fit of unhappiness, you scratched out your mouth. It was never smiling.

"What did that piece of paper ever do to you?" said a voice.

You jumped. Fred was peering down at you curiously, wringing his hands. You put your pencil between the soft cover and smashed it flat, closed.

"Hi, dolly."

"Weasley."

"Oh, not even a first name?"

"You neglected mine first," you reasoned, rolling the words. He smiled at your joking tone.

"How rude of me. Hi, Y/N," he corrected himself.

"Hi, Weasley."

He smirked.

"Anymore of me in that blessed vessel?"

"Nah. You never stand still."

"If I pose for it?" He asked. You patted the ground in front of you.

He was a lovely model. He stayed infinitely still, more still than you imagined possible for him. He sat at a 3/4ths angle, chin up but not too far, mouth tilted and eyes open.

His eyes were the one thing he couldn't keep still. You tried not to flame in the cheeks everything you'd catch his gaze on you.

You sketched fast, choosing to hatch rather than render, big swooping lines to give the illusion of a depth that wasn't really there. You would've loved to do a full render, maybe even a colour portrait, but he was beginning to look a little antsy.

You set the book on the floor to face him and pushed it into his eyesight softlt. He turned. He looked nice like that, face bent, hair falling into his eyes.

After a moment, he began scrounging through his robe pockets. He set down a box, a lighter, a pair of gloves.

Finally, he set a galleon onto the floor close to your crossed legs.

"For you," he said, smiling at your inquisitive look. "For the drawing."

"Oh, I can't accept that. And I'd like to keep this one, if it's alright."

Fred thought for a moment. "Alright, you keep it. And the galleon, too, for the one you gave me the other day."

You bit back a smile. "I can't take your money, Fred."

"I can't keep having you draw me for free. It's as valuable a service as anything else. Plus, I'm not sure if you know, but I run a lucrative business these days."

You picked up the coin, rubbing your thumb against the engravings thoughtfully. "It's hardly a service."

"A talent, then. A skill. You're very good."

You're neck almost snapped as you looked into his face, wanting to assess his expression for genuineness. He looked earnest, and kind. You blinked away the gathering heat behind your eyes.

"Thank you."

He waved a hand at you. "Think nothing of it."

"Really-" you cleared your throat, "-you're doing me a favour. I'm not good at drawing things that move."

"I'm sure you're better than you think," he said.

You shook your head, smiling smiling smiling.

"What's in the box?"

"Oh, this old thing?" Fred weighed the box in his hands. It was soft at the corners, like a simple jewelry box that you had in your trunk. He offered it to you. You opened it carefully, the lid sliding free with a shhhhh sound. Inside was an evil looking fruit pastille, a match stick and a dried up flower petal.

It felt like a very private thing to see, suddenly. Such an eclectic collection of items couldn't be random.

"The first puking pastille George and I made. Or rather, the second - the first was forcibly fed to Lee Jordan in our third year. The match stick is from my Uncle's matchbox. I never met him. And the flower was from Ginny, when she was 9." He sounded nervous.

"It's a memory box."

"I- yes. It is. Things are sometimes so miserable now, with Umbridge and you-know-who. Scary, even. I look at them when I feel like it won't ever end."

You took them in for a little while longer and then placed the lid onto the box with nimble fingers. You scratched the lid with a fingernail.

"It's nice. You're right. Things are so awful right now, it's good to have reminders of why we keep going."

"Exaclty. Dolly, can I interest you in a fruit pastille?"

"Not on your life."

"They're perfectly edible!"

"Sure, Fred."

-

The honest conversation you'd shared with Fred was a catalyst between you. He often came to find you, each time whining and nagging you to just sit in the library like most people do.

"What, so your housemates can throw paper balls at me?"

"They thought you were sleeping!"

A likely story, you thought. He sometimes asked you to draw him, posing with the elegance of a natural born model. It was great for you personally, you felt that you were really getting a feel for his face. Eventually, you were able to draw his face from memory, the details of his nose coming to your fingers as easily as a first year spell.

It became about capturing emotion. You could capture his likeness now without a second thought, but his emotions were much more complicated. How would you show his veiled frustration the day Umbridge kicked him off the quidditch team? Through the clenching of his jaw? The shy veins in his forehead? How did you showcase the fear when he'd come back to Hogwarts after Christmas break, through his eyes, downturned and squinting just a little?

Today, it was poorly hidden elation. "How come you're so happy?" You asked, pencil between your teeth. He grinned. You measured his face with your thumb in the air, forming an L.

"Is it a prank?"

"You're thinking too small."

"A new product?"

"Still need to go bigger!"

"Hmmm," you hummed. Measure twice, cut once. Or in your case, sketch once.

"George and I, we're gonna open a shop."

"A section at Zonko's isn't enough for you?" You asked, casually, though you were very very happy for him.

"It's going to be amazing. We're going to run it, just the two of us, and you won't catch me in these scrappy long sleeves anymore. The next time you see me, I'll be in a full suit and tie."

"The next time? Is that not tomorrow?"

Fred closed his mouth, realising his mistake. He had revealed something he hadn't intended to. "We're leaving," he confessed. "We were going to wait for our NEWTs but... Well, we won't need them. This is going to work."

"So. You're leaving today?" You asked, crestfallen.

"Hey," Fred said, rubbing a placating hand over the curve of your shoulder. "Tomorrow. During the DADA OWL. We have a plan."

"This is goodbye?"

"No! No. Not if you don't want it to be. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something, and maybe now isn't the best time, I had this whole letter planned and I didn't want to distract you from your exams and-"

"What do you want to ask me?"

Fred straightened. "I wanted to ask - will you go out with me? Not, you don't have to be my girlfriend if it's too soon, I'd love to take you for food someplace, I was going to ask you to Hogsmeade, but when the shop officially became ours, the plans changed so fast and I didn't know if you'd still want-" you cut off his rambling.

"I'll be your girlfriend," you said.

"You will?"

"Sure, if you'll be my boyfriend," you murmured.

Fred moved the arm that had been on your shoulder to the nape of your neck. "That's a dealbreaker," he said, leaning in.

He kissed you chastely on the lips first and then pulled back to look into your face. You chased him, a moment of bravery, and opened your mouth to taste him. He was sweet, like sugar. Your sketch pad crinkled beneath you both as he pressed forward. Your chests touched, heaving.

"You're not gonna be my boyfriend?" You asked against his mouth, breathing hard.

"I'm gonna be much more than that, dolly," he said heatedly.

Your mouth was tingling. "Kiss me again?"

You gasped at the force of him, laughing. He laughed too against your lips, and the sound tickled. He gave you a multitude of short and sweet kisses before pulling away again.

He wiped the wetness from your lip with his pinky finger. "Godric, you're cute. Look how flushed you are! You're insane."

Something churned in your stomach. The butterflies had acquired a trampoline. You felt happier than you had in a very long time. "You're not half-bad yourself, Weasley."

[sserpente]

A/N: Heyho there my lovelies! I’m finally back! I missed posting so much! This Imagine is based on a TikTok I found and what can I say? It inspired me! After this, next up, will be the 20k Special! Enjoy everyone!

Words: 3205 Warnings: colour-blindness

“What if I never find him?” You murmured, glancing at the fruit bowl with a saddened expression. Yellow bananas, green grapes, red apples. To you, they were all different shades of grey. Dull and boring, like you had been sucked into a 30s black-and-white film. Only you didn’t get a cheesy romance out of it.

You had been born with what doctors today would call a ‘remarkably rare, complicated and fascinating condition’, for you had lost all of your colour vision at the age of twelve. You still remembered what the world had looked like before—bright, rich, intense—then someone flicked a switch overnight and all you could still see was grey, grey, grey and greyer. The colours would only ever come back to you once you found the love of your life—your soulmate.

A sigh escaped your lips. Only a few people still existed with this… defect and to make things worse, you had had no idea you were one of them. Not until your twelfth birthday. Society admired and pitied you all the same and yet, being a hopeless romantic, at the end of the day, you longed to finally fall in love.

Tony chuckled. “Heads up. You’re too young to worry about settling down anyway.” He responded cheerfully and pointed at you with a screwdriver in hand. He had been trying to fix the dishwasher for a solid twenty minutes now and for a man who had built himself a pretty much indestructible suit that could fly, it was utterly amusing he couldn’t figure out why it had stopped working.

You were not an Avenger, mind you. The sole reason you were, as of right now, in the Avengers’ kitchen munching on grey chocolate chips was that your best friend, who in turn was friends with Clint’s wife, had managed to flood your shared flat over the weekend. It was utterly inhabitable now and it would take quite a while for the landlord to get it all dried up again—and since insurance would not cover the cost for staying in a hotel, for the time being, Clint’s wife had suggested you’d stay with them—right until Tony Stark had shown up and you had graciously offered you’d come hang out at the Avengers Tower. Okay, technically you had begged him but either way and needless to say, you had jumped at the opportunity and somehow even hoped that you would learn some dirty superhero secrets—but so far, nothing. Nothing but what superheroes did when they were not out and about saving the world. Truth be told, seeing Thor in Hello Kitty pyjamas and witnessing Natasha Romanoff of all people scream watching an Asian horror film had its perks but you had somehow expected for them to be called in for an urgent mission where they required a skill only you had and then they would rely on your help and you would fight and become an Avenger and… your fanfiction had always sounded too good to be true.

“Are you still there? How is that fruit bowl so interesting?” Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you blinked.

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was saying that…”

“Tony?” It was Bruce who interrupted you two, peeking his head into the kitchen almost timidly. You waved at him and he nodded, yet he failed to reciprocate your smile. Uh-Oh.

“Did something happen?”

The scientist nodded. “You might wanna put on your suit.”

“What happened?”

Bruce pursed his lips. “We’ve located Loki.”

-

Your eyes were still widened by the time you rushed after Tony even after he had told you explicitly (three times, to be exact) to stay put and hide until he had been put in custody.

The Loki. God of Mischief, Thor’s brother, Frost Giant, the I-tried-to-take-over-the-planet-guy. It was exciting, somehow, meeting a villain and oh, would it fuel you for your fan fiction. You almost bumped straight into Thor when they all came to a halt all of a sudden, his body a wall of flesh and muscle and making you grunt in pain—you might as well have hit a brick wall. With his hammer in hand, he ensured no one would approach his dangerous brother closely enough for him to try anything funky.

But the fact that Loki was even more handsome in person and the first villain you ever saw in person when he turned around the corner with a proud and arrogant expression on his face despite his shackles, was not what startled you to the core.

All of a sudden, there were colours. Everywhere.

Your lips parted, the impact of all the pigmentation around you making you dizzy. Loki’s armour was black, his cape was green, his eyes were blue, and his hair reminded you of the plumage of a raven. And your surroundings... The compound was silver now, the sceptre they had taken from him golden. Nauseous, you held on to Thor’s muscly arm for support. The God of Thunder frowned in concern. His eyes were blue too, his hair blonde, his cape red… too… many… colours. You suppressed a gag, overwhelmed by the sudden return of your colour vision.

“Are you okay?” Thor asked.

“G-guys… I can see colours.”

Every single head in the room, including Loki’s, turned in your direction so fast you flinched. Tony’s face was the first to fall in response.

“You are joking, right?”

Mutely, you shook your head. Your eyes locked with Loki’s, electricity rippling through you when they did. His blue irises froze you from the inside out, like each and every one of your limbs failed to resist the magnetic pull you felt towards him, and your cells longed for you to throw yourself into his arms—despite the fact he was handcuffed... and for a good reason too. Swallowing thickly, you forced yourself to look away.

Loki was your soulmate. That was impossible; and quite frankly, the god in question appeared to be thinking the exact same thing.

You chewed on your lower lip, anything to distract yourself from your predicament all the while everyone was still staring at you like you had grown two more heads.

“Take him to the cells, I’ll stay with her.” Clint’s hand on your shoulder did little to console you. Part of you still barely resisted the urge to start at Loki like a succubus, the other… the other was terrified and meant to hide in the archer’s embrace.

You could feel Loki’s blue gaze still resting on you when he led you away from the scene, staring daggers into your back and rendering you speechless until you were finally out of sight and Clint shook your shoulder gently.

“Are you sure it’s not one of the security guards that helped bring him in?”

“No… no, I saw them first. Loki was behind them. It’s… I don’t know how to explain it but somehow, Loki was in colour first, you know what I mean? First him and then, a split second later, everything else was colourful too.”

“And now?”

“Now what?”

“Do you still see in colour now?”

“Of course I do.” Clint sighed and buried his face in his hands.

“So what happens if you don’t… act on this soulmate thing?”

“Nothing. Nothing happens.” You said.

“So you don’t have to… stay close to Loki or anything?”

“No. Not that I know of. But Clint—“

“Good. Because he might find a way to use you against us. Stay away from him. Thor’ll take him back to Asgard soon enough. All we need to do first is find the Tesseract.”

Your lips were pursed when he turned to check on them and if Loki was wreaking havoc while they were trying to get him imprisoned.

Stay away from him? Of course… it was the most reasonable thing to do. Loki was dangerous, a criminal… but was that right? Now that you had found your soulmate in him?

-

You couldn’t get him out of your head that night. Screw the danger, you had to see him. And eventually, your curiosity and that inexplicable and strange pull you felt towards Loki got the better of you. With a deep breath, you threw your covers back and let your bare feet hit the cold floor before quietly tiptoeing out into the dark and empty hallway.

Your blood was rushing in your ears, making you hear things your paranoia and imagination cooked up to the point your heart was pounding in your chest so hard and fast you feared it might jump right out of your ribcage. No one could know, of course. Clint would positively kill you—he, along with Tony, somewhat considered himself responsible for you here. You couldn’t really blame them. If something happened to you, they’d never forgive themselves. You were an innocent civilian, after all.

And now you had been tossed into the greatest fanfiction yet. Shivering, for the cold slowly crept into your bare skin and through the tanktop and shorts you were wearing to sleep, you finally reached the corridor leading to the elevator. The prison cells, a rather new addition to Stark Tower, were located at the very bottom, the cellar, or… what you preferred to call it, a modern dungeon.

You found Loki with his back turned to you in his cell, looking pale through the glass pane. Your heart skipped a beat when he suddenly spoke up.

“I expected you would find a way to come and see me at some point. I’d dare say the Avengers have taken quite the precautions to keep you as far away from me as possible.” He mused. He lifted his chin, approaching the glass window.

It was quite ridiculous to assume that this tiny and meagre prison would keep the Trickster at bay after everything he had proven to be capable of. If only he wanted to, he could shatter that glass with but a flick of his wrist or break the heavy metal door posing as the only barrier between you.

If you were to just… unlock that door to touch him… it would be so easy. Blinking rapidly, you shook your head to chase the thought away.

“Who are you?” He asked and for just a brief moment, you believed to see genuine interest and curiosity sparkling in his stunning blue eyes.

“No one, really. You already know my name, I presume but that’s all there is. I’m not special—I mean, I don’t have superpowers. I’m just a regular human with a rare condition.”

“Oh, I see. Surely you had not hoped for a criminal of all people to be your soulmate then? A murderer? A monster?” His expression hardened.

Yes. But you were not going to tell him that. He was still the person to have made you see colours again, regardless of who he was and what he had done. There must have been a connection between you, you felt it after all! And you were certain that he felt it too.

“Thor will take me back to Asgard and the great King Odin,” he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “will surely have me executed. You will never see me again. So do not worry.”

“I don’t want that.” You finally chirped, barely daring to look him in the eye. His gaze was scrutinising and intimidating… almost as if he was able to see right into your soul with but one single glance.

Loki frowned.

“I bet you’re not happy about this, are you?” A desperate scoff escaped your lips. “I’m not sure I am…” You confessed and sat down on the chair in front of the window. It creaked a little under your weight, the unpleasant sound echoing through the empty hallway.

This man right in front of you was not be trusted and yet, the desire to pour your heart out to him was so strong you felt it like a sea of emotions attempting to drown you.

“You know ever since my twelfth birthday I wondered when I would finally meet my soulmate. Who they would be, what they would be like… and then so many years passed I was beginning to worry I might never see colours again. That I’d be alone and grey for the rest of my life.”

Loki licked his lips and glanced up at you, listening intently to every single word you said.

“Now I met you and they all tell me not to trust you. I mean… I know who you are, I know what you’ve done. I can’t say I’m happy about the fact my soulmate is…” You stopped yourself, breathing in sharply. “What was the universe thinking? You are a god and I’m just… me. We live light-years apart!”

Eventually, after a moment of surprisingly pleasant silence between you, Loki hummed. “The Norns do have interesting ways.” He said, locking his eyes with yours, almost as if he was pondering if… if what? If he could imagine being with you?

“So what should we do? Never speak of it again? Pretend we have never met? I can’t just… come to Asgard with you.” You held your breath when you realised what you were considering here. Loki must have thought the same. He smirked in response—not mockingly but bitterly. “Odin would never allow a mortal on Asgard. If I was to survive my trial, that is.”

“Don’t say that. I don’t care you’re a criminal right now, I just found my soulmate, and I don’t want to lose him again right away, regardless of what happens between us.”

With a start, his face fell. “Nothing will happen between us. That would be unnecessarily cruel, would it not? Your life in the nine realms is but a heartbeat compared to mine.”

“So… this is goodbye?”

Loki hesitated. You noticed by the way his lips slightly parted without a single sound escaping them just yet.

“Yes. This is goodbye.”

-

The fruit bowl had become your new best friend. In the morning, tired and rather absent, you sat at the kitchen table holding on to a steaming mug of coffee all the while studying the different colours of the fruit before you like a complicated Maths formula.

“Did you have a good chat last night?” Clint barked at you when he entered the room, skipping the ‘Good morning’.

“Huh?”

“With Loki?” He probed, raising his eyebrows in an I-already-know-what-you’ve-done manner.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You said, shaking your head and focusing your gaze on the fruit bowl again. Yellow bananas, green grapes, red apples. In colour.

You flinched when Tony spoke your name. “We saw the footage on our security cameras. You sneaked to his cell last night knowing fully well why you should stay away from him, especially with… with… you know.”

Fuck… the security cameras. You had completely forgotten about those! Of course the legendary Tony Stark would have had security cameras installed all over the damn place!

Busted, you shrugged your shoulders as nonchalantly as you could muster. “I just wanted to talk him. I had to talk to him. I know what you’re all thinking—that he’s evil and brutal and cruel and ruthless… and… and you’re probably right? I… I don’t even know but… he is still my soulmate. I can see colours again because of him for Fuck’s sake! I can’t just… ignore that.”

“I get it. We don’t know what it must feel like. But it’s for the best. We don’t want him to hurt you.”

“I am his soulmate, too. He wouldn’t dare hurt me. You know maybe he’s not the monster you all think he is.”

“Are you saying that because you know him so well after last night or because that is what you want to believe?”

Both. “I just… have a feeling.”

“Right.” Tony clapped his hands. Your name left his lips almost like a plea. “You have to trust us.”

