#please tag me so i can see too!

[harinawa]

word search tag game

thank you kindly for the tag @moondust-bard! these are passages taken from dead man walking, and my words are abandon, music, moon, triumph and winter.

abandon

But Meridia knew better. She took a step forward, closer towards the ship’s forecastle deck and almost at its figurehead, gauging the shadow’s size. The fog continued to thin out, until they made out the figure of an abandoned island. Its land was covered in dried black sand-like particles, with no sign of any life.

music

From Titus' side, Nyx let out a sigh, ignoring the background music of chaos and merrymaking. "Should've just ate at the ship."

moon

 “I’d love to give you a history lesson about Atlantis, but I don’t think now is the time for that.  That woman’s presence in our city is creating unrest, and a few moons from now Theron will be crowned Interim King. Once that happens, there’ll be nothing stopping him from seizing the Gardens of Amphitrite and claiming the Heart of the Sea, forcing all clans and creatures to bow down to his control, and by extension, that woman’s.”

As I cannot find the words triumph nor winter in the draft, please let me substitute it with victory and cold instead (it's close enough, I think???)

victory

Nyx almost materialized to check on him, but then Erebus just stood straighter, pressing a hand to his wounded stomach. The three-second victory on Satri’s face turned into horror.

cold

Every witch has their own signature magic. Nyx knew Seneca was a sea witch because her magic reeked off her—the scent of the cold sea, like mint washed off with salt water. Witches who trained in special academies, or who were part of guilds and covens, were trained to cover their scent. Nyx guessed Seneca probably learned her magic all on her own.

tagging maybe @cohldhands, @kaatiba, @mary-is-writing, but only if you guys are interested, and maybe anyone else who wants to join! your words are lovely, sunshine, please, soft, and grace.

[shellem15]

Can I just say, I really appreciate how Critical Role plays the Devil trope straight. There's been this phenomena in a lot of modern media (I'm not going to mention specifics but I'm sure a few examples pop up in people's minds) where Hell and the Devil aren't scary or malevolent forces. Hell is portrayed as being basically the same as our world just "edgier", and the Devil is a pretty decent guy actually. Heaven are secretly the real bad guys!

But Critical Role doesn't do that. In Exandria, Asmodeus *feels* like the Devil. He's malevolent and manipulative and terrifyingly powerful and he hates you, personally. We never see that type of portrayal anymore! And it's amazing! And he still manages to be sympathetic and tragic without losing his edge!

And the "Good Gods" are portrayed as flawed without being secretly evil or something! Like, actual nuance? In my Heaven/Hell dichotomy? What!?

It's just such a breath of fresh air after so many "The Devil was right, actually" stories. So props to Matt and Brennan and the cast.

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[heartorbit]

find another role, carry on the show

[pherryt]

10 random lines

I was tagged by @echo-bleu - this is a neat one, thanks for the tag!

Rules: pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.  

I’m also just going to do the last 10 posted fics

Since this is long I’m going to put all the snippets behind a cut. Fandoms mentioned are: Witcher, Supernatural, One Piece, Star Trek, MCU (2 of these fics are crossovers)

1 - Dear Diary, It's Been a Strange Fucking Year... (Witcher)

I have a moment while Jaskier gets ready for his ‘performance of a lifetime’, which means I should have plenty of time to write. When Jaskier primps and preens for something like this, he takes his fucking time.

But he does look good when he’s done, and I'm always the first to see it. That shouldn’t make me feel special, but it does for some reason.

2 - Unfamiliar (Supernatural)

Beside the woman was another redhead, similarly powerful but with a unique flavor to it that made the cat lift her head and sniff the air with even more interest, eyes following the two women as they moved slowly through the store. The two, while both short, redheaded women, were as different as night and day. The one, sleekly elegant in a traditional black dress, and meticulously coiffured, with diamonds adorning her neck, ears and hands, versus the slightly taller woman clothed in bright, contrasting colors and patterns in multiple layers of denim, cotton and flannel that shouldn’t work but did, with headphones around her neck and an old messenger bag adorned with pins and patches slung over her chest.

3 - The Earth of Me (Witcher)

“You’ll need a name,” Jaskier blurted suddenly.

I am The Greater Hound. The hound growled back. What other name do I need?

“I can’t call you that when we reach the others,” Jaskier said with a roll of his eyes. “Ogar.”

??? The hound lifted his muzzle from the water and stared.

“That’s what I’m calling you.” Jaskier could feel the weight of Ogar’s disapproval. “Don’t judge me.”

Ogar returned to drinking, snorting into the water. Whyever would I do that? If you deem I need a name, I would be honored to accept this one.