Thor nodded. “Loki is dangerous. You should stay away from him at least until we know he is not still plotting the domination of your planet.”

“What do you mean ‘at least until’? You can stop staying away from him when he’s back on Asgard and out of your reach.” Tony snapped.

“We’re just trying to keep you safe.” Steve intervened. You sighed.

“You know what? I’m getting a headache and I’m still tired, so I’m gonna go back to bed.” That wasn’t even a lie—well, at least the fatigue bit wasn’t. Besides, the blackout curtains in the room Tony let you stay in were heaven-sent.

That was until a loud tumult in the Tower woke you up again, even though you were not sure anymore you had actually fallen asleep once your head hit the soft pillow.

“W—“ Your scream of protest was muffled by a cool palm covering your mouth. You struggled briefly, ripping your eyes wide open in a weak attempt to make out who was assaulting you in the comforting darkness of your room when you suddenly heard a soothing voice shushing you.

“It’s me…”

“L-Loki?” You choked out when he removed his hand again. “Did you… did you break out of your cell?”

“It would seem so. Come.”

“What?”

He tilted his head. “I don’t have much time.”

You stood, throwing the covers back when he already reached for your hand and held it tightly, pulling you with him into the hallway and towards one of the more hidden exists of Stark Tower, a flight of stairs illuminated only by emergency lights.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I am proving to you that I am more than just a criminal.”

“Oh… but… um… where are we going?”

Loki smirked. Your eyes widened when he pulled out the Tesseract seemingly out of nowhere, its blue light glowing brightly in the dark and throwing artistic shadows on his face.

“Hold on tight.”

“Loki…”

The God of Mischief pulled you close, making you gasp. Your chest hit his, his arm wrapping around your waist. With his face only inches from yours, you could feel his warm breath on your lips, and suddenly longed to kiss him.

“You are my soulmate. I am not leaving you behind.”

“What happened to ‘goodbye’?” You chirped.

Loki tilted his head almost threateningly. “You are mine. Don’t you think I wanted to leave this place without looking back?” His expression softened. “But I couldn’t. Because of you.” And you might just be the only woman to ever love me in this way, he added silently.

“B-but… Y-you said Odin will never allow me on Asgard and… and…”

“I never said we were going to Asgard, now was I?”

Your lips parted. Could you trust him? The stranger who had finally made you see colours again? If you told him No, would he let go of you? Would he let you run to Tony and Clint and Nat so they could protect you from him? Swallowing thickly, you met his intense blue gaze and nodded.

Loki smirked and winked. “You are in for an adventure.” And you knew he wasn’t lying. Next thing you knew, you were both hurtled through space and into a shared future.

-

A/N: ☕

[ncitygirls]

eternal - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, vampire!jaemin, 2.2k

he had yet to utter a word since his confession, and neither had you, though you had tried piecing together a worthy response. he simply watched you as you watched him, your eyes focusing on each delicate ridge in his skin, admiring his nonexistent pores; how the thin slithers of light that broke through the poorly drawn curtain, shone on a bend from the ends of his bangs down and around his chin. a kind reminder of what you swear you have always known, but regret to have never questioned.

“jaemin?”

“my love?”

“have you always been this beautiful?’

he had to admit he was taken back. those are the first words you have said in a long while. they are your first words since he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago - he was counting, not actively, but over time his mind has created room for his thinking to expand, to surpass humanity’s understanding of thought, and most times he welcomes it. but not at times such as these - where he knows he told you three minutes and twenty-five seconds ago, and your first words are in awe of him.

“i told you i am undead.. and that is what troubles you?”

“your beauty is far from troubling,” you retort, eyes still inspecting his face. jaemin’s mind wanders back to when he once pitied humans. how they thought what they saw was really seeing. victims of an already limited life, the human eye is only able to pick up a fraction of their sublime reality. yet the way your eyes traverse each of his features, as if to commit them to memory, he surely found a compelling reason to admit their eyes were not so lacking. “was it the bite that made you so handsome?”

“i wasn’t bitten,” he corrects, as the pads of your thumbs sweep over his cold knuckles, your touch casting a reverence over the scene. he lets out a pretty laugh at your assumption, the soft crease between your brows forming as he destroys your fictional understanding of his kind. “humans have always had a skewed understanding of our lore.”

“so your mother and father were vampires?”

“no.” it has been some time since he has had to explain vampiric lore to a human, but his mind retains his memory of it all the same. “it is not dissimilar to what humans call possession? or a spell? it is a combination of the two.”

“did it hurt?”

jaemin cannot help but melt at the notes of concern lacing your tone. it is his turn to pass his thumb along your knuckles before flipping your hand over, letting his finger trace a swirl in your palm, offering a soft shake of his head. “it makes one feel queasy, a consequence of the change in dietary needs.”

your hand stiffens beneath his touch as your eyes drop to examine them. he fears he has spoken out of turn, pushed the astonishingly pleasant conversation down a dark hole. jaemin once believed humans to be predictable, but you continue to challenge that. “is that why my invites to have you for dinner always go unanswered?”

“i knew that wounded you, angel.”

“it did no such thing!” his chin drops, eyes boring into you in a successful attempt to lure the truth out of you. he immediately softens when you exhale, in defeat of his gaze or distaste at your transparency, he does not know. jaemin would soften all the same. “i will admit, i did make assumptions to make sense of your refusal.”

“did you think i preferred not to visit?” you had never noticed the flecks of red in the perimeter of his irises until now. they glowed slightly, as if enraged, though you know not with you. “there are rules we must follow when entering a new space, silly, unchangable rules.” his frown deepens when you nod, always understanding even when you shouldn’t. “i apologise if I hurt you, angel.”

“hush now, you need not apologise.” you’re proven right when his eyes return to the perfect colour you remember them for: a golden swirl moving within the rich cocoa, shining only as the light hits it. relief floods him when he rests his forehead on your own. he grips your hips firmly, swaying you both as you call for him.

“jaemin, what is it you do eat?”

“pretty girls named y/n.” oh how he wished you would have laughed then, instead of him opening his eyes to find your horror stricken face. “i swear to you that was a joke. that was in poor taste, i am so sorry.” you find his apology hard to believe as his body shakes, shaking your whole frame along with him.

“do not,” you hit his arm once, “mock,” and a second time though ineffective, “me!”

he saves himself quickly, retreating to safety by putting an unrealistic amount of distance between you two in an inexplicable amount of time. when he abandoned you, you nearly collapse forward with the force you were using to hit him before catching yourself.

“come here.”

“i drink blood.” you did not particularly dislike his attempt to stay on topic, just the topic itself. you try to appear enlightened but you have always found it difficult to repress your repulsion. “i know you have no interest in the macabre.”

“blood is meant to be inside you.”

“i think it tastes great.” he quickly arrives in front of you, your open books and abandoned letters fluttering all over the room as his speed garners its own winds. his thumbs journey over the veins on your wrists, slowly trailing up your forearms. he only speaks again when he hooks his thumbs under your jaw, tilting your head to allow his teeth to graze over the column of your neck. “it is reminiscent of fruit. some blood is like grapefruit and lemon. while some are akin to grape, strawberries.”

“oh,” you sigh, heart slowing as his lips drag along the base of your throat. he pulls back, gazing longingly at your wonderment as you feel his mood swing. bitterness seeps into his eyes in how his taste for blood ironically remains the only provision of some kind of memory of flavour, of normality. “do you enjoy it?”

“blood?”

“being a vampire.” no one has ever asked him such a thing. is there anything to enjoy about eternal life? about reliving his youth, being relocated, remade, renewed over and over and over, for an eternity.

as he gazes down at you, he remembers with all the bad must come some good.

“not always,” he smiles knowingly, thinking of his friends. the lives they built for themselves over a combined millennia. it almost makes him retract saying that. “i do regret some things. like allowing haechan to convince us to help real witches free the falsely accused during the witch trials. only to later discover he had a wager on being able to free more than their coven could.” he loved the way your eyes followed along, he loved knowing he could finally share his life in its entirety with you. “i have a thousand reasons why i should hate it, but I cannot bring myself to.”

“why?” he will find a way to forgive himself for giving you a reason to ask. he will ensure you needn’t ask again.

“because,” he whispers into your mouth, his lips slipping between your own, fingers clasped behind your neck. “if i had died in 1625, i would not have had the honour of making your acquaintance.”

“this is hardly an acquaintance,” you remind him, counting his years in your head as he pulls you flush against him utilising less than a speck of his strength. “careful grandsire,” it tumbles from your lips as he licks against your mouth. “i am not sure a man even three hundred years your junior could make it through what you are starting.”

“you needn’t worry about me,’ he sighs, his groin rolling against your own, his fingers clinging to your breakable frame. “though i must confess, my eating pretty girls named y/n was not said solely in jest.” his fingers toy with your knickers, ice cold digits moving freely along the waistband. “in fact, i fear my sanity depends on it. might you be of some aid?”

“who am i to deny a man nearing his fourth century?” he begs himself not to laugh, if only not to kill the mood but more so to avoid dignifying your mockery. his laughter morphs quickly into pants, your hand slotted wickedly between his own and his groin. “how might i be of assistance to you?”

“just as you are,” he whispers, his dulled teeth passing dangerously along the shell of your ear. as a man of his years, patience isn’t something which he is in short supply. but even then, one grows tired of waiting, for coitus, for love, for you. he is quick to remove your hand, finding his own pacing as he presses you against the wall, your heat pulsing beneath his cock, practically leaking. “i forgot how pliant humans are,” it is wicked how he watches you, his fingers rolling your hardened nub betwixt their pads. you shudder at the sight of him, his golden eyes darkening in the sunlit room, his tongue passing over his sharpened teeth. he smirks as you hiss, his fingers pinching your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. his tongue rolls in time with his hips, running his clothed cock along your clothed folds. he is quickly reminded of his strength as his palm collects dust as it meets the wall with a thud, steadying himself as you whine deliciously, his name bleeding from your raw lips. “yes, angel?”

“i need you,” you breathe, gazing up at him as his lips capture yours. your tongues move in tandem, wrapping around the other in a hypnotic frisk. he swallows your whimpers as he lures them out of you. he sucks your tongue into his mouth, hands moving to your rear before lifting you from the ground. he makes little work of you, rendering you a quarter of your size. your ankles lock around his waist as he casts your knickers aside, hissing as the pad of his finger meets your folds.

“might i have a taste now?” he pleads, eyes burning a fiery amber, pure adoration hidden beneath. “please, angel?”

“take all of me, jaemin.” he holds you still, a metre from the ground as he kneels, his hands firm around your thighs before he lowers you over his mouth. his flat tongue licks long stripes up your cunt, tongue flicking along your hooded clit in his descent. he likens you to a spring, his soul knelt before you, preparing an offering to your fountain. he is ready to collect all you offer him, your essence pouring out onto his tongue, soaking his lips, slick down his chin. his eyes fall to a close at the sight of your dazed form, your eyes screwed shut in prayer, his lips puckering around the hood of your clit, the tip of his tongue rolling against the nerve. “jaemin, right there, please.”

he hums in accordance, his tongue circling your clit as your thighs shake on either side of his head. he smirks as you still, his middle and ring finger entering your warm cavern, forcing your hips to roll against his digits. he curves them slowly, pressing against your pink walls, bulging up against your stomach. “you are so fragile,” he says, lips bitten as he watches your body succumb to his touch. he leans closer to you, steadying you on his shoulders to free his hand. he presses his palm to your abdomen, hypnotised by the feeling of his own fingers inside you. letting his thumb drift down, he pulls up the skin hiding your clit, allowing his lips to pucker against the nub before he offers a hard suck. his tongue joins the fold, drinking you in as you let out a sharp cry, the pressure inside and out joining forces to send you over the edge. “when you’re ready, love, come.”

he can feel your skin burning up, see the sheen of sweat coating your entire body. “jaemin,” you continue to chase your high, but cling to the moment. you feel like your convulsions might snap your body in two. that pleasure such as this cannot exist innately, that only he can bestow it on you. you are proven right as you grow more frantic, his fingers rub against the spot inside you that he found with great ease, as his lips suck on your clitoris. the final straw is his gaze, you feel it and fall victim to it. his irises a bright, angelic white, the rim speckled in gold. one cast of your eyes on your lover and you snap.

there is no doubting that as jaemin gazes up at you, he sees glory eternal. he sees life. he sees an angel.

“come angel.”

and you do. jaemin’s simple command breaks a dam, summoning a flood of pleasure you are unsure you will survive. hot iron passes through your veins, lighting you from the inside out. he continues without thought, his lips sucking the pleasure out of you, his fingers still pounding into your swollen pussy. only when your fingers find his hair, pulling him away with a sharp tug does he concede, lowering you into his lap.

“hi,” he says after some time, watching you pant against the wall. “are you still with me?” he jests, palms gliding up and down your aching thighs.

you hum, gazing up at the golden orbs that you decide you mustn’t live without. much like his life, and much like your love. eternal. “always.”

[allegedlyanandroid]

Hello! For the fic prompts! Can I got a 900Gavin A/B/O fic about alpha!RK900 who try to bite Omega!Gavin scent glands when they first meet because RK900 didn't have a social program but have only a primal instinct program? Could pls keep it fluff and light,plssss? 🥺 I read too many dark fics but if it couldn't then it ok too.

I took some artistic liberties with this one and made Gavin a bounty hunter for the sole purpose that I couldn’t figure out a good reason as to why Fowler would assign them as partners if Nines tried to take a bite out of him on first meeting.  I mean... who can blame him though? Gavin is a snacc. Did I think to much into it? Yes, definitely. Either way, I hope you like it @therainnight, fingers crossed that it has an okay ratio of fluff in it <3

There’s nothing to suggest he’s being followed, no out-of-the-ordinary sounds, no footsteps, no nothing. Doesn’t matter. Gavin has always had good instincts and right now they’re telling him that something, or someone, is stalking him. Glancing as far behind himself as he can through his peripheral vision means he catches the glimpse of movement before it’s too late. Gavin whirls around just as he’s pushed backwards against a tree and the impact is enough to knock the breath from his lungs.  

A forearm keeps him pressed against it while he stares uncomprehending at razor-sharp teeth set in a half-finished face.

‘Oh, hell no,’ is what comes to mind and it’s through pure instinctive reaction that he manages to get a hand up between them and shove it as far into the android’s mouth as he can ‒ quick enough to keep it from sinking its teeth into the glands in his neck. He’d rather lose a few fingers than be bond-mated on first meeting like some omega bride in the twentieth century. His other hand is still free so he ignores the glowing eyes peering into his soul, and the curious gnawing over the digits he unceremoniously shoved in the android’s mouth, in order to find the glowing circle in the middle of its chest. Digging his fingers into the minute crack the thirium pump regulator slides into his hand with a muted hiss, strangely warm and disgustingly slick with thirium.  

The android yelps, scrambling backwards, and releases Gavin’s saliva-slick hand as it falls down in a crouch. It stares desperately at the cylinder held aloft in the air. It jolts forward when Gavin squeezes it between claw-tipped fingers until it threatens to bend under the strain and render it useless, eyes are wide and sorrowful, the glow in them sapping away with every passing second. Gavin nearly feels bad for it.

“Why are you following me?!” he demands to know, pushing the thought aside.

It doesn’t answer, shifting in place as it continues to stare at him.

“You can have this back if you tell me.” Half-truths. The android merely curls in on itself, pressing the palm of its hand against its own throat. It mouths something but the dark plating making up the lower part of his face makes it impossible to see what. Then it clicks. “You can’t talk?”  

It nods.

Maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when the droid looks anything but finished. Gavin can see parts of its biocomponents pulsing a subdued red behind clear panelling mixed in with sleek metal in a colour so dark it’s nearly void. The upper part of its face has synthskin, including his upper lip, but everything below is made of the same black material. Its ears nearly blend into the raven hair on its head and Gavin can’t find it in himself to be angry at it. Clearly, it’s a lost ‒ and potentially broken ‒ thing. Not unlike himself.

Gavin tosses the regulator in the android’s direction and marches on. He has a job to do after all and tracking only gets harder the longer he dawdles. Almost immediately the feeling returns and he groans out loud. The time-limit forces him to keep moving regardless of his silent companion. His target already has a two-day head start and the moment Weiss crosses the border into Canada Gavin can’t do jack-shit to him. He jerks the rifle higher on his back and continues to follow the scent of old blood laid into the earth. Evidently the bastard isn’t worried about being followed so much as setting a fast pace despite his injuries. 

When night begins to fall, the shadows lengthening around him, Gavin reluctantly sets up camp. There’s maybe another two days before he catches up and seeing as they’re about a three day’s march from the border he’ll be cutting it close.  

The area he finds is partly protected from the elements and close to a stream of trickling water. “I know you’re there,” he calls while rummaging around his supplies to find kindling. There’s a rustle of the underbrush to his left and the hulking mess of an android appears at the edge of camp. It looks hesitant, almost skittish, where it stands. It makes little sense given how bulky the ‘droid is and how aggressive it behaved earlier. Clearly it should be able to hold its own going off design alone. Gavin returns to ignoring it after a last wary glance and swears beneath his breath when the wood won’t catch flame.

The android shifts into his line of sight and approaches slowly, like one would a vicious or scared animal. It stops again and gestures to the attempted fire, tilting its head in question. Gavin sighs. “Sure, why not,” he shrugs. “‘s not like you can do a worse job.” 

Despite the less-than-friendly tone, the android visibly perks up. Gavin watches as it rearranges the collected wood with meticulous focus before stripping one of its fingers of plating and snapping off a few wires. The resulting electric sparks is what it uses to light the kindling. The fire slowly spreads over bark and wood until they’re engulfed by flames, cracking and popping in the still evening. Satisfied, it prods at the still-sparking wires with a finger, completely transfixed by the reds, oranges and yellows found in the flickering fire. 

Gavin offers a crooked grin in thanks. “Wonders of technology. You need any help with that?”

The android shakes its head no, poking the wires back in place, before clicking the plating back where it belongs. It looks to be smiling slightly as it reluctantly gathers itself up to leave.

Gavin stops it with a hand on its wrist.  

“You can stay.”

It’s basic human decency Gavin tells himself when he watches the android shuffle closer to the flames, hands outstretched as if to absorb its warmth. With the light’s help he can just about make out the serial-number etched into its chassis right over its thirium pump. “RK900, “ Gavin reads, “-that’s not one I’ve heard of before.” The droid turns to him and holds up one finger, turning it afterwards to point at himself. Gavin hums. “One of a kind then. I can relate to that.”

The android slides closer, looking up with a soft “go-on” like gesture that Gavin is helpless to resist.

-

He wakes up the next morning feeling as if everything has tilted slightly to the left and groggily gets himself ready for the day, rolling up his sleeping bag and kicking dirt over the fire’s embers, while RK stares at him with intrigue. They begin the trek not long after with Gavin wolfing down a protein bar in lieu of breakfast. RK frowns at him then, his brows furrowed severely, but it quickly turns to confusion when Gavin sticks his tongue out at him and picks up the pace. While they walk, he contemplates when in the previous evening he began referring to RK as “he” instead of “it”. There’s no doubt that the android is alive, for lack of a better term, animated and interested and latching onto every word of Gavin’s tales the way he used to do himself when he was younger and less jaded.

Gavin, lost in thought, doesn’t notice RK disappearing for a moment. His return is difficult to miss though since he presents him with a perfectly symmetrical trientalis europaea, its yellow core surrounded by seven white petals. A stark contrast to the black hands cupping it; delicate fragility resting in palms simply not made for such sweet blossoms. There’s excitement radiating off him, nestled in his glowing eyes, which doubles when Gavin asks: “Is that for me?”

The nod is quick as RK moves his hands an inch closer. Gavin takes it with a soft “thank you.” He looks at it for a moment longer and then takes his notebook from his inner pocket to place the flower there, snapping it shut and tying it with twine to really press flat. RK preens, turning his gaze bashfully to the forest floor, while Gavin pretends his cheeks aren’t flushed red.

-

When at last it comes time to make camp Gavin is pleased with their progress. “The scent of blood is more prominent. Even if he’s on scent blockers I can pick up smoke from the campfire. We’re getting close.”

His statement prompts an explanation about the reason he’s in the woods to begin with. The concern he shows upon hearing of Gavin’s chosen field of work is quickly dismissed with a: “I managed to bring you down, didn’t I?” which RK’s lips twitch at. He settles even closer to Gavin today, surreptitiously scenting the air between them, until Gavin asks him about it point-blank.

‘You smell nice,’ RK writes out on a torn-out page in Gavin’s book. ‘It’s what drew me in.’

“I smell like fuck-all while on blockers.”  

‘Leather, coffee, something sweet like honey.’ It takes a moment before RK writes the next part: ‘You’re an omega.’

Gavin is still reeling when the last part of the sentence hits him like a punch to the gut. He takes his blockers near religiously, there’s no way RK should be able to‒  

...but then the air around him floods with hints of metal and ozone. He’d smelled it before, when RK first came at him, but it had been absent since.  

An alpha.

As soon as the scent envelops him it lessens again. ‘It’s hard to concentrate, to control myself, unless I turn that part of my programming off. Although, it means I have to get in close to smell anything.’

Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that, to any of it, so he remains quiet even if he doesn’t move away to allow RK to take in his scent as he pleases.

-

The weather dips dangerously in the late night and Gavin wakes up shivering. “Fuck, dammit,” he curses. Maybe he should keep moving. Catch the fucker earlier and finally get away from here. ‘Terrible plan,’ Gavin reminds himself as another shiver wracks through his body. Weiss is an alpha and as much as Gavin loathes to admit it, they are stronger than him. His strength is his speed and precision, dancing out of people’s range until they tire, or using his omega status as a lure. The last one wouldn’t help him here and the former only works if he’s well-rested and alert.

RK is just now stoking the fire. It helps, a bit, but Gavin is still feeling numb; fingers and toes hurting when he attempts to stretch them out.  

“Hey, RK. C’mere a second.”

The android obeys without question, crouching down next to where Gavin has struggled into a sitting position. He places his hands against RK’s bare chassis to test his theory. There’s a low thrumming vibration beneath his fingertips and the metal is surprisingly warm to the touch. RK moves to clasp Gavin’s hands between his own and slowly rubs over them, keeping them covered while his chassis suddenly generates more heat.  

Once they’re an appropriate temperature again RK moves to sit behind him. Gavin watches him, a question etched clearly into his eyes, but RK merely lays down, waiting and watching. Glacially slowly Gavin joins him on the ground and the android smiles shyly before turning his back on him. Gavin mirrors him once more, shuffling until they lie back to back, and both the warmth from the fire and RK enveloping him is a comfort he didn’t know he needed.

-

The morning after is filled with glances out of the corner of his eye, with the urge to hold RK’s stupid hand, and he wonders when he became so starved of touch, of someone showing the slightest bit of kindness to him, that two days are enough to want to pull RK down by his hair and kiss him senseless.  

-

They catch up to Weiss a short few hours later and Gavin presses the rifle into RK’s hands as a safety precaution before throwing himself into the fight. It’s quick and dirty with Gavin using every trick in the book to gain the upper hand while dancing around the wildly thrown punches. Grinning through the rush of adrenaline Gavin eventually stops toying with the man and brings him down with a few precise kicks and punches. He locks handcuffs around Weiss’ wrists, arms behind his back, while Weiss shouts abuse and obscenities at him. Gavin pays it no mind, explaining with a sick sense of satisfaction that the cuffs aren’t coming off without a DNA signature from his friend and that running would mean a slow death for him left out in the elements. “Truth be told, I don’t care whether or not you’re still breathing when I bring in proof of your capture. I can afford to lose the difference in compensation.”

Weiss falls limp at that while Gavin slowly rises to his feet. When he looks up, remembering they’re not alone, RK is standing still as a statue. He stalks over, bearing a striking resemblance to a predator approaching prey, and presses right up into Gavin’s personal space to shove his nose into his neck and inhale. A rumbling noise is caught in his throat, a growl that has Gavin’s knees weakening slightly, as sharp teeth graze over his throat. Ozone and metal. Wicked claws not present before gripping his jaw tightly.

He reaches up to stick his thumb in RK’s mouth, pressing it down on his tongue with narrowed eyes. RK pricks it with his fangs and laps at the drop of blood with his tongue, all the while keeping eye contact. It makes Gavin squirm, just a little bit, and he’s thankful the heat suppressors keep him from getting wet or the walk back would be uncomfortable to say the least. With a graze of his teeth, RK loosens his hold and puts distance between them again, eyes dark and wanting.

-

Weiss tries to run about two thirds of the way back and Gavin sighs as he readies his reclaimed rifle. Turns out he never has to use it. RK’s head snaps up and he tracks the man’s erratic patterns for a second before giving chase. He’s practically a blur of movement and Gavin watches, transfixed, as he takes Weiss down in one graceful leap. The lack of being able to catch himself smacks Weiss’ head hard against the ground. RK doesn’t seem to care about the man’s dazed state as he drags him back to Gavin, his claws buried deep into the sides of his neck, hand cupping the back of it. He tosses him at Gavin’s feet and offers a razor-sharp grin, nudging the guy with the tip of his foot.  

Gavin gives him a light kiss on the cheek for his help and can almost imagine the tail wagging behind him with excitement at the gesture of affection.

-

What doesn’t fit the crumbling infrastructure in the slums or the dingy office he rents for cheap is the well-kept lady in smart business attire standing next to him behind the desk.  

Maurice Gacy, the guy they usually make business with, is a weasel of a man. His thin greasy hair and slimy smile fits his role of lowlife criminal perfectly. His side hustle of collecting bounties for the Guild is the only reason Gavin interacts with him, puts up with his leering and comments. Trust only extends so far between them but... all in all he gives the money owed and he keeps his mouth shut when talking to the cops which is all that really matters in the end.

RK tenses behind him, something Gavin senses in the clicking of his machinery, and Gavin frowns at the broad smile beginning to stretch over her face. “You found it,” she says lightly, walking in a measured pace while Gacy warily trails behind, heels clicking across the linoleum.

Gavin takes a step forward to meet her and bares his teeth in a snarl. “Back off.”

She nods sagely, uncaring for his hostility and lengthening canines. “Yes, of course. Money first. Always the same with you lot, isn’t it?” The node she produces from her fitted jacket flares to life and he stares, heart stuttering in his chest, at the very familiar face displayed.

WANTED  

RK900, MODEL NUMBER #313 248 317 - 87

REWARD: 1.000.000 $

HIGHLY VOLATILE AND EXTREMELY DANGEROUS

PREFERABLE IF IT REMAINS OPERABLE UPON COLLECTION

Metal and ozone laced with a bitter tinge resembling fear.  

A flower stuck between yellowing pages.  

Viscous saliva and thirium dripping from his hands.

Whatever RK’s crime can Gavin truly bear to have more of his blood on them when it’s sure to stain them always? The thought is on the forefront of his mind when RK walks up to stand by his side, resignation already home in eyes and slowly sapping them of light, and in that moment, Gavin has his answer.

His arm shoots out to block RK from moving further and slowly raises his chin in defiance. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

They’re all staring at him, RK with a mix of wonder and trepidation, so Gavin sets his jaw and forces calm into his voice. “You can fuck right off with that shit, he’s not the reason we’re here.” With a nod to Tina, she steps forward and shoves Weiss at Gacy. Thankfully he’s too much of a coward to pick a fight and transfers the agreed upon money to her before whisking Weiss away towards the back. Tina raises an eyebrow at him, bumping their shoulder together lightly as she walks out the door, and Gavin has never been as thankful to have her as he is right now when the unmistakable sound of an engine rumbling to life filters in from outside. “Come on, we’re done here.”

It’ll start a shitstorm, that’s for damn sure, but with RK leaning forward to peer out the front window as they tear through the streets, Gavin can’t find it in himself to care.  

[wonhaebunny]

OKAY BUT HOW ABOUT BAKUGOU gets hit by a quirk that makes him part cat (ears, fangs, tail) for like a week?? and aizawa + class reactions ma'am 📂

hehe okay so the main difference between katsuki before and katsuki under this quirk (outside obvious physiological changes) is that he can’t control his reactions.

katsuki is normally always impassive, never expressing anything being anger.

the class had just assumed he doesn’t feel much else, but this is disproven very quickly after he gets hit by the quirk, during their first class following the incident. after all the students have cooed over his new state adequately and taken all their images, they settle into their seats. 

and what sets it off is nothing big, just denki shutting the door a little too harshly when entering. it rebounds off the frame with a clang, and katsuki, who’s been diligently studying from his desk, just about jumps out of his chair, feline ears pressing back flat against his scalp and tail fluffing out stiff. denki holds his palms up with an apologetic grimace, but it takes another ten minutes for katsuki’s suspicious gaze to stop flickering between the door and denki.

the second instance is when ochako is discussing her new strength training routine with katsuki across the room. normally when they chat, katsuki will be focused on his phone or a book, making it impossible to tell if he’s even listening. but today, katsuki is looking straight at her, eyes unblinking and head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. mina has to stifle a coo when ochako says something particularly passionate and katsuki’s head tilts further sideways, still watching her intently as he listens. it’s almost like he’s unable to act disinterested, his cat instinct writing his interest in the conversation all over his body.

the third time, they’re sitting in the common room after class. katsuki is reading, eijirou flicking through the television channels idly. then, at some point eijirou makes an off-handed comment as he ruffles katsuki’s hair roughly. now, katsuki has gotten good with affection from eijirou over time, learning not to shove him away instinctively. but that’s it; the most he’s ever done is tolerate it. so when eijirou’s hand buries in katsuki’s hair and the blonde leans into the touch shamelessly, eyes slipping half-closed as he squirms, eijirou almost has a heart attack. hesitantly, he curls his fingers to scratch at the base of katsuki’s new animal ears, watching in awe as the blonde leans into his side, tail swishing around to curl around eijirou’s arm loosely.

eijirou swallows thickly, continuing to scratch as he hastily pulls out his phone with his free hand and googles the new behaviour. apparently, he thinks slightly emotionally as katsuki’s tail stays twined around his forearm, katsuki is expressing friendship and affection. the revelation has him trying (and failing) to hide his tears, but luckily katsuki is none the wiser to the red-head’s turmoil as he continues to subconsciously rub his cheek against eijirou’s shoulder, still focused on his book.

the final person to be subjected to katsuki’s new feline behaviour is aizawa himself. training is lazy, but katsuki’s new cat traits render him unable to participate nonetheless, with every new noise and distraction setting him on edge. so he stays at the side, watching the students practise their moves as aizawa sits on the ground and grades tests. it’s a silent affair for the most part, katsuki slinking around quietly and watching with intense eyes. then, just as aizawa is about halfway through marking their latest essays, he’s disrupted by katsuki deciding to park himself right on top of the marked stack. aizawa draws his hand back, staring at his student blankly. katsuki stares back guilelessly from where he’s sprawled over the papers happily. the blonde blinks slowly, not moving his gaze away from his teacher’s. 

“hello, katsuki.” aizawa says cautiously.

“sensei.” katsuki says simply in response, not moving from his spot. 

the two watch each other for a moment, before aizawa slowly reaches for an unmarked paper and begins to mark it again, aware of katsuki’s eyes on him. he’s not paid nearly enough to question his student’s weird quirk-behaviour right now.

katsuki continues to stare at him as he marks, fluffy blonde tail swishing back and forth distractingly. when he finishes the paper, he looks up to glance wistfully at the marked pile, currently occupied by katsuki’s body. katsuki follows his gaze to the papers he’s sitting atop, before extending his hand expectantly. aizawa places the paper in his outstretched grip, watching as katsuki takes it and simply... holds it?

he blinks at the sight, before shrugging and turning to start another paper. the class passes like that, aizawa marking and katsuki watching him quietly as he dutifully clutches the completed papers. when the class is over, aizawa spares him a quick head pat (which katsuki very much does not lean into, no matter how fond the look his teacher gives him afterward may be). for some reason, katsuki insists on carrying the papers back for aizawa on the way back. he stomps ahead, the papers clutched in hand with a determination which is equal parts confusing and endearing. he looks awfully pleased about the entire ordeal, placing the papers in a neat little pile on aizawa’s desk as if he hadn’t just been lounging on top of them without a care in the world.

the quirk is an experience for the entire class. and even when it’s lost its effect, they’re all attuned enough to pick up on the subtle tells in katsuki’s behaviour that the hadn’t noticed before. they realise, with no small amount of amusement, that katsuki has his fair share of cat-like traits even without the quirk.

[ecrivant]

mind’s eye | jean kirstein

(jean kirstein x reader)

jean reflects on a memory of you and his wishes for the future.  takes place in that undefined year after the battle for shiganshina.

word count: 1.5k

a.n. – simply me revolutionizing the x reader fanfiction subgenre by hardly including any romantic aspects.  approach this as a self-indulgent jean kirstein character study.

He was never struck by his own exhaustion until he found time to rest.  He had learned to carry it, bearing that weight, grudgingly, out of necessity.  Thinking of you and your abject willingness to shoulder his burden with him.  Selfishness pressured him to concede, to lighten his own load and pass it off to a disposed other, but he did not wish that on you, on anyone.  He saw those around him buckling under their own weight.  So he carried his.  But, in moments of solitary repose, he would find himself collapsed under his own burden.  

He sat high above the city, himself having snuck onto the walls past curfew.  Overlooking the terrain outside of Wall Maria.  The night was cloudy but the ground, clear.  The moon, sliced crescent and half-enshrouded by tenebrous clouds, cast a low, even glow.  The hazeless air revealed several miles of flat country, distantly and ultimately swallowed by oscillating hills which followed the curvature of the earth.  The breeze numbed his exposed skin; winter neared.  The leaves on the trees had long since tinged and fallen and decomposed among the detritus, and the now-disrobed branches, like sainted arms proffered towards the sky, swayed, noiseless, their prayers unheard.  A silence, disrupted only by his own presence.  This barren landscape was marked by an austerity, a quietly plaintive cry uttered by and for some unknown in an unworldly call and response.  He realized he had never verily looked at the lay of the outside land.  No one had ever been afforded the luxury of regard—landscapes were heretofore solely backdrops of violence—but things were changing, and only with hindsight could one say whether for better or for worse.  

He thought of a memory. From a night like this one.  You, in the light of the moon, hair glowing and itself luminescent, a fond smile on your face.  Airy laughs, timid glances.  Instinctively, he shook his head as if to cast it off, familiar with the dangerously seductive quality of his memories.  He always worried that if he indulged himself in remembrance, even for a moment, he would render himself incapable of facing the present, for the comfort of memory was beguiling and often lured him like some Ogygian temptress. But he was so flattened, so exhausted by that incessant weight.  Was he not allowed some form of respite?  Annoyed, defiant, he unfocused his gaze and dissolved into this thought of you.

It commences behind the barracks.  He waits, anxiously tapping his foot, hoping your rendezvous would not include Sadies as an unwelcomed third.  His pedal movement shakes the unlit lamp in his hands, a quiet toll of metal on metal. Your hooded figure soon rounds the corner, eyes flashing in the dim light, easing his nerves.  You walk ahead on the path, he behind you and dragged by an unseen force.  Your allure, he posits, always the romantic.  Still facing forward, you speak his name, a quiet utterance jettisoned into the woods ahead of you.  He hums in response, liking the way your vocalization rings out, clear, in the brisk air.  An innocuous invocation of his attention.  

“Did I keep you waiting?”  An audible smile, coy.

“Of course.  I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

A quick laugh, ephemeral, your hood quivering.  Your lanterns clink as you walk, the only indication of your movement, as your steps fell silent on the padded forest floor.  Cresting a hill, you stop, finally turning to face him.  Hands held out with a flourish.  

Standing on an overlook, his eyes fall on the view before him.  A valley, bathed in dark cobalt.  A vast loch tenants the basinous land, flanked by a thick canopy of trees, the mass its own verdant topography.  The water, mirroresque.  Moonlight captured in scattered reflection.  Low-hanging mist, gathered in clouds like a cottoned assembly, divine overseers looming over their aquatic terrain.    

“Not bad.”

Your proud smile.  

“Thanks, Eren showed it to me.”

Eren, a challenge, playful.  He refuses to acquiesce, hiding annoyance, feigning indifference.  He instead sits at the interstice between the dirt path and the grassy encroachment, opting to say nothing at all.  You seat yourself next to him, head resting on your knees.

“I’m impressed.  Someone says ‘Eren’ and you usually see red.”  He notices how your head bobs as you speak, chin pushing against your kneecaps.  

“So, you’re trying to be an ass, then?”  A playful query, devoid of malice.  

You turn your head to him, smirking, a wide, toothless smile.  Shrugging, you give a noncommittal answer.  He admires you; he never really gets the chance to.  The way moonlight and shadow compliment your features. It’s nice.  

“What’s with the look?”

His eyebrows shoot up, questioning.

“What look?”

You laugh at him—he loves the way your laugh never degrades him.  It’s bubbly, effervescent.  

“You look like you just fell in love, Kirstein.”

His smile drops.  He’s flushed—had he always been so easy to read? Suddenly self-conscious of all the moments past in which he revealed himself and you stayed silent.  Your body turns to face him.

“Such adoration,” you remark quietly.  An ostensible taunt infused with a subtle sincerity.  

“It’s okay, it looks nice in your eyes.  Makes them shine.  I like it.”

He swallows.  When did you get so bold?  He looks around, towards the sky, between his feet, anywhere but at you.  He feels you inching towards him, a mass of warmth.  Swallowing his pride, he looks you in the eyes.  They’re affectionately gazing at him, questioning, asking for permission.  He stays static.  Nervous, excited.  The setting, the cool breeze—the perfect backdrop for the memory of a first kiss, he thinks.  Always the romantic.

You lean in and press your forehead to his, pausing.  His head spins, drunk on potential.  You whisper something, barely perceptible:

“Pretty boy.”  A simple remark, lovingly stated like an assertion of fact.  Dizzying. You pull away, and he falls forward, disoriented.  Embarrassed by the meek sound of disappointment that leaves him.  Your hand rubs at your neck, involuntary, sheepish.

“I’m not sure if I want this to be the memory of our first kiss.”  Funny, he thinks, how the idea crossed both of your minds. Such a slavish focus on mnemonic posterity.

Maybe you were right, though.  When he thought of this memory now, it filled him with an inexplicable exhilaration that the memory of your first kiss did not.

You had continued to talk, though his memory was hazy after this point.  He remembered you mentioning joining the Scouts, to which he reacted badly: angry concern you had anticipated.  You held him, hand in his hair, assuring him you were strong, you could take care of yourself: everything you knew he wanted to hear.  He spoke of his mother, how he missed her.  You cried together, though he could not remember why. He pressed a kiss to your cheek outside of the barracks, the early dawn gracing your complexion, warming it.  In all, a memory sullied by hindsight.  The last night before graduation, before Trost, before baggage began to wear the two of you down, spines curving under that weight.  He still adored you, every version of you, everyone you had been and would be.  Despite it all, he wished for you to one day return to that unburdened version of yourself.  Maybe naively so.

“You know, the next expedition is to the coast.  We’ll finally see the sea.”

He thought back to earlier today, your hand in his, ambling down a vacant side street.  Excitement in your voice writ large—an expedition to a once-inconceivable, now within reach.  He had glanced at you, your profile holding his gaze.  The years had truly impressed on you a tangible density, a heaviness that bided in your drooped shoulders, the wrinkles of your brow, the sporadic grey in your hair.  A dull, thoracic ache overcame him—you were a child, teenage, yet you carried the weight of a thousand lifetimes and had lived through a number equal.  He was livid at the worldly injustice, the temporal excoriation.  Stolen youth. Fairness was an antiquated concept, long foregone in exchange for a wholly inegalitarian system of cosmic justice—humans forced into meniality.  Could you recoup?  Get back the purloined years and people and solace that were justifiably yours?

He yearned to see your expression as you stood over that expansive azure.  Soon, you would face that endless horizon, representative of new beginnings, possibilities, genesis, loosed of your burdens by some benevolent Parca.  He verily hoped for your emancipation, realized through what the Scouts were to discover beyond the walls.  Then, there would be time for your affaire—love, veracious, before a backdrop of utopia.  It’s all he could hope for, a grail he quietly and firmly embosomed: an aspiration for your shared, future memories to be marked by self-actualized deliverance and impudent love.  

—

thank you for reading!  feedback is always appreciated!  i hope you enjoyed this even though it’s not really explicitly romantic in any sense.  it’s mostly jean ruminating + some yearning and pining for unachievable things.  maybe the next piece will be completely, 100% soft.  maybe.

below are the beginnings of a taglist!  if you’re interested, drop a line and i’ll tag you in my writing posts!  xoxo

taglist: @flam3bird

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

The Goonies: The Characters

No matter how good a story is, how great the cinematography, or how subversive the genre-usage, a movie cannot stand without use of characters.

Characters are perhaps the most vital element of any story ever told.  An interesting plot helps a movie greatly, but without a use of compelling characters, it falls flat on an audience who doesn’t care about the well-being of the people pushing the story forward.  Viewers need flawed, interesting people, moving the story and trying to overcome conflict, in order for a movie to feel satisfying.

Or, they can have a bunch of bickering children stumbling and screaming their way through caves, led by Head Goonie: Michael “Mikey” Walsh.

Only Sane Man Mikey is the glue of the group, bringing the Goonies together in an adventure, instead of just a bunch of kids hanging out in someone’s living room.  He’s got the initiative, he’s the Determinator, and the Leader, and also, surprisingly, the Heart, in a rare combination.  He’s the one jumping at the call, the Kid Hero armed with the Rousing Speeches in his desperate attempt to save the Goondocks.  It would have been easy to make Mikey the most boring of the bunch, but he’s not, if anything, he’s the most interesting.  He’s certainly the most inspiring.

Mikey is the driving force of the entire story.  Despite the fact that he was reluctant to let his friends in the attic in the first place, once he’s there, he’s instantly pushing for his end goal.  As much as Data is the inventor of the group, when you get right down to it, Mikey is probably the smartest of the bunch.  It’s Mikey who figures out where they need to go, Mikey who leads the Goonies through the tunnels, Mikey who convinces them to persevere, to not ride up Troy’s bucket, to leave Willy’s private stash alone.

He’s dedicated to the point of almost insanity at times, judging from how Brand has to pull him back from going back after the treasure when the cave collapses.  He’s also very interested in One-Eyed Willy himself, and acts like he knows him, or understands him, anyway.

“One-Eyed Willy. Hello. I’m Mike Walsh, you’ve been expecting me. Haven’t you? Well, I made it. I beat you. I got here in once piece. So far. So, that’s why they call you One-Eyed Willy. One-Eyed Willy. We had a lot in common, huh, Willy? You know something Willy? You were the first Goonie.”

Apparently, Mikey sees a little bit of himself in this pirate, perhaps as a fellow leader or adventurer, or even a fellow outsider.

Like I said, Mikey could have been the blandest character in the bunch: just filling in as ‘the leader’ of the group, but instead, he’s as quirky as they come.

Despite the fact that this is an ensemble film, with every character sharing about the same amount of screentime, Mikey is clearly the protagonist, no questions asked.  He is the character with the goal here, and as much as it benefits everyone else, it’s clearly his mission, his quest.  The others are just along for the ride.  Mikey is the character the audience is meant to identify with the most: he gets the most insightful dialogue and we as viewers identify more strongly with him as a character.  

Although he’s one of the last characters introduced to the audience, it’s very clear right away who the story is about based simply on the Protagonist Problem: basically, do they have one?  And while it’s clear that the other Goonies aren’t happy about moving away, none of them are taking it as hard as Mikey is.  He is, immediately, the character with a Problem, and he’s also the only one to jump at a solution.

He’s the idealist.  He’s cool under pressure (for the most part).  He easily takes charge, despite his tamer personality in comparison with the others, even over the older kids, and he’s nice to boot.  His goals are easily defined, he’s active, going after his goals and overcoming obstacles, he seems to be the perfect protagonist, if it wasn’t for one thing…

Mikey never really changes.

Sure, he throws away his inhaler by the end, which could be interpreted as symbolic of development, but honestly, Mikey is very much the same kid at the end of the film that he was at the beginning.  Same personality, same worldview…even the same goals, which is another big protagonist no-no.

Most great protagonists have goals that change from beginning to end of the film, as a sign of their own developing character, but Mikey never does.  Instead, he ends the film getting exactly what he initially set out to get: enough money to save the Goondocks.  Sure, he has the relatively minor goal along the way of ‘staying alive’, but in the grand scheme of narrative stakes, to Mikey, clearly the treasure is all that matters.

The question is…is this a bad thing?

Well…no.

The thing is, Mikey is only one in a group of seven main characters, and while some of them have more screen time than others, when you come down to it, that’s a lot of characters to balance, meaning a lot of dialogue split up, and a lot of audience focus divided.  In other words: Mikey doesn’t get development because he doesn’t have time.  There’s just too much going on for the audience to stack character growth on top of it.

While there’s not nearly enough time from a script perspective, there’s also just no time from a linear perspective, either.

The story of The Goonies takes place around, give or take, a day, and while there are a few stories where development is done over that time, (Such as 12 Angry Men, actually) the fact is, twenty four hours is a really short period of time to change who you are as a person, or even change your goals.  It’s very difficult to cram in the story, the characters, and everything else in such a short time span, and heap a deep, meaningful character arc on top of it.  There’s just no time.

So, does that damage the film?

Not really.  Like I said in the genre article, The Goonies is a roller-coaster adventure of a film, without much in breaks.  There’s a lot going on all at the same time, and honestly, in order to keep the pace up, it’s for the betterment of the film that they didn’t try to cram Mikey’s character development within.

To be fair, it’s not as though he doesn’t change at all.  But he changes about as much as the rest of the cast do, in very similar ways: kind of like his brother.

Brandon “Brand” Walsh fills out the other side of the sibling dynamic between himself and Mikey, the older brother who gets annoyed with him, but is also supposed to be taking care of him.  As much as he starts out the film looking like he’s at least trying to be an Aloof Big Brother, when the chips are down, his Big Brother Instinct comes out, protecting Mikey from actual danger.  Beginning the film as somewhat of a Butt-Monkey, ending up Hoisted by his Own Petard in the form of his exercise equipment, at first, Brand looks like he’s not really going to be terribly involved in Mikey’s Goonie adventure.

In the end, though, Brand turns out to be One of the Kids.  But for careful viewers, that’s not really a surprise.

Even Brand’s first scene, where he interacts with Mikey, it’s pretty clear that although there’s a bickering dynamic between them, there’s also sympathy and affection.  Brand knows that Mikey doesn’t want to leave, he understands and he tells him so.  He hugs him and brings him inside when Mr. Perkins comes by with the papers to sign over the house.  And sure, Brand bullies him a little and shoves him around and Mikey repays the favor by tying him to a chair with his own exercise equipment and running off, but that’s typical sibling stuff, as anyone with siblings can tell you.

Although Brand does initially try to ‘take charge’ and occasionally gives the marching orders, in the end, he leaves most of the leading to Mikey, which is a little strange.  Once or twice he takes over, and is the most protective of the group, but while he may do most of the ‘planning’ here, he lets Mikey’s goals and priorities take center stage for a while.

Brand’s other chief ‘item of note’ concerning characterization is, of course, his relationship with Andy.

It’s mentioned fairly early on into the film that Brand is supposed to go out with her, and we see her once or twice, but it isn’t until she and Stef show up to check on Brand that we get to see any of that relationship.  It’s sweet enough, aside from them constantly choosing the wrong time and place to attempt a first kiss, with Brand taking a side-role of protector for Andy specifically, again, showcasing that defensive side that comes in handy for the rest of the group from time to time.

But there’s more to the Goonies than the Walsh kids.

Probably the most recognizable of the characters from The Goonies is Lawrence “Chunk” Cohen.

Chunk has most of the most memorable lines and scenes in the film, elevating himself in pop culture beyond simply the ‘Fat Comic Relief’ and klutzy, cowardly character that the movie seems to be pigeonholing him into at first.  See, even though Mikey’s the one with the goal and character arc concerning the treasure, Chunk’s character arc revolves around the Fratellis.

Of all the Goonies, Chunk is the first one to get involved in the story.  He is the first character we see indirectly interact with the villains of the story, when he spots the car chase, and by the end of the film, he is the character that has interacted with them the most, being drug around, interrogated, and locked up by them as a result of being left behind by the rest.  Fittingly, his arc has very little to do with One Eyed Willy, and everything to do with the criminal family that he happens to fall into, to the point where they’re almost his arch-nemeses instead of the rest of the Goonies.

While an initial viewing could give viewers a very basic impression of Chunk as just the ‘token fat kid’ of the group, the fact is, he is one of the only characters who gets any real growth.

Chunk is established almost right away as the Boy Who Cried Wolf, a teller of tall-tales that have rendered him completely unbelievable to his friends and the local police force.  By the time he has an actual story to tell, nobody around him is ready to buy it, and honestly, it’s hard to blame them.  Some of his stories do sound ridiculous, and even the one that he’s telling now about the Fratellis would be hard to believe, if the audience didn’t know for certain that he was telling the truth.  Of course, although he is able to feel vindicated when the Goonies discover he’s telling the truth, his tendencies to exaggerate backfire on him spectacularly when the police don’t believe he’s in trouble, and he’s left on his own.

Well, not quite on his own, but more on that in a minute.

Chunk primarily holds up the B-plot of the film on the villain’s side, arriving at the end to play hero and bail the rest of the Goonies out, proving to them, and then the rest of the authorities at the end, that this time, he was right, and proving his bravery after an entire film of attempting to chicken out.  But as impressive as his last-minute heroism is, Chunk isn’t in this alone.

Despite being separated from the group fairly early on, sparing them from his complaints, hunger, and clumsiness, Chunk finds another ally in Sloth, the Fratellis’ brother, and befriends him, forming the ‘Brains’ to Sloth’s brawn, coming in to save the day and even adopting him at the end of the film.

Chunk is the most memorable Goonie, not just for the Hawaiian shirt and plaid-pants combo that he’s rocking, but because he has a lot of very memorable and iconic scenes, possessing a pretty unforgettable (and loud!) personality and an arc: from zero to hero, when nobody, not even his fellow Goonies, expected it, complaining through the entire early adventure, and overall displaying an overwhelming desire to Not Be Here, making it all the more impressive when he goes after them with Sloth to rescue them.

But there’s more to the Goonies than just the leader and the breakout role.

Clark “Mouth” Devereaux is not the easiest kid to get along with.  A Deadpan Snarker Jerk with a Heart of Gold, Mouth is the member of the cast with potentially the most Meaningful Name: he never shuts up.  A classic case of ‘With Friends Like These…’, Mouth comes across like the most antagonistic character in the film other than the actual villains at times, abrasive and loud, bullying the rest of the group and picking fights with Stef.

Unfortunately, Mouth’s…mouth, can get him into trouble.  Quite often, in fact, like when he can’t let well enough alone and ends up getting threatened with having his tongue cut out.

With that said, though, Mouth does have his uses, and they’re not all to do with smuggling treasure in his most distinctive trait.

Fittingly, language is where he comes in handy: he’s the only one who can read (and speak) Spanish, leaving him as the obvious choice to translate the map, and also to translate the Walsh’s housekeeper’s exclamations that the treasure is not entirely lost.  Without him, the treasure hunt is impossible.

Mouth may want the treasure as badly as the rest of them do, but he is far less idealistic than Mikey is about it.  He’s the last of the kids to believe Mikey in the beginning, and while it can be chalked up to his overall personality, there is a dash or two of Hidden Depths implied about him, notably in the wishing-well sequence:

“Yeah, but you know what? This one, this one right here. This was my dream, my wish. And it didn’t come true. So I’m taking it back. I’m taking them all back.”

Armed with a comb and occasionally appearing as though he’s deliberately striking a pose in order to look cool, Mouth is actually one of the first to start falling apart when their lives are in danger, crying and panicking with the best of them.  (Again, he’s only thirteen.)

Despite having the loudest personality, Mouth is content to let Mikey lead the group, hanging back and picking on all of them, but by no means not one of them.

There is, of course, one more thing of note about Mouth as a character, and that is his dynamic with Stef.  The pair carry a belligerent tension, bickering and snapping at each other throughout most of the film before demonstrating genuine affection towards each other (with a deleted scene referenced involving Stef promising to keep Mouth alive when they get pushed off the plank).  It’s a hint at something going on between them for sure, but it’s also a fairly good example of Mouth’s relationships with everybody: he’s a lot more bark than bite, irritating and loud for sure, but a loyal friend who’s more than ready to help you look for treasure, even if he doesn’t 100% believe in it at first.

Like the rest, he doesn’t change a whole lot from beginning to end, with the adventure perhaps simply knocking some of his cockiness away and even leaving him a little nicer, but again, just like Mikey, it’s hard to say: this is all over the course of one, very exciting day.  More on that later, though.

After all, Mouth’s hardly the last Goonie of the bunch.

Richard “Data” Wang is the inventor of all things Awesome but Impractical, falling somewhere between Bungled Inventor and Gadgeteer Genius.  The Smart Guy, Data is good with his Homemade Inventions for sure, but there’s a bit more to him than that.

While the other Goonies (especially Chunk and Mouth) can best be remembered for being annoying or clumsy, or dropping things, or talking too much or too loudly, or setting off booby traps, Data is actually pretty even-keel.  He’s excitable, and he really doesn’t want to move to Detroit, but overall, he’s fairly content to be the least talkative Goonie, letting his Dynamic Entries speak for themselves.

He’s a smart kid, and he actually is the only one who one-ups the Fratellis at any time, using his inventions to trip them up and hurt them, after the same inventions saved his life earlier.  Data certainly does have a flair for the dramatic (best seen when telling Mikey that he won’t be taken alive) and is an energetic kid, proving himself as reckless as the rest, but he has a good head on his shoulders.  He’s the one who discovers the counterfeit machine, and it’s fairly safe to say that without him and his Slick Shoes, the Goonies probably wouldn’t have made it out alive.

Like the others, Data doesn’t change much – in fact, he probably changes the least.  This could be due to the fact that again, this is all over the course of roughly 24 hours, but it’s also possibly just a side-effect of being the most even-keeled of the bunch: he’s quieter, and therefore, we hear less from him, meaning we see less of his flaws.  Still though, Data’s a solid character, hugely entertaining, likeable, and memorable.

Now for the other outliers:

Andrea “Andy” Carmichael begins the story as first The Cheerleader and Dude Magnet, and then The Load.  Clearly not used to this style of Goonie Adventure, Andy kind of becomes a Hysterical Woman throughout a good portion of the journey, needing to be comforted a few times in order to keep her head.  It’s hard to blame her: between the skeletons, the guns, and getting locked in a tunnel is pretty frightening, but Andy doesn’t do a whole lot (especially early on, during her Heroic BSoD) and manages to not retain much of a personality throughout most of the film, chiefly appearing at first to serve as a token female character and to be in love with Brand.

But there is more to her than that.  

Even early on, Andy demonstrates a little more backbone when she elbows Troy in the lip and ditches him to go find Brand, and although she initially just follows the Goonies to hang out with Brand (and then to escape the Fratellis), she ends up becoming one of them when she makes the choice to stay instead of riding up the wishing well, sending up his letterman jacket instead.  It’s a big step for her, a demonstration of her true alliances (a deleted scene was to include her being sworn in as an official Goonie at this point, actually), and sets her up for the rest of the film as being more ready and willing to actively participate in the adventure.

Near the end, Andy has to come through to save everyone, as she’s the only one who can play the piano even a little bit, and it falls on her to play the bone organ in order to get them away from the Fratellis and towards the treasure.

Andy actually has some more growth than a few of the others: she steadies out and truly does change, becoming a true Goonie by the end of the film, proving herself more capable than when she began.  Although she doesn’t seem to have a stake in the treasure, she’s just as determined by the end to get it, and celebrates with the rest of them by the end.

In a way, she shares that with the other Goonie outlier: Stef.

Stephanie “Stef” Steinbrenner doesn’t really seem to serve a whole lot of purpose within the story besides being another girl Goonie so there isn’t just one.  She’s a friend of Andy’s, the Tomboy to her Girly Girl, who splits off to join her to find Brand and then ends up swept along with the rest of the adventure, and there doesn’t seem to be much more to her than that.  She’s a Sarcastic Devotee, who feels Surrounded by Idiots: she trades snark with the best of them and tends to feel (rightfully so) that the people she’s around aren’t exactly geniuses.  She’s loyal though, and sticks by Andy and the other Goonies until the end, proving just as determined to get to the treasure and get out alive as the others.

Stef serves as a reality check, another cynic who’s just as frightened as the rest of them, like Andy, without a stake in the final treasure, and while she’s never officially branded a Goonie, the implication by the end is clear.  She sort of takes on a belligerent ‘big sister’ role throughout most of the film, and although she doesn’t have much of an arc, she is entertaining to watch, which honestly sums up the entire cast pretty well.

The characters of The Goonies do not exactly ‘grow’.  There are small things: Andy’s growing courage, Chunk being finally right, Mikey’s growth as a leader, Data’s inventions being useful, Mouth taking some of his snarky edge off, and Brand being a better big brother, but honestly, these are very minor things in the grand scheme of the story.

The characters in The Goonies are not deep, whether it’s the actual Goonies themselves or the villainous Fratellis, who are mostly characterized by striking a balance between being comedic and being a genuine threat.  There are no huge life-lessons being learned by these people, and they aren’t really doing a lot of growing so much as they are running for their lives.

In a film that is essentially a ‘roller coaster’, The Goonies is not designed to have seven major characters with fulfilling character arcs: like I said before, there’s simply no time.  It’d bog the story down for each character to have a moment of growth, to change significantly from beginning to end.  In this case, the best thing about the characters is actually their consistency from beginning to end: there’s little change, and as a result, the audience never has to recalibrate to something else going on within the story.

In other films, this would be a huge problem.

A feature-length film where there is no discernible character change is typically not a good call, but in this case, it works for multiple reasons.  The story is too fast paced and focused on too much to allow for consistent breaks in plot that allow for character moments, and with the extremely short timespan, a big change would actually come across as forced and unrealistic.  The characters are children forced into a tight spot, where their chief concern is their own lives.  There simply isn’t the option open for development.

However, where the film lacks on ‘growth’ of characters, it makes up for in everything else.

The chief purpose of a character is to be there for the audience to like, to be invested in.  There are actually plenty of films where characters don’t change a lot, classic movies that are well-liked because the characters, although unchanging, are hugely entertaining and interesting.  Films like Back to the Future or Ferris Bueller’s Day Off don’t suffer from characters who don’t do any changing due to the fact that the main characters are fun to watch and have the audience’s attention and interest.

Which is just what The Goonies does.

Everyone can find a Goonie to relate to: the leaders, the loudmouths, the geniuses, the attention-seekers, everyone has a place here, and even adults who have hopefully grown out of some of the more immature kid-like behavior, there’s still the glimmer of familiarity in these kids.  Like I mentioned before, we relate to these kids, and we want to see them win.

The Goonies as a story is designed to have simple, relatable characters for the audience to remember, and if that’s the goal, then it works perfectly.  There are no deep characters with complex motivations here, and that’s a good thing: it fits the tone of the film consistently and coherently.  Every character here is likeable in some way, memorable, for sure, and sticks with an audience enough that the audience wants to stick with them too, and wants them to succeed.

In the end, the characters of The Goonies make you care about them, make you root for them.  They carry the story and do it all in a way that’s plenty of fun to watch, and when it comes down to it: that’s exactly what characters should do.

Whether you like or hate them, a character is there to make you care, and The Goonies certainly do their job.  They leave a strong impact, and as a result, we remember these characters and their quirks long after the movie is over for a reason.

Join me next time where we’ll be looking at the 80s cultural impact on the creation of The Goonies.  Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.

[pluto-writes]

hello!! this is my first bsd req aha,, can i have hcs for the port mafia members (like chuuya or akutagawa) reacting to the reader revealing that they've been secretly dating akutagawa? thanks ^_^

Hello to you too anon ^^ Pleased to be the one to receive your first bsd request! Thank you for your patience, and I hope you enjoy ヽ(〃＾▽＾〃)ﾉ (Sidenote: Apparently the human body needs these things called ‘vitamins’ and without them you ‘can’t function’ and ‘feel tired all the time you just sleep for more than half the day’. So now I take vitamins.)

Words: 2,420

Reader revealing that they've been secretly dating Akutagawa/Chuuya.

Akutagawa Ryunosuke 

Higuchi was on her way home, thinking about what to make for dinner for her sister. Until she spotted her senpai coming out of a store, his arm looped together with another person.

She froze, coming to a bunch of different conclusions, but then she remembered about the incident not too long ago with Gin, who ended up being his sister. ‘Maybe this is another relative?’ She thought to herself, hoping that she was right.

That hope quickly shattered when the person kissed Akutagawa on the lips and he returned it. Mouth agape, Higuchi could hardly believe her eyes.

“Akutagawa-senpai is dating someone??? And I didn’t know?” She continued to keep an eye on them, seeing how they act together, and debating if she should just barge in on them and save her senpai. 

She refrained herself from doing so since she didn’t want her senpai to get mad at her again, he made it clear before that he doesn’t like receiving help when he doesn’t want it.

After an hour passed, the two walked away, presumably on their way home. She called it a day and decided to continue her personal investigation as to who that person was for tomorrow. When she got home, she couldn't think of anything else and left her sister to make them dinner.

Morning finally came, and she had a plan ready to figure out who the mysterious person with her senpai was. When she walked into the headquarters she saw you immediately. 

“Ah, (Y/n)-san, can I have a moment with you?” She called out. Her being your superior, you obliged.

“Yes, what can I do for you, Higuchi-san?” You respond, being respectful towards her. 

“You work as part of the espionage group, correct?” You nodded, wondering why she would need you, as far as you knew Mori hasn’t given you any work for a few days and you’ve been using that free time to spend it with your boyfriend. Gah! Even thinking about it gave you butterflies. 

“One of the best!” It was thanks to your ability mostly, it helped you render yourself unrecognizable so you can be free to spy without your true self being seen. “What happened? Do you need my help?”

“It’s selfish of me to abuse my power this way… but I need your help. I want you to stalk- uh… follow Akutagawa for the rest of the day. Yesterday I saw a suspicious person with him, and I want you to figure out who it was…” Truthfully, Higuchi would’ve liked to be the one to get to the bottom of this situation but she knew that would upset him.

“Alright,” you agreed, “wait… yesterday?” That’s weird. You were with him yesterday, and you’re sure you would’ve noticed a person like that on your outing. Even if it was your day off your instincts would kick in and alert you of any danger. 

“Yes. it was most concerning. Senpai didn’t seem to be aware of the danger that could be present. At first I had thought it was another relative I did not know about… but then… I saw the person kiss him! Clearly they have him under some sort of spell so that they can have him obey them!” The more she spoke the more her eyes gained a fire in them, “We have to save him! I’m counting on you!”

Oh. Oh. She must have seen the two of you yesterday. This was embarrassing but you can’t let her think that you were using Akutagawa.

“Um… about that…” You pulled at the collar of your shirt, clearly nervous. You would have liked to keep it a secret that the two of you were dating but you guess it was inevitable to try to keep it hidden. “The person you saw yesterday with him was me…”

You let your words sink in, Higuchi gasped. “Huh!? But you looked so different- the two of you were- you and him- I saw you kiss-” She jumped from topic to topic, stunned by the information you told her. After a couple minutes she composed herself, “You’re dating Akutagawa-senpai?”

“Yes… I’m sorry you had to find out this way. We wanted to keep it a secret since things would just be better without people knowing, so please don’t tell anyone!”

Higuchi couldn’t believe it. The truth was right in front of her but she still didn’t want to accept it. You? Dating her senpai? It didn’t make sense to her.

The thought of commanding you to stay aware from him briefly crossed her mind, but she didn’t want to indulge in that fantasy. She remembered how carefree her senpai seemed while he was with you. And how he smiled your way without hiding it. 

He just looked overall calmer with you… and she didn’t want to take that happiness away from the two of you. 

You waited anxiously for her response, if her earlier reaction was anything to go by, it was clear that the news didn’t please her.

“I won’t.”

“Please, I’m begging, don’t tell anyon- wait. What!? You won’t!?” You’re genuinely surprised by her answer, you thought she’d flat out deny you. 

“I won’t tell anyone you are dating Akutagawa-senpai.” Before you could say thank you to her she cut you off, “But don’t be mistaken… I’m not saying this solely for your sake. Yesterday, I saw how he acted around you. He seemed happy with you… at peace by your side.” 

Her words moved you and made you feel overjoyed. For her to say this to you was basically the same thing as a blessing. 

“Know that if you cause Akutagawa-senpai any pain, I will return it ten-fold.” As she said this her eyes pierced your soul, it sent a shiver down your spine since you’ve never seen her like this.

Nodding, you responded slightly scared by her threat, “Of- of course! I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Good.”

When she walked away, her words were still rooted in your head. You wouldn’t want to do anything that would cause him pain, not because of her threat, but the idea of causing him any suffering after everything he had endured would hurt you more than any beating, a mafia style execution wouldn’t be enough punishment.  

Nakahara Chuuya

Kouyou noticed a shift in Chuuya’s behavior recently. He wasn’t as rash as he used to be, one could say he seemed to be calmer, but at the same time more on edge. As if something was bothering him.

He didn’t have a permanent scowl on his face throughout the day, whenever he was on the phone with someone, a gentle smile appeared on his face. And even after the short call was over he’d still have that same smile on until someone called out his name.

She thought it was strange, since before whenever Chuuya was bothered by something, he’d come to her and tell her his problems and she’ll be there for him and help him. But he hasn’t told her anything yet, and she’s worried about him.

When she was first told to watch over Chuuya, she wasn’t that interested in his well being. However, as time passed she came to hold a certain fondness for the boy and wished to be there to protect him.

Which was why now, she was trailing after him. Staying a little over a block and a half behind him so as to not be suspicious. Earlier, she had overheard him on the phone making an arrangement at a restaurant. While making that call he had that same stupid smile that infuriated her. 

‘Why hasn’t he told me anything? He knows I’ll always be there for him… so why?’

All these thoughts rushed into her head, and confused her as to where she had gone wrong for Chuuya to not open up to her. 

She had no more time to dawdle on these thoughts, when she saw Chuuya stop in front of the restaurant. In one smooth motion, Chuuya turned his wrist towards his face and checked the time. 

“Good, I’m here a bit early. Wouldn’t want to make them wait on me,” A soft blush blossomed on his face as he thought about you. After checking in with the receptionist he came back outside to wait for you.

From the corner of the building, Kouyou listened in on what he was saying, “He’s waiting for someone? Just what could he be planning..?” She muttered to herself. Just as she was about to look over, a new voice entered the scene, causing her to retreat back to her hiding spot.

“Chuuya!” You cheered, unable to contain your excitement. “I’m so glad to see you!” You locked your fingers with his gloved one. “We haven’t been able to go out like this for a while.”

“I know, between our missions finding time to spend together was hard, but I’m glad too. Being able to see you today is the best part of my day.” 

His comment made your face get warm and caused your heart to skip a beat, “ U-um,” you shifted in your spot, unsure how to properly respond. “Let’s head inside now… we wouldn’t want to be late, now would we?” You smiled at him in an attempt to calm your nerves but he just smirked back at you. 

“Of course, whatever you want, my highness.”

“Chu-Chuuya! Please don’t tease me…”

As you moved to pull open the door, Chuuya was already there to open the door for you, “After you, your highness.” He bowed.

“Stoppp,” You groaned in embarrassment, but he knew you liked it when he called you that.

Once Kouyou heard the door close, she moved from her hiding spot and looked through the clear door. She could see Chuuya holding your hand as the waitress guided the two of you to your table. 

‘Just who is he with? If I get a closer look…’

As if some being was heading her prayers, the same waitress that sat you down was walking towards the side door to throw out garbage. ‘Perfect.’ It was fortunate for Kouyou but bad luck on the waitress’ part. 

After she knocked her out, Kouyou donned on the waitress uniform and made it back into the restaurant undetected. She picked up her pen and notebook and walked her way over to your table. 

“What can I start with for the lovely couple here?” She wasn’t dense, she knew that the hand holding, the smiling, the looks she saw that the two of you shared, and the choice of restaurant must have meant. She didn’t want to face that reality, she wanted the two of you to deny it, tell her that she had the wrong assumption and that you two were just friends but that wasn’t the case.

“I’d have the...” Chuuya told her some name that you didn’t really understand. “And my lovely date here would like-”

“Chuuya!” You lightly kicked his leg under the table, and leaned over the table, “You can’t just say that! I thought we were keeping it a secret!” 

��(Y/n), it’s fine. We have nothing to worry about here, we come here all the time and the staff have a no talking policy. Plus, it’s probably obvious by now…”

Even though the two of you thought you were whispering, Kouyou heard everything she needed to hear. Her suspicions were correct, the two of you were dating… She wasn’t sure how to take the news. So she continued to take your order and passed it onto the kitchen staff.

When that was done and said, she slipped out of the restaurant. “(Y/n), was it? Hmm, where have I heard that name before…” She mulled over it on her way back to the mafia. 

She also thought about what to do, she had her own opinions with love, none of them positive. She had experience as to what love can do for a person, and she doesn’t want Chuuya to live through the same experience. It took her awhile to cope with her loss.

Back in the comfort of her office, she found a distraction to lose herself in, until a knock interrupted her. “May I come in?” The voice was simultaneously unfamiliar and familiar. 

“It’s open.”

The doorknob turned and the door opened to reveal you, the same person she saw with Chuuya earlier that day. She hid her surprise when she saw you and put on a fake smile, “What do you wish to speak with me about?”

“I know you know… about Chuuya and I. You were at the restaurant…” Your words shocked her, she thought her disguise was enough to not get recognized. “I never seen you face to face before, so it would’ve worked. But your thoughts gave you away.

“My ability allows me to hear the thoughts of others. I heard what you thought about Chuuya, and your views on love and… I understand that you care about him and want to protect him, but know that I love and care for him too! He talks very highly of you, and I wouldn’t want to be the reason your relationship with him gets strained. So, please,” You kneeled on the floor and placed both of your hands in front of you on the ground, “allow us to stay together.” You placed your head down.

Kouyou wasn’t expecting a dogeza… She opened her fan and covered her face as she contemplated it. She was now aware of your ability, but it still comforted her by having her face covered. Once she came to her conclusion she walked over to your bowing form on the floor.

“Get up,” she put her hand under your chin to look at her as you started to get up, “Now listen cause I’ll only say this once.

“I may have my own opinions on love, but I trust that Chuuya knows what’s good for him. That you’re a good fit for him, and won’t be the one to bring him down, but that you’ll be the one who gives him strength.” 

Elated by her words, and feeling as if a weight has been lifted, you go in for a hug, “Thank you! Ane-san!” You felt her stiffen under you as you said that, “...Too much?”

She hugged you back, “It’s… quite alright. Thank you,” she spoke softly. She didn’t say what she was grateful for, but you had an idea what she was thanking you for.

[siriusbunbryist]

In defence of Abed x Annie.

Thanks to the magic of Netflix, I’ve rewatched Community at age 24, and still found Abed and Annie to have hit the heartstrings as much as I did when I was in high school watching the show for the first time.

But watching the series in its entirety just reinforces my thought that Abed and Annie had so much potential that was wasted, and it’s a shame that the writers planted all these seeds to only decide that perhaps this direction was not worth it / too risky / unfavoured by the audience. But I mean, Alison Brie herself (and I’m assuming Danny Pudi as well) endorsed them! Find here and here.

This was a pairing that with all the crumbs scattered throughout the show (I think we are all aware of these crumbs I speak of), could’ve easily played the “oh we’ve been secretly dating this whole time” trope during the last episode and it would’ve still made sense.

Naturally I did some scoping, and of course unsurprisingly the J.eff x Annie pairing takes the cake, while not a lot of love for Abed x Annie. So here are common points of contentions I see surrounding Abed and Annie, and my rationale on them.

Before I start, a note - I fully respect the J.eff x Annie ship and I don’t intend on starting a ship w.ar/debate. I understand where their support comes from! I just needed to vent because no one else in my social circle watches this show. No hate please.

1. Abed doesn’t see Annie romantically

I think on the contrary it’s been set up rather long ago that Abed at the very least is attracted to Annie.

Exhibit A: “What are you making” in Beginner Pottery

Exhibit B: “Flat B.utt and the one Abed wants to nail” in The Art of Discourse

This video basically explains it! The summary: Annie is Pierce’s favourite, Pierce constantly insults Britta, therefore Britta is flat b.utt.

Exhibit C: Not even trying to hide it in Accounting for Lawyers

But, a romantic interest has to be further built upon finding someone attractive right? There has to be intrigue to their character, such as

Exhibit D: “I can only connect to people through... movies” in English as a Second Language

It is pretty obvious here that Annie is a rare someone who has successfully broken the impartial screen that Abed filters everything through. Jeff saw it too which is why he said Annie was the ark of the covenant before Abed fell for her disney face. I can only imagine Abed to be quite struck with Annie’s infiltration.

A romantic interest should also share common interests, such as

Exhibit E: “Which makes Annie is my third favourite show” in Paranormal Parentage

I’ve said before that for Abed, a guy who lives life and communicates through comparing it with television and movies, it’s not unthinkable for him to be attracted to someone who genuinely watches his favourite shows and commits to roles during cosplay. And who, besides Troy, would fit this profile? Annie. 

And finally, the biggest indicator of it all, we also see how Abed views the Jeff and Annie pairing in everyone’s favourite episode Remedial Chaos Theory. Keeping in mind that the timelines are rendered by Abed, out of all the timelines, J.eff and Annie only kis.sed when Abed left the room for pizza. As well, as conjured in Abed’s head, Evil Jeff and Evil Annie only existed as a couple in the Darkest Timeline. To me at least, it’s arguable that this alludes to Abed’s omniscient “director” standpoint that he may be the obstacle in the Jeff and Annie relationship - pointing towards him perhaps harbouring feelings for Annie.

2. Annie doesn’t see Abed romantically The general consensus on this point is that Annie is only attracted to Abed when he’s playing a character. I rather think that being attracted to someone, and being attracted to someone during role play, aren’t mutually exclusive. Let’s take a look at the different characters that Abed played.

Don Draper: serious, sophisticated, and smooth.

Han Solo: immature, flirty and a smarta.ss.

Batman: mysterious, complex, and brave.

Three different personas, yet Annie responded to all of them. Since the common denominator to all three is that they are played by Abed, I would like to offer a counterpoint that perhaps the attraction to Abed has always been there, it’s just emphasized when Abed plays a character. Who knows, role playing might even be Annie’s ki.nk. After all, during For a Few Paintballs More, it is shown that Annie is disappointed when Abed dropped the Han Solo persona after the battle ended.

Annie also loves big romantic gestures. Who’s better than doing that than Abed? Since the beginning, Abed has already been doing big romantic gestures of varying degrees for Annie. With this, it’s not ridiculous for Annie to see Abed as a romantic potential.

Exhibit F: Staying in a room for 26 hours in Social Psychology

Annie: You sat in a room for twenty-six straight hours. Didn’t that bother you?  Abed: Yeah I was livid.  Annie: Then why didn’t you leave?  Abed: Because you asked me to stay and you said we were friends.

Exhibit G: Rescuing her from “captivity” and inviting her to move in in Remedial Chaos Theory and Studies in Modern Movement (even Troy was surprised at Abed’s invitation)

Exhibit H: Tearing down the Dreamatorium in Studies in Modern Movement

Annie: What about the Dreamatorium? Abed: Oh it's staying. The Dreamatorium is more important than any of us. But you're more important than our bedroom so we put the bunk bed in the blanket fort.

Bonus: Confirmed by Alison Brie

3. The show was about Jeff and Annie

Dan Harmon said that Community’s approach is that anything and any pairing is possible. We see this is as the series started with the classic “player vs smart snarky girl” trope with setting up Jeff and Britta as the main pairing. We also see Troy and Annie as the potential B couple in the show. The writers also threw Pierce and Shirley, Annie and Britta, Dean and Jeff, and even Chang and Britta in for a laugh.

And then the show subverted this all by introducing Jeff and Annie, and made Troy and Britta a couple, showing us that Community is a show that intends on breaking these classic sitcom stereotypes by experimenting with different pairings. Abed and Annie was no exception to this, as the writers often pair them up in different shenanigans and hint at possible grounds to explore*.

A few examples: Han and Leia in For a Few Paintballs More, Hector the Well Endowed and the Elf Maiden in Advanced Dungeons and Dragons, spy partners in Modern Espionage.

No doubt that the show dabbled in and out of Jeff and Annie throughout the series. However, to say that Jeff and Annie was the primary pairing in the series would mean overlooking Jeff and Britta. Especially when Jeff and Britta have the whole love-hate dynamic, three(?) marriage close-calls, and emotional snippets such as helping Jeff reunite with his father in Cooperative Escapism in Familial Relations.

Anyway, not to discredit Jeff and Annie, but knowing that the show explores the possibility of different pairings**, why write off Abed and Annie?

* Not to mention that the cop pairing in The Science of Illusion was originally written with Abed and Annie in mind! ** We also see a stray Abed and Britta during Horror Fiction in Seven Spooky Steps.

4. Annie is in love with Jeff To keep this short and shipper-goggle free, Annie has said on numerous occasions that she’s in love with the idea of Jeff, not Jeff himself. Specifically this scene in Virtual Systems Analysis:

Abed as Annie: "…We love Jeff…" Annie: "No we don’t, we’re just in love with the idea of being loved. And if we can teach a guy like Jeff to do it, we’ll never be unloved, so we keep running the same scenario over and over hoping for a different result."

And this scene in Conventions of Space and Time:

Annie: All right, I may have been play-acting that we were married, and then the staff thought you were cheating, and I had to save face. Jeff: Do I have to worry about this? Annie: No, I was just daydreaming. I mean, I've married you at least a half a dozen times. And Troy. And Zac Efron.

Not to mention that their conversation in the finale says it all.

Jeff: I don't wanna be fine. I wanna be 25 and heading out into the world. I wanna fall asleep on a beach and be able to walk the next day, or stay up all night on accident. I wanna wear a white t-shirt without looking like I forgot to get dressed.* I want to be terrified of AIDS, I want to have an opinion about those, boring a.ss Marvel movies. And I want those opinions to be of any concern to the people making them. Annie: Well I want to live in the same home for more than a year, order wine without feeling nervous, have a resume full of crazy mistakes instead of crazy lies. I want stories and wisdom, perspective. I wanna have so much behind me I'm not a sl.ave to what's in front of me, especially those flavourless unremarkable Marvel movies.

*Shipper-goggle on: Part of me thinks this is a reference to Abed, whose iconic style almost exclusively comprises T-shirts. What Jeff is saying is that he wishes he is 25 again with his future open before him, someone who compatible with Annie, but here he acknowledges that he isn’t, and lets her go in the end.

5. Abed and Annie wouldn’t work as a couple Another point I see is that Abed and Annie are strictly platonic and are more like brother and sister. On the basis that they have made out a couple times and are attracted to each other, I would disagree with the sibling statement.  

Troy, in contrast to Abed, I think actually resembles a more sibling-like relationship with Annie. Although Troy and Annie have the strong friendship of Abed and Annie, when disregarding the high school crush stage of season 1, their storylines never dwelled further down an attraction path, nor was there any specific episode that was dedicated to a deep dive of vulnerabilities and confrontation between them. As a comparison, Troy and Britta had opportunities to explore these setups (Troy admitted to lying about his b.utt stuff story and Troy helped Britta face Blade) - an indication that Troy and Britta were heading into non-platonic territory. Jeff and Britta too, had several opportunities to confront their feelings (up till the very last season), a clear indication of a non-platonic relationship.

For Abed and Annie, what I think pulls their friendship towards actual love interest potential is best pinpointed to Virtual Systems Analysis. Annie’s participation in the Dreamatorium prompted her to not only fully submerge into the way Abed thinks and comprehends his surroundings, but she also got to understand and address Abed’s stubbornness and flaws in a vulnerable way, confronting some of her own flaws as well.

Abed as Shirley: Your hospital school, young lady, is a simulation being run through a filter of other people's needs. Abed's been filtered out because nobody needs him. Annie: I need him!

And to point out this little tidbit in VCR Maintenance and Educational Publishing,

Annie: That's why Abed is like a brother to me. You guys are so alike. Abed: I can't accept that based on one time machine story.

This whole episode, instead of establishing Abed is like Annie’s brother, I would argue is rather doing the opposite. Abed and Annie’s hyper antics in the episode were basically matched by Anthony and Rachel’s blatant indifference and confusion. For lots of Abed and Annie supporters, this episode was a major setback. But I think it instead highlights how in-sync they are with each other, which is a good thing.

Another point, despite Annie trying to prove otherwise, Abed and Anthony had different vibes, and each shared different dynamics with Annie. And as Anthony pointed out in the end, who were Abed and Annie trying to replace in the apartment? Troy. The person who they are trying to fill is Troy - their roommate, their brother, their best friend. Troy was the brother role that neither Abed and Annie can fill for each other.

In Basic Sandwich, we get this exchange:

Abed: The point is, this show, Annie, it isn't just their show. This is our show, and it's not over. And the sooner we find that treasure, the faster the Jeff-Britta pilot falls apart. Annie: Got it. Thank you, Abed. Abed: You're welcome. I have a girlfriend. Annie: What? Abed: You were about to start a kiss lean. Annie: I was not.

Not only did Abed saw right through Annie’s anxiety and comforted her in his own uniquely Abed way, but he also felt the need to remind her of his girlfriend. The fact that he broke the fourth wall here is likely the writers’ way to be meta, but simply acknowledging the tension and bond there says a lot in between the lines. If tension does not exist, there would be no need for this line.

Besides, instead of thinking that they’re strictly platonic (which of course is also okay), they would rather work great as a couple. In terms of opposites attract, Annie grounds Abed with just the right amount, while Abed clearly encourages Annie to be her true self and be immature. Such as this scene in Foosball and Nocturnal Vigilantism,

Annie: I’m following him.  Troy: You moving in here was supposed to tone us down!

Annie also doesn’t just tolerate Abed’s idiosyncrasies, she actually likes them and fully participates as multiple paintball games and cosplays would tell us. Special shoutout to the missing lovers footage in Wedding Videography, which through Britta, actually shows us that Annie is the only one who would go along with Abed’s projects - while Britta found the project extremely weird and unhealthy, Annie thought it was fun and commits well to her role.

And while others may tiptoe around Abed, Annie isn’t afraid to call Abed out when he’s out of line and makes a point to teach him about empathy in Virtual Systems Analysis. Remember that Britta tried teaching him this but it didn’t work as well.

I am Abed Nadir... And I don't know a lot of things everyone else knows. I wander the universe with my friend, Troy, doing whatever I want. Sometimes accidentally hurting innocent unremarkables. This week, however, Troy went to lunch and I adapted. I now have the ability to enter the minds of others using an elusive new technique known as "empathy".

As well as in the entire episode of Cooperative Polygraphy.

They also know each other best. Abed knew her cushion preferences, was the one who spelled out her true pas.sion for forensics, and after living together, Annie knew how to navigate Abed’s peculiarities and to soothe him whenever he had a nervous breakdown. 

Annie also knows him so well that she can predict his reaction.

They are also each other’s exception. Annie was always the one who manages to pull Abed out of a trance and back to reality, usually with touch.

Abed is also very forgiving with her. An example is when Annie seemingly lost all common sense because she broke Abed’s special edition dvd in Foosball and Nocturnal Vigilantism.

Annie: Well, Batman, on behalf of all of us that aren't perfect, can I just say I'm sorry I broke your DVD? Abed: Apology accepted. But I wouldn't mention it to Abed. That guy's pretty ruthless. And that's coming from Batman.

And in Abed’s Uncontrollable Christmas, Annie was the only claymation doll that didn’t have a weird form (except Troy as toy soldier of course). Annie was a ballerina because Abed sees her as a creature of grace. Abed was also the first one who got her “brighter tomorrow” diorama and responded with enthusiasm.

They are also in the same stage in life. As Dan Harmon explains the choice of Abed and Annie being the ones who leave the group, with Troy gone, Abed and Annie symbolize the many possibilities of the future - a possibility that makes them viable. I like to think Annie transfers to the LA FBI office after her internship and they reunite.

And as the Spice Girls said, “if you wanna be my love.r, you gotta get with my friends”. In Paleyfest, Dan Harmon says this about whoever Troy and Abed ends up dating, “I mean a woman that comes into either of their lives is either going to drive them apart or she's going to have to be really accepting of a very special relationship”.

Britta tolerated their friendship but to a point of asking Annie to distract Abed for alone time with Troy, Troy dumped the librarian as she called Abed weird, Robin disappeared, Rachel we never got to see much of, but was pretty quiet and separated from the group. From this, logically speaking, Annie would actually be the perfect match for Abed, as we all know they’re the ultimate trio within the study group and a transition from friends to more will be natural. 

Oh, and, Abed is wrong. They’re not Chandler and Phoebe with little storylines together, they’re Chandler and Monica. 

Anyway, that’s it for my super long rant/analysis. Community the series is done and over, so there isn’t a need for any ship war. All I want to say is, if #andamovie happens, hopefully, the writers will actually take a leap.

[solari-writes-things]

Traditions

🛑 WARNINGS: none. 🛑

✨ requested by: @sazafraz

✨ Pairing: Fujin x OC

✨ Summary: Hana is preparing for Halloween, and Fujin wants to know the customs.

✨ Solari Says: -

✨ Prompt(s) -

Fujin learning about the traditions of Halloween, like costumes and handing out candy to the kids.

MORE FUJIN | MORE MK | > MASTERLIST < |

Hana had spent some time preparing her home for the appearance of children, considering it was now October 31st.

She had returned for a short time, taking a break from the Shaolin gardens to ensure that she had some time in a familiar place. Even if it was just for a little, she would appreciate some time at home, especially for a holiday such as Halloween.

Something about kids in costumes, all walking around happily made her endeared. The energy she could feel around this time of month had been rather contagious, and she was sure to bring some of that positivity back to the Shaolin Monks when she was due to return.

She had just strung up her last bit of decoration on her porch, opting to have a couple of plastic bats hanging down from the drain pipe of her house. Something that people could look at when they walk up to her doorstep, aside from the fake cobwebs. She hums in satisfaction, once she manages to hang them in such a way to where they won’t fall off.

She goes to turn back into her house, one foot into her front door before she hears a sharp gust of wind behind her. Considering that the sensation seemed to be only in passing, she turns around to see what could have caused it.

There stood a man, with glowing white eyes and a braid to match. His tattoo on his bicep glowed with the same godly aura, his arms behind his back as he stepped forward towards her. Normally, at this sort of thing, she would startle and rush back inside. However, instead of weariness, she smiled widely in recognition.

Fujin. She and him had become well acquainted during her studies in the gardens near the Shaolin Temple, since he had decided to keep her company after tending to his business. He helped her understand the histories of where she had been studying, and she provided history of the plant and animal life.

She took the fact that he was a demi-god in stride. It was surprising to him, having someone who was not raised with the knowledge instilled be so accepting of his presence.

“I didn’t think I would see you yet, Fujin,” she greets, gazing up at him.

He offers a sincere smile, his kind-hearted nature emitting with his expressions. “You told me where you would be going. I... gathered that I should come by.”

“You’re always welcome around me, Fujin,” she stated confidently, gesturing him to come inside.

Luckily her house was a bit on the taller side. Being a demi-god, Fujin was muscular and very much on the taller side. He steps inside of her home, ducking the door just a bit before straightening out when he was inside.

His eyes wandered her home for awhile, appreciating the neatness of it all. He enjoyed how quaint it was, how simple things looked inside. He was always someplace either extravagant, or downright horrific, so being able to stand in a place that was neither was refreshing.

“I’m glad you are accepting of my visit, Hana,” he says, dropping his arms to his sides.

“You’ve been nothing but a kind soul, Fujin. I enjoy your company. Would you like some tea?” Hana offered, smiling at him widely.

“No, thank you,” Fujin replied to her quickly.

“Please, take a seat,” she gestured to her sofa, “at least while I get my tea prepared. I need to relax before I have people knocking on my door.”

“Are you expecting company?” he inquired, carefully sitting himself down.

“Not necessarily,” Hana responded, while she set her kettle on the stove. “There’s just going to be some kids knocking for candy.”

Fujin’s silence signaled his brief confusion, before his sharp inhale indicated that he had finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Ah, isn’t today, uhm... ‘Halloween’? Is that correct?” he inquired. 

“Correct, Fujin!” Hana said with enthusiasm, turning on her stove and then moving back to the living room. “Did you learn about it spending your time on Earthrealm?”

“Yes,” Fujin said in affirmation. “I remember that most Earthrealmers celebrate it now, and that it has taken on a more joyous meaning than before.”

“Correct again,” Hana sat down next to him, keeping an ear open for the whistling. “I won’t go into the original history of Halloween. It’s... not fun, to say the least.”

“Compared to the events that I handle for Earthrealm’s protection, I think I would be able to handle it,” he said, a bit of jest in his tones. “However, I will not press. I am not interested in it’s history, but the charm of it now.”

“Well, what would you like to know?” Hana inquired, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Educate me, Hana,” he requested. “I do not know anything about this Earthrealm holiday, and seeing your house with the decorations has me curious.”

Hana chuckled and thought for a moment of a starting point, before opening her mouth to speak. “It’s the one time of the year where we can dress up as someone else. It can be scary, or funny, or even just cute. People, primarily children, go up to houses and knock on doors to get candy. We can decorate our houses, if we so choose, and either make them scary or fun. Sometimes, people make little haunted houses for people to go through, just to make the experience more... interactive.”

Fujin was leaned forward, listening to the explanation intently. His eyes, even though flat in monochromatic shade, still conveyed the same piqued wonder he had when they first met.

It made her heart skip, just a little.

“It sounds quite charming,” he agreed, once he realized Hana was done with her explanation.

“Stick around tonight,” she said, forward in her delivery. “So you can experience some of it for yourself.”

“Are you sure? I do not think some of the Earthrealmers here would find me normal,” he asked her, just trying to be sure that she wouldn’t be in a situation that would render her uncomfortable.

“Of course I’m sure, Fujin. I would never hide you away, holiday or not,” she states in confidence.

Fujin purses his lips, before exhaling in defeat. “Alright, Hana. I will stay with you, to observe.”

“Good,” she beams, standing up when she heals the whistling of her kettle. She turns the corner to go into her kitchen, only to hear a knock at her door.

“Damn... they came earlier than usual,” she remarked quietly, before raising her voice so Fujin could hear her. “Can you open the door, Fujin?”

“You want me to open it for you?” he questioned, a little hesitant. “Is this to give them the candy?”

“Yes! I have a bowl nearby the door!” she replied to him as she began to prepare her cup of tea.

She hears Fujin rise from his seat as the door gets knocked on once more, moving quickly to the front door. She heard him scoop the candy bowl up, inhaling just a bit before opening the door.

“Trick or treat!” shouted a little girl excitedly.

Hana turned the corner, with her tea cup against her lips as she watched him carefully.

The girl’s eyes were wide with awe. Hana expected the child to startle at the mere size of Fujin. If it wasn’t the size of him, it would be the glowing tattoo, the glowing eyes, or his startlingly white hair. He held the plastic candy bowl gingerly, as if he were about to break it just by holding it in his hands. 

He scooped up a few pieces of candy, and the sound of the wrappers crinkling seemed to snap the child out of her small trance. The little girl extended her arms, candy bag held open for ease of access. 

Fujin lets the candy drop inside, and he was about to back into the house before the little girl spoke once more.

“You have pretty hair!” she exclaimed, having spotted Fujin’s long, white braid when he had opened the door.

Fujin’s lips curled up into a soft smile, his caring nature seeming to have surfaced once more in the face of the small child.

“Thank you,” he replied to her, the guardian standing behind the child grinning at the little girl’s bold compliment. 

“Happy Halloween!” she said joyously, before turning away from Hana’s front porch and running down the walk way.

Fujin backed into the house and closed the door, setting the plastic bowl back down where he had picked it up. “I did not expect her to accept my appearance as quickly as she did.”

“Children are much more accepting than people give them credit for,” Hana replied with a giggle, taking a little drink of her tea. “How did you like your first trick-or-treater experience?”

“Considering I expected the child to run and hide, it went much better than I anticipated,” Fujin chuckled. 

“Good. There’s a lot more where that came from, Fujin, and I would love for you to help me out if I need it,” Hana smiled from behind her tea cup.

“I would love to assist you, Hana,” he agreed, offering the same expression.

__

MK Tag List: N/A​

General Tag List: @sazafraz :|: @tsumethedrifter​ :|: @angelaiswriting​

if you want to be included in the tag list, comment or message me!

[zaph1337]

Monster Hunter Rating 37: Red Khezu, the Charging Wyvern

TRIGGER WARNING: BLOOD

I don’t normally talk about the monster’s qualities in the introduction, but I have to here to make sure that no one’s gonna get hurt because of this. This is a monster that’s veiny and blood red, and combined with Khezu’s design, it’s pretty disturbing. The weapons, however, are probably worse, as they have a cracked, fleshy aesthetic that looks like it could start bleeding at any moment, and I’ll put the trigger warning a second time once we get to talking about them in case it slips someone’s mind. Might seem overkill, but with a situation like this, you can’t be too careful, which is also why I’m gonna put this review under a “Read More” so anyone who doesn’t want to see it doesn’t get an eyeful while trying to scroll past it. Now, let’s talk about Red Khezu proper, shall we?

(How it appears in Monster Hunter Freedom 1)

(How it appears in Monster Hunter 4)

Appearance: See what I mean? This thing’s made to look like it had its skin ripped off, which is not a look you want to have unless your intention is to scar someone or their children for life. The MHF1 render conveys the skinned appearance better than the MH4 one, in my opinion, because it’s a deep red, like the kind you’d see in gore in PlayStation era games. The MH4 render reminds me more of a particularly red worm or lamprey...well, until you get to the body. Then it looks like someone plucked a chicken and painted it red. It probably looks more visceral in-game.

I think I prefer the standard Khezu design, to be honest. The pale complexion combined with everything else gives me Silent Hill vibes, and even though I haven’t played any of the games, I’ve watched videos on them, and I appreciate all they’ve done for the horror genre. Red Khezu, on the other hand, doesn’t give me that same impression, and I don’t know of any horror series’ I’m interested in where such a vibrant red on a fleshy-looking monster is part of the aesthetic. Still, it does its job well. 7/10.

Behavior/Lore: So, here’s something interesting: Red Khezu aren’t a subspecies. They’re what Khezu are supposed to be like; the Khezu everyone views as being “normal” are actually albinos who likely only got more populous than the red ones because they spend most of their time in caves, where anything that would want them dead likely wouldn’t be relying on visual cues to hunt anyways. That said, both types of Khezu leave caves to eat non-cave dwelling monsters and, surprisingly, mushrooms, which Red Khezu have been seen feeding on in the Swamp region. Unfortunately for them, being so fatty means that once they leave their cave, they put themselves at risk, ‘cause a lot of monsters want to eat them, including the Rath pair.

For some reason, Red Khezu are much more aggressive than the albino variety, and they even have increased muscle mass, which allows them to not only visit cold regions (which white Khezu can already do), but even stay in them during the winter months (which white Khezu can’t do). I don’t know why albino Khezu aren’t like this, ‘cause I can’t see how albinism would affect your muscle growth and temperament, but I don’t make the monsters, I just critique them.

I’m really glad that this is more interesting than “Khezu+.” The fact that Red Khezu aren’t a true subspecies is a neat idea, and considering that the Ecology page on the common Khezu doesn’t mention any omnivorous tendencies, it’s likely that Red Khezu even have a different diet than their pale cousins, which is something that I don’t think the previous G monsters had. While making them more aggressive than albino Khezu is to be expected at this point, it doesn’t take away from anything, so I’m not going to gripe about it. When you combine all of this with the qualities they likely share with albino Khezu, you get an interesting counterpart for what was already an interesting monster. 8/10.

Abilities: If you thought that keeping warm was the main benefit of having more muscle mass than a common Khezu, I have to question your educational history; Red Khezu are physically stronger than the albino variety, and their electrical organs are superior as well. Not only are their electric attacks stronger, they can also use electricity to incapacitate prey in ways common Khezu can’t. Also, their skin seems to be very elastic, as Red Khezu can stretch their necks out much farther than their pale brethren can. I think more needs to be stretchier than just the skin, but whatever. As a final note, for some reason they’re immune to fire, but this apparently comes at the cost of being weak to water.

Red Khezu do what I wish more subspecies’ do, which is take the basic abilities of their weaker forms and mix them up, not just make them more powerful. The new ways they can manipulate electricity and the extended reach of their more elastic necks likely make battles with them stand out more than the ones you have with some other G monsters. 7/10.

Equipment: Like I said at the beginning, TRIGGER WARNING FOR BLOOD. These weapons look just plain nasty, which, while potentially being part of their appeal to some people, will likely make others very queasy or worse. I’ll start with the least disgusting one, the Hunting Horn called the Blood Horn:

“Red Hunting Horn made from wrapped Red Khezu hide. Its color is very unsettling...” The color is unsettling? Not the fact that it literally has a mouth? Okay, in all fairness, the color of the wraps makes it more gruesome than the Khezu Horn, which just looks like it’s covered in bandages; these look like bandages that were soaked in something, and they were probably white before they were applied. Make of that little observation what you will. Now, here’s where things start getting nasty--this Long Sword from MHO:

...I can’t say I know what that implement is, but I do know that the Red Khezu skin is wrapped around it in a very unsettling way; until I saw the little bit of metal that was exposed at the sword’s base, I thought that those spikes were independently attached to the flesh instead of being the teeth of a full blade. And speaking of unsettling, the sheathe looks like it’s bleeding. That comparison to cracked flesh I drew earlier makes more sense now, don’t it? I’ve got one more weapon to show you guys, and it’s probably the nastiest one of the bunch: the Red Khezu Sword and Shield from MHO. If you’re already uncomfortable after looking at the above weapons, you might wanna scroll past this:

The reasons I find this the most gruesome of the weapons I’ve shown are A: the “sword” is a surgeon’s saw, which adds to the whole “twisted hospital” vibe that Silent Hill likes to use, and B: the shield literally has the Red Khezu’s “face” stretched over it, and the mouth is...what are those black things holding the mouth shut? They’re not sewing lines, ‘cause they’re way too big. Wait, the way the two on the left are angled, it looks like they’re 3D and not flat--are those things made of metal, like the shield? ‘Cause there are a few implications for that, and they’re all unpleasant. Moving on to the armor, the only renders the wiki had are the men’s sets from MHO. Here’s the Blademaster set:

This isn’t as vibrant of a red as Red Khezu normally are, but it does look like raw meat or exposed flesh, so that’s...cool? The fact that there’s nothing obscuring or darkening the face like in other games with Khezu armor makes it look kind of silly, though; it’s like a fleshy raincoat, which is equally parts disgusting and hard to take seriously. As for the Gunner set, it’s very different from the Khezu R Armor I showed off in the Khezu review:

To be fair, this does look a lot like the normal Khezu Gunner armor, so expecting it to look like the R Gunner armor is silly. There are a couple of neat things here--the arm guard has a spine embedded in it, and the right arm has a glove with claws (or at least long nails)--but for the most part this doesn’t stand out too much to me. It does look like someone cooked the meat for a few minutes, though, so it’s probably not violating any health codes.

Honestly, I prefer the standard Khezu equipment to this, but that’s mostly because there’s much more of it than Red Khezu equipment. Plus, outside of the ones from MHO, the weapons the devs recolored for Red Khezu don’t really look that unnerving. The red’s a bit too vibrant, so it doesn’t really fit the filthy hospital aesthetic that made Khezu weapons so eerie, and the armor looks gross, sure, but that’s all it has. Still, the MHO weapons are their own kind of disturbing, but the fact that the majority of Red Khezu weapons are in a game that most people don’t even consider a real MH game is depressing. 6/10.

Final Thoughts and Tally: After sifting through so many monsters that did so little, it’s nice to get something that stands out like this. Don’t get me wrong, I still prefer normal Khezu over red ones, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like Red Khezu at all; I just think that the albino ones have more going for them. 7/10.

[starshine583]

New Friends Ch. 19

(So this chapter is basically an aftermath to a lot of the stuff that’s happened so far. After this chapter, I am going to stop weekly updates so I can take the time to develop more of the plot line. Enjoy!)

Ch.1 / Ch.18 / Ch.20

Felix always hated the idea of love. It was too unpredictable, too messy. Not to mention, It was also completely unnecessary. He never understood why everyone seemed so taken with the concept. Even watching his parents made him sneer as he grew older. They acted as if their marriage couldn’t fall apart in seconds due to some minor arguments. No, he’d decided a long time ago that love wasn’t for him.

But standing here now, holding Marinette close with her lips on his. He realized it wasn’t all that bad. The electricity from her touch coursing through every corner of his body was an addicting feeling. Her hands coming up to dig through his hair drove him crazy in a way he didn’t know was possible.

“I love you too.” She mumbled against his lips, sending his heart soaring. 

He opened his mouth to reply when the person sitting closest to them loudly cleared their throat.

Marinette and Felix flushed, stepping apart. He’d forgotten they were in a restaurant.

“Why don’t we start walking back? Lunch period is almost over anyway.” Marinette suggested, rendering him breathless with her soft, bluebell eyes.

Felix nodded lamely and laced his fingers with hers. “Is this alright?” 

The shining grin on her face was all the answer he needed as she gave his hand a loving squeeze. “It’s perfect.”

~~~~~~

To say the class was shocked when Felix and Marinette came to school hand in hand was an understatement. Even Lila gasped at the new couple as they took their seats in the back.

“What the heck is this?” Alya blanched, gesturing towards their entwined hands.

“What does it look like?” Felix asked, as if it was obvious- which it was. To make it completely clear, though, he placed a sweet kiss on Marinette’s forehead. 

The ravenette blushed, but leaned into his touch with a fond smile.

A whole new wave of surprise washed over the class at the sight. They’d never seen Felix show so much affection before.

Some thought it made sense, whether it be because the two already spent so much time together or simply because “Sweet and Sour” work well together was for you to decide.

Others- such as Alya -either couldn’t wrap their heads around it or flat out rejected the idea entirely. 

Adrien fell into the latter category.

Marinette and Felix.. They were dating?

Sweet-as-sugar Marinette was dating Salt-incarnate Felix? He just couldn’t see that happening. But a glance at the back proved that was exactly what was going on. 

Felix and Marinette sat together, hands held and shoulders touching. Marinette smiled her bright smile he hadn’t seen directed towards him recently as she talked. Felix smiled warmly down at her- a rare smile Adrien had only caught a glimpse of twice in the last month.

They were very much in love, and for some reason that made Adrien’s stomach twist. Why did it bother him so much?

~~~~~~

“Unbelievable.” Alya grumbled, watching Felix and Marinette from afar as they talked to the “Marinette squad”. Everything looked normal, standing on the front steps of the school, except Felix had his arm around Marinette, hugging her close every now and then.

“I kind of saw it coming.” Nino admitted with a shrug.

Alya glared, though not necessarily at him. “What do you mean you saw it coming!” 

Her boyfriend frowned, tipping his hat. “Well, they always hang out together.. And Felix doesn’t talk to the rest of us. So it makes sense that they ended up together.”

“What about Adrien?!” Alya nearly flailed her arms in exasperation. 

Nino scoffed, something he’d been doing a lot when the blonde was mentioned. “What about him? He never showed any interest in her anyway.” 

The words were bitter, a hidden layer underneath that Alya was dying to know about. He still wouldn’t tell her what happened between them. 

“Well, wasn’t Marinette bullying Lila because of Adrien?”

Something akin to anger flashed in the DJ’s eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

Alya frowned, turning back to the couple just in time to see Felix kiss Marinette’s cheek. Their group cheered in response, quickly swallowing Marinette and Felix in a group hug. They all looked so happy that it made Alya sick. If Marinette wasn’t interested in Adrien anymore, why was she still hurting Lila? Nothing was making sense. 

“Hey guys! Are you ready to go?” Lila suddenly asked, pulling Alya from her thoughts.

“Yes! We are gonna have a blast at the ice rink today!” Alya said excitedly, linking her arm with Lila’s.

Nino shifted uncomfortably. “About that.. I can’t go.” 

Her face immediately fell. 

“Why not? We’ve been planning this since last week.” 

Nino’s gaze flicked to Lila, then to the school stairs. “Sorry, I’ve got a lot of homework to catch up on.” 

A sniffle brought their attention back to Lila. 

“You’re not coming? I was so looking forward to all of us hanging out together.” The brunette lamented, resembling a kicked puppy.

Alya almost sat down from shock when she saw Nino briefly roll his eyes. What was his problem today?

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not coming. Have fun.” He replied shortly, already walking down the school steps.

She thought she was full on hallucinating when she caught a glimpse of Nino and Marinette subtly waving bye to each other.

“You don’t think he’s mad at me, do you?” Lila said tentatively, hugging her chest as she watched him leave.

Alya immediately shook her head. “No, no! I’m sure it’s not your fault. He’s just going through some things.” 

Lila nodded, though she still seemed unsure. “Okay. I trust you to help him out.” 

The red-head smiled. That’s right. She was his girlfriend, and it was her job to help him out when he needed it. She would get to the bottom of this. If Nino was actually starting to talk to Marinette again, that would explain why he was being rude to Lila. 

Alya’s eyes filled with determination. She couldn’t stop Marinette from going down the wrong path, but she would be able to stop Nino. She had to, no matter what.

~~~~~~

Marinette grinned from ear to ear as she swung her and Felix’s joined hands back and forth. He told her he was in love with her! This was the best day of her life!

“Ugh, we’re so close! Why can’t Andre just pick a spot and stay there?” Aurore whined, studying the GPS on her phone. 

“It’s not as special if you don’t have to put in effort for the ice cream.” Luka pointed out with a smile.

The group had been overjoyed when she and Felix announced their love for each other, and immediately suggested a trip to Andre’s to celebrate the new couple. Marinette eagerly agreed. This would be her first trip to Andre’s with someone special!

“I think walking to a shop would be enough effort.” Wayhem commented, gaining a snort from Aurore.

“Stop complaining. Andre’s right there.” Kagami scolded, pointing ahead to the ice cream cart in the distance.

Aurore and Wayhem perked up and, upon spotting the cart themselves, broke into a sprint to get to the ice cream truck. 

Luka laughed and picked up the pace with Kagami, leaving Marinette and Felix behind.

“Are you sure you want to share an ice cream? I thought you didn’t like sweets.” Marinette asked, looking up at her boyfriend. Her boyfriend!

The blonde met her gaze with a soft smile that melted her heart. “I don’t, but this sounds special to you. So I’ll try it anyway.” 

Marinette didn’t know her grin could get any wider. 

She stepped up on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re the best.” 

Felix’s cheeks tinged pink, but he chuckled. “For trying ice cream?” 

She giggled, grabbing his arm with her free hand and leaning on his shoulder. “For everything.”

Felix squeezed her hand, lightly caressing the back of it with his thumb. “I love you.”

Marinette hummed. She wanted to listen to him say those words to her over and over again. 

“Guys, hurry up!” Aurore urged, now holding a chocolate ice cream. 

“If you take any longer, we’re gonna have to walk to Andre’s new location!” Wayhem joined in, holding a cotton candy and lemon ice cream.

Marinette laughed, while Felix rolled his eyes, but they picked up the pace nonetheless.

“Ah! A new couple! It’s as clear as day from the look you share.” The ice cream vendor cooed. He spun his ice cream scooper in his hand and scooped a few different flavors from the ice cream buckets, packing them all onto one cone.

“May this ice cream help you seal your love, so you can overcome any trials you face.” Andre said happily, handing them the cone.

The two thanked him, before sitting with the rest of the group on the benches.

“So, which one of you guys confessed first? It was Mari, right?” Aurore asked once they sat down. 

Marinette and Felix blushed. They hadn’t filled them in on all the details yet.

“Actually, Felix said it first.” Marinette said shyly, glancing towards Felix. She could tell he was flustered about the whole thing. I mean, who wouldn’t be a little embarrassed about blurting out a declaration of love in front of a restaurant full of people.

To their surprise, Aurore scrunched up her nose in annoyance while Luka and Wayhem laughed. 

“Seriously? I thought for sure you’d be the one to tell him!” She huffed, taking something out of her pocket and roughly putting it in Kagami’s hands.

“Was that- did you bet on us?” Felix asked, a hint of agitation in his tone.

Everyone turned sheepish except for Kagami, who gave a smug smirk. 

“It was easy money. How could I refuse?” 

“But you’re rich!” Aurore flailed her arms, obviously still bitter about losing the bet.

Kagami only shrugged, taking another bite of her ice cream.

Marinette couldn’t help laughing towards their antiques.

“You know, I hope things never change.” She sighed blissfully, looking over her group of friends with a fond smile.

They returned her smile, nodding in agreement. This circle of friendship they had formed was something to be cherished. 

And the relationships. She thought to herself, watching as Felix took a bite of their ice cream. He kept his expression neutral, but she saw his eye twitch, signifying his dislike for the dessert.

Her heart swelled with love and happiness. Yes, she had something good, and she would make sure to cherish every bit of it.

~~~~~~

Adrien was still thinking about Felix and Marinette’s declaration of love well past school hours. Even as he jumped across rooftops to go meet his Lady for evening patrol he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Felix had never shown any signs of emotions besides spite and anger before. How Felix could look at Marinette so fondly and be so gentle was beyond him. He heard they even went to get ice cream together at Andre’s. Everyone knew how big of a deal that was.  

As Chat Noir neared their traditional rendezvous point to start patrols, his previous thoughts were set to the side when he started to hear laughing and talking. One voice was easily recognizable as his Lady. No one else had a laugh like hers.

Bouclier and Ladybug were sitting on the rooftop together- way too close, in his opinion. Were their hands touching?! -and they seemed to be laughing it up about who knows what. Her laugh was so heartfelt and whole that he would usually be elated to hear it had it not been for the fact that he knew Bouclier was the cause. Whatever happened to it being just them? Chat Noir and Ladybug. Yin and Yang. Why was she so intent on hanging out with other guys and ignoring him?

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” He spoke up, barely containing a growl.

The two jumped and looked back at him with a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

Too absorbed in each other. What if I had been a villain? 

“Oh, Chat Noir. You’re here.” Ladybug said light-heartedly, standing up. No, ‘hey Chat. How was your day?’ No ‘I’ve missed you, Kitty’. Just ‘oh, you’re here’. Did he even matter to her anymore? Or had he been some cheap amusement for her until she was able to have a new playmate?

His Lady didn’t acknowledge his silence, instead starting a ramble about the patrols. “So, since we have Bouclier now, I was thinking we could take West and East like usual, except Bouclier would take North. Then we could all meet up at the South and-”

“Yeah, yeah. that’s great, Bugaboo. Can I talk to you for a sec?” He interrupted, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and guiding her to the other side of the roof. This had gone on long enough. They needed to take action before Bouclier caused a serious rift between them. 

Ladybug glanced back at the turtle-themed hero, who now on his feet, and motioned for him to stay put. Perfect. She could tell this was a serious conversation.

“Do you really think having Bouclier on the team is necessary?” Chat Noir asked once they were “alone”. 

Ladybug’s eyes widened in surprise, then she gave him a small glare and crossed her arms. “Yes, of course he’s necessary. We need all the help we can get, Chat.” 

Chat held up his hand defensively. “Absolutely! I totally agree with you, My Lady. It’s just.. Does he have to be a permanent hero? The temporary ones have worked fine so far.”

Ladybug sighed in frustration, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Bouclier lightens the load for us. It’s easier to manage the job if we have more people to spread the responsibilities to.” 

“But we’ve always been fine before!” Chat pointed out. “Sorry, LB, but three’s a crowd, and I, for one, don’t enjoy being singled out.” 

Ladybug’s gaze shot back up. “Wha- you- no one is being singled out.” 

The black-clad hero crossed his arms and pulled a small pout. “Yeah, you say that, but then you’re off joking around with that guy during fights. I’m telling you, he’s going to cause trouble and I want him off the team before he comes between us.” 

He really hoped she would agree. That Ladybug would think it over and realize where he was coming from. The dynamic between the Cat and the Ladybug was a delicate thing that needed to be protected if they were to capture the akumas. They shouldn’t risk tipping the scales on some random guy who’s filled with nothing but spiteful remarks.

Unfortunately, though, Ladybug wasn’t exactly understanding as much as she was rageful. 

She sharply inhaled, getting right in front of him so he could see exactly how much fury swam behind her bluebell eyes. “Let me tell you something. Bouclier is a brilliant addition to the team who has helped us so much in the week that he’s been here.” She jabbed her finger into his chest. “And I will not take him off the team just because you are jealous.”

Chat Noir scoffed in disbelief. She thought this was only about jealousy? I mean, yes, that was the core of it, but there was still more than that. Their dynamic was suffering because of Bouclier, and since neither of them could leave- their miraculous were too important -then it only makes sense that Bouclier should be the one to go. It was like she didn’t even listen to him because of his feelings for her! 

But fine. He can see how far their partnership goes, if they ever even had one in the first place. 

“If he’s such a brilliant partner, then I guess he won’t have trouble covering my section of patrol.” He huffed, stomping over to the edge of the roof and taking out his baton. Obviously, he wasn’t needed there. Ladybug and her brilliant addition should be able to do just fine without Chat Noir.

He ignored her protests as he propelled himself towards the mansion. Let them patrol the city on their own. Then see what she thought about having permanent heroes on the team. Ladybug would come running back to him before patrol tomorrow night.

~~~~~~

The next day at school, Nino scribbled down as much information as he could about Lila and all of her lies. If he wanted to convince the class that she was lying, he’d have to have proof and would need to be able to counter any excuses she had. Now, this might be going a bit overboard since he wanted to talk with his classmates privately, but you could never be too careful.

Who should he start with though? Juleka and Nathaniel don’t really pay attention to the drama, right? He should be able to sway them over easily, maybe ask them to talk with Marc and Rose about it..

“What are you doing?” Mylene asked next to him.

Nino jumped, scrambling to flip his notebook closed. “O-oh -uh- nothin- nothing much!” 

After his argument with Adrien two days ago, he knew he couldn’t sit with him anymore. So he changed seats to be next to Mylene. She was so quiet, though, that he would sometimes forget she was there. 

Mylene frowned slightly, eyeing his notebook with suspicion. “Sorry, you looked really focused for a second. I was just curious.” 

He smiled nervously and looked down at the notebook as well. Lying was never really his forte.

On second thought, why would he need to lie? He wants to convince the class right? Why not start with Mylene?

“Actually, do you mind if I talk to you about something? We’ve gotta be quiet though.” He began, re-opening the notebook and giving Lila a cautious glare.

Mylene nodded, curiosity reflecting in her eyes as she inched closer. 

Nino got back to his page of notes, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You know how Mari said Lila was lying? I think she’s right.” 

Mylene reeled back, shock written all over her face. “Why would you think that?” 

Nino pushed the notebook over for her to read. “I thought something was off so I tried to look up some of her stories, but I couldn’t find any. She hangs out with a bunch of famous people, right? Wouldn’t something like that be in the news or on a post somewhere?”

Mylene didn’t respond as she read over the notes, her frown deepening the further she got. Finally, she set the notebook down and looked at Lila, who was happily chatting with Alya.

“I don’t know, Nino.. Lila’s super sweet. I have a hard time believing she’s actually been lying to us.”

“What about Mari?” Nino argued. He was getting close! She was almost on board! “Wasn’t she super sweet? Think about how she was before Lila came. Or even after. Has Mari ever done anything unfair or mean to us?”

Mylene quietly thought it over. Nino didn’t interrupt. He knew changing your views on somebody could be pretty hard, especially when they had no concrete evidence to go off of.

She then sighed, fiddling with the metal spirals on the notebook. “No.. you’re right.. Marinette wouldn’t lie like that, would she?” 

The guilt she felt was clear, but Nino couldn’t help getting excited. She believed him! They were going somewhere with this!

“It’s hard to take in. Go ahead and investigate for yourself, too. I need all the help I can get.” He admitted, stealing his notebook back to continue writing.

“Help? For what?” Mylene asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

Nino glanced at the brunette in front of them again. “For exposing Lila for the person she really is.” 

Mylene followed his gaze, bitterness slowly spreading  across her features.

“I’ll talk to Ivan.” She said dutifully. “You can keep working on the list, and we’ll talk to who we can.” 

Nino nodded with an appreciative smile, before turning back to his notes.

One down, too many more to go.

Tag List: @unabashedbookworm@bluerosette23@minightrose@kuroko26@im-here-for-the-content@angstyrastuff@clumsy-owl-4178@fanboy7794@choaticneturcl@bigcheeseyboi@burntnugget-tae@ayuchan07@honorisfortheweak@knightrose15@mjisntme@rhub4rb@simplythebestbug@wilhelmares@zebrabaker@dargeon-lissa @kristycocopop @alumneia @kaydenth3gayden@thornangelic727@flirtshobi @whatamessofwords @offically-over-it @flashflashitsash@thewingting @aegyobutpsycho2 @zoeytheweeb@zeyheartstaylor@friedchickening @roseinbloom02 @totalgaydrama @god-is-dead-and-so-am-i @bitterheart12224 @krunchy-tuna @trapezoidoxide @izzynuggets @imfreakingmagical@vixen-uchiha @dani-ari @azureocean33 @tinkerbela @drama-queen-supreme @nerdyleafeon @tinybrie @jarofbuttons  @crazylizardlove @hauntedfreakdeputyhero@legendaryneckjudgestudent @coniferyl @chocolatecustarddanish@evil-cricket @derpingrainbow @crazylittlemunchkin @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @never-neverland @hetalia-lover-is-here @resignedcatservant @maritrash28 @cadencehood @kiara-rose-blackthorn

[lauras-collection]

More Than I Know [Part 10]

Tom Holland x female reader

Masterlist

Summary: After what happened with Tom you hide away in your flat until Kate takes matters into her hands.

Words: 3k

Warnings:   angst, fluff, maybe swearing?, nothing else I think (let me know if there is anything in there that I should add)

A/N: The final part is here. How crazy is that? Thank you all so much for reading! I will also be writing an epilogue. That should be up sometime next week :) 

I hope you enjoy!

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6  | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 

The next day you woke up around 10am with dried tears on your face. You reached for your phone and saw that you had several missed calls from Tom, as well as a bunch of messages. You couldn’t bring yourself to read them. You unlocked the phone to make the notifications go away but you were greeted by your home screen. It was one of the pictures you had taken with Tom and Tessa the day you had dinner with your parents. His lips were on your cheek as you leaned into him with one arm around Tessa as she looked into the camera. You quickly locked your phone again, throwing it to the other end of the bed. This was so stupid. How could you grieve about something that was never really a thing? 

The repetitive vibration of your phone made you pick it up again. Tom was calling. You couldn’t talk to him. You were sure he was only going to make excuses. You had been at this point before. You were not going to give a guy that power over you anymore. You had learned from your mistakes. So after you let the call go to voicemail you blocked Tom’s number, his instagram, everything you could. 

***

You knew you had to get groceries at some point. You had spent the whole weekend in bed. On Monday you finally took a shower and got dressed. Life around you didn’t stop. You had obligations. After work, you dragged yourself to Tesco closest to your flat to quickly get the things you needed so you could get back home. You purposefully avoided the aisle with all the magazines. While you would’ve had a look at them a week ago, just to see what the yellow press was saying, you tried to keep anything that reminded you of Tom as far away from you as possible now. But that was easier said than done. There weren’t a lot of things that didn’t remind you of him. If something didn’t make Tom’s face appear in your mind immediately, it made you think of something else that would.

What made things even worse was that you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing his face. Well, it wasn’t always his face but the red and blue Spider-Man suit was equally as torturous. Every store seemed to be selling Spider-Man: Homecoming and you couldn’t even do your weekly groceries without coming across the DVD or any type of merchandise at least five times.

***

You kind of locked yourself away in your flat, only leaving it when it was absolutely necessary. After you had declined your sister’s invitation for dinner at her and Daniel’s place for the third time she knew that something was off. She knew that you were hiding away and she was worried. So one Thursday evening she showed up at your door unannounced. 

“Kate, what are you doing here?” You questioned her as she squeezed past you into your flat. 

“Something is obviously wrong, and I’m here to let you talk about it.” You walked into the living room to snuggle back up into your blanket. Kate followed you and eyed you with a worried look on her face. “Don’t bottle up all your feelings. It’s just going to hurt even more. So are you going to tell me what’s going on?” 

You tried. You really tried to keep your tears at bay but they just spilt out of your eyes.

“Oh, babes. C’mere.” She sat down next to you and pulled you into her embrace rubbing your back comfortingly. She could only assume that your current state had something to do with Tom. She was sure that had it been anything else he would be here. But she didn’t want to bring him up herself in case that would make you shut down again. So she just sat there comforting you. Waiting for you to calm down and tell her what happened. 

When your tears finally subsided, you lifted your head to look at her. 

“Tom and I kinda...Well, we broke up.” You knew you’d have to tell her eventually. You’d known from the start. But when you made the deal with Tom you didn’t expect to be in tears when you did so. You had envisioned telling your family in a calm and collected manner that it just didn’t work out between the two of you. Joke’s on you. 

“What? Why? What happened.” You could see that she was starting to get sullen, the protective sister coming to the surface. “What did he do.”

“More like, what didn’t he do.” You muttered and Kate just raised her eyebrows. 

“You need to help me out here. From what I’ve seen the guy was absolutely crazy about you. So how did he mess up that made you guys break up?”

“He’s not crazy about me and he doesn’t love me, he never did.” You protested. Could she stop making you think that he was actually into you?

“Of course he does. It was so obvious!” She softly said as she moved a strand of your hair behind your ear looking at you, trying to figure out what you were talking about.

“No, it was all an act, he’s an actor, Kate. It’s what he does.“

“You know what I think? I think that’s what you’re telling yourself to have an excuse to hate him.”

“No Kate. You don’t understand!” You were pressing the words out between your teeth, another wave of tears coming. You were so frustrated. You balled your hands into fists trying to fight away the tears. 

“Explain it to me then. Y/N, you’re scaring me.” You had to tell her, there was no way out now.

“It was all fake, okay?” It finally burst out of you. “The whole relationship. Just a huge setup. We were never together. It was all just pretend and I was stupid enough to catch feelings for him.” 

Kate was rendered speechless. Her mouth opened and closed but no words came out. 

“Wow.” She let out after a moment. “I did not expect that.” She wanted to know more but tried to focus on the problem at hand. “And why are you so sure that he didn’t catch feelings for you, too? He may be an actor but there was genuine chemistry between you guys.” You were always amazed at the endless amount of optimism your sister seemed to have. After taking a deep breath you told her what had happened that night you visited him. When you were finished you saw that the gears in Kate’s head were turning, analysing the situation. 

“And you didn’t let him explain himself?” She questioned.

“What for? So he could coax me into some kind of mind game as Joe did?” You rolled your eyes. 

“Y/N, Tom is not Joe. And if he wanted to use you for sex, wouldn’t he have jumped at the opportunity?” Ok, she had a point. “I don’t know what the reasoning behind Tom’s behaviour is but I don’t think he’s the type of person that you make him out to be right now.” 

You shrugged your shoulders. Maybe she was right. But you knew that you wouldn’t reach out to him. There was still a chance that Kate wasn’t right. And the fear that he had already forgotten about you was at the forefront of your mind. 

***

In an attempt to cheer you up, Kate had ordered you to meet her at the coffee shop the next day. You weren’t really feeling like it, but you also didn’t want to argue with your sister. She just wanted the best for you and maybe it would be good for you to see something else for a change. 

You impatiently drummed your fingers on the table. Kate was already ten minutes late, which was very unlike her. If she didn’t show up in the next five minutes you were going back to your flat. You stared at the ground, not interested in anything that happened around you. That’s why you noticed Tessa first, a surge of happiness flowing through your body at seeing the pup. But then you realised that at the other end of her light blue leash was Tom. He was already looking at you when your eyes travelled up his body and found his. You were about to grab your bag and rush the hell out of there but Tessa lay down on your feet as if to say ’Don’t run away!’

“Stay. Please.” Tom told you softly. “Hear me out.” You had never heard Tom’s voice with such determination. As you took a closer look at him you realised how tired he looked. The bags under his eyes were even worse than they had been after he had to take care of you the whole night and his hair was all over the place. That, combined with the sincere look on his face made you give in.

“Okay.” You nod slowly. “But not here.” You shot your sister a quick text to tell her that you were going back home before making your way out of the coffee shop, Tom and Tessa following close behind you. When you reached your building you turned to Tom. 

“I’m not allowed to have any pets inside so you’ll have to sneak her in.” Tom nodded and picked the staffy up, poorly covering her with his jacket. Had the tension between the two of you not been so thick you would’ve laughed. 

Once inside your flat, Tom let Tessa down and removed the leash from her collar. You quickly tried to tidy the place up a bit. You had not been expecting visitors. Realising that it was a hopeless cause you plopped down on the couch, motioning for Tom to do the same. He sat down next to you, nervously playing with his fingers.

“Let me start off by saying I’m sorry.” He finally said, his eyes moving to look at you. “I’m sorry I handled things the way I did. It was never my intention to hurt you. To make you feel like you weren’t enough.” Tessa came trotting towards the two of you and lay down between your feet. Tom looked at her for a moment. “I was so happy when you showed up at my house at 2.30 in the morning. It had been such a hectic day and seeing you just...It made everything better.” He smiled wistfully. 

“But why did you want me to leave?” You asked and Tom quickly looked at you.

“I didn’t. I never said I wanted you to leave. You just up and ran away.” He pinched his eyebrows and you tried to recall the moment. You had been so full of emotions you weren’t sure what he had actually said and what you had interpreted into his words. 

“And why didn’t you want to...you know.” you shrugged your shoulders and looked at Tessa, too embarrassed to look at him when you remembered the sounds he had drawn from your lips with his touch, just for him to push you away the next moment. 

“Hey,” Tom said softly. “Look at me.” He took your hand in his and you tried to ignore the feeling of his skin on yours as you raised your eyes to his. “You were drunk, Y/N. I didn’t know if you were like this because you have the same feelings for me that I have for you, or if it was because you were drunk. What if you had woken up the next morning, either not remembering what happened or regretting it completely?” 

“What do you mean when you say you have feelings for me?” You mumbled. If you were honest you hadn’t really heard a lot of what he said after that. He looked at you with that wistful smile again and moved a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I always wanted what my parents have. Find true love. But with my job... it’s not always easy. You never know if someone genuinely likes you for you or because you’re an actor, or famous or got a lot of money. But you, you always see me as just Tom. And every time something funny happens you’re the first person I want to tell. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night. Sounds corny but it’s true.” He paused for a moment and then he’s looking at you with the softest expression. “Y/N, I-I’m in love with you.” 

You swear your heart stopped beating for a moment. You knew your eyes were probably watery again, but you paid them no mind. 

“You really mean that?” You question him and Tom wants to punch Joe in the face for making you so sceptical.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” The corner of his lips turns up into a lopsided smile. “I’m yours if you’ll have me.” The tears that had been building up finally escaped your eyes and you straddled his lap to wrap your arms around Tom, burying your face in his neck. You never thought you’d ever hear him say this. His arms moved around your waist and gently pulled you as close as possible. A few moments later you leaned back a bit so you could look at him. You wiped your tears away with the sleeves of your sweater before resting your hands on the sides of Tom’s face, just taking him in. You hadn’t seen him in so long and you hadn’t allowed yourself to really look at him so far. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Tom questioned after a few moments of you just looking at him, trying to memorise every detail of his face.

“You.” You smile a little. “I didn’t know what I’d get myself into sitting down at a stranger’s table in my favourite coffee shop.” Your thumbs gently caressed Tom’s cheekbones and he closed his eyes for a moment enjoying being this close to you. “I’ve never met someone as amazing as you. You’re just... Honestly, you’re more than I know. I’ve always felt like I’ve been second choice. I mean, for the longest time I was wasting my time on somebody who didn’t really care about me. Even though we weren’t actually together, you showed me what it could be like. What it should be like. And I guess at some point the lines got blurred. And I fell in love with you.” Tom’s eyes snapped open at that. You were looking at him with a gentle smile and even though he had confessed his love earlier you were nervous about his reaction. But you didn’t need to be. Tom moved one hand to the back of your neck and pulled you closer, your forehead now touching his.

“I love you.” He whispered and you felt that fluttery feeling in your chest, that you experienced a lot when Tom was around. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you saying that.” Your nose lightly brushed against his.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Tom said and you both broke out into a grin, you closed the distance between you, finally pressing a kiss to his lips. Tom was quick to reciprocate, his open lips finding yours, finally tasting you again. Your hands slid into his soft hair as you pulled him even closer.     

“I missed this.” Tom mumbled against your lips when you broke apart to catch your breath.

“Yeah?” You placed another kiss to his lips running your hand through his hair. It was now even more dishevelled than it had already been.

“Mhm. Missed you. So much.” 

“I missed you, too.” You buried your face in his neck placing a peck on his skin. “I’m sorry I shut you out.” 

“Don’t be. I understand. You were only protecting yourself.” He ran his hand over your hair before cradling the back of your head. You just sat there for a while, enjoying each other’s company, until your phone rang. You reluctantly moved away from Tom but stayed in his lap as you picked the device up from the coffee table. It was Kate. You swiped your thumb over the screen and held your phone up to your ear. leaning your head back on Tom’s shoulder. Before you could say anything Kate’s voice carried through the speaker.

“And? How did it go?” You scrunched your eyebrows together in confusion before you realised what she meant.

“You set this up?” You questioned and looked up at Tom with a raised eyebrow. He just shrugged with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, I talked to him to see what his side of the story was and decided you guys need to hash things out. So?” You could practically see Kate bouncing in her seat, buzzing with curiosity.

“Yeah, we’re good.” You said and smiled at Tom. He placed a kiss on your forehead and ran his hand over your thigh, resting it on your hip.

“You’re good as in..?” 

“As in I’m gonna hang up now to spend more time with my boyfriend.” You replied and heard Kate squeal on the other end. 

“Okay, bye. Have fun!” She rushed out and the call disconnected. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” Tom smirked and you widened your eyes.

“Yeah, I just assumed ...I’m sorry if-“ he interrupted you with a kiss.

“I’d love to be your boyfriend. For real this time.” He smiled and so did you. 

“Good.” You kissed him again, a little more urging than before. “D’you want to stay the night?” 

“Mhm. Yeah.” Tom nodded, his nose bumping into yours before his lips found yours again.

“Let me show you what you’ve been missing out on.” You mumbled against his lips.

Something that almost sounded like a growl left Tom’s lips as he stood up from the couch. You squealed and wrapped your legs around his hips, his hands supporting your butt. He carried you to the bedroom with quick steps, his lips never leaving yours. 

Epilogue

Taglist

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