4 - Monster Heaven (Witcher/Supernatural)

Lambert was going to be pissed when he found out – if Aiden’s suspicions were correct, there would be no hiding this - and Aiden didn’t think pointing out that ‘Hey, at least I’m not dead!’ was going to make things better.

“Alright, Cas, hold him still,” Dean said, as Aiden readied both potions. He wanted to take them as soon as he could. He also wanted to tell Dean and Cas that he was a Witcher and didn’t need anyone to hold him down – or that they couldn’t – but he didn’t have the energy, so maybe they could at that.

Maybe Cas especially, because Cas may look human, but Aiden’s medallion protested that vehemently.

5 - Feeling Things Through (One Piece)

She could be a man one day, a woman the next, or neither and both at once. She could wear dresses on days that she felt a little more feminine, like today, but still fall back to being a man when she wanted. It didn’t have to be one or the other. She could be… both. Either. Whenever she wanted. Whatever felt right for the time.

Sanji didn’t need to envy the ladies for what they were wearing anymore, or for their softness. With her newfound confidence in herself, now *she* could be a lady for a day - or more - and wear what she wanted. And she'd learned how to fight in dresses too, her kicks no less powerful, no less deadly, for wearing a skirt instead of slacks. Maybe *more* powerful, actually; heels could be rather painful when you got kicked with them, as long as they were of sturdy enough construction.

Still, she stared out at the water in trepidation. They were almost at Sabaody, a dark smudge against the horizon proof of that already.

They were almost at the moment of truth with their Nakama.

6 - The Fluttering of All Your Wings (Witcher)

Triss, to her credit, did not hesitate to make her way to Geralt’s side and sink to her knees beside the cushion.

“Oh, the poor thing,” she murmured, nothing but sympathy in her voice or scent. Quickly, she took charge and Geralt followed every direction. Soon, he held the pixie cradled against a shoulder to hold him steady while she inspected the wing. The pixie had calmed, the fear going away, though the pain was still clear in the air. He clung to Geralt’s shirt with tiny hands and a surprisingly strong grip.

“Can you fix it?” Geralt asked, knowing the answer was likely bleak, but Triss had worked miracles before and so he held out hope.

7 - Words Are Hard, But For You I Try (Witcher)

Geralt felt like he already knew those answers. Hadn’t he spent the past two years regretting what he had done? Hadn’t he spent the past two years wishing he could apologize and tell Jaskier all the things he’d never told him? And as much as he had ignored the growing love he held for Jaskier year after year, he had never been blind to it. Ignorant, perhaps, especially in those early days, but after listening to Jaskier wax poetic about love so often, Geralt had made the connection.

He never stood a chance with Jaskier, but he could stand beside Jaskier again, be his friend and keep him safe. Still, how did he apologize? How could he make sure Jaskier knew he didn’t have to hide himself away, just because Geralt was there, regardless of whether he accepted Geralt’s apology?

He’d spent so long looking, so long wishing to fix things, he’d never thought about the how.

8 - The Beckoning Stars and the Secrets They Hold... (Star Trek/MCU)

Leonard stumbled to a stop and stared after him in more resignation than disbelief. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He was going to wipe that self-satisfied smirk right of Jim’s face, so help him god.

After the mission.

****  

After the mission, Leonard griped to himself as the shuttlecraft shuddered around them, was meant to be after a successful mission, goddammit.

9 - Turned Around (Supernatural)

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet,” Dean said with both concern and disapproval. “C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.”

Cas shook his head, though he almost melted into the warmth of Dean’s arm around his shoulders. “Won’t help.”

“Nightmares?” Dean asked softly.

“Yeah,” Cas croaked.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “They’re a right son of a bitch.”

10- Do Not Meddle in the Affairs of Wizards (Witcher)

“It’s a conditional clause for breaking the curse. And who knows what the condition is,” he spat. “Fucking mages.”

At least that meant there was a way to reverse this. He just had to figure out how. Witchers specialized in curse breaking, but it was always easier if you had some sort of clue, some reason behind the curse to begin with, and Geralt doubted there’d been much reason behind the mage’s last desperate action.

Another mage, though, could read the curse like an open book and tell Geralt what he needed to know. The problem with that, though, was finding one he trusted. He could count on one hand the number of mages he trusted, and both were unlikely to be able to help him on short notice. Triss was in the employment of Temeria, last he’d checked, and they were nowhere near there. And Yenn was unpredictable in her movements.

[mercurymacaroons]

arrives 15 min late with a latte

......sup

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[whatudottu]

Welcome one and all to my version of the party's loopified designs, featuring my many broken bones and blood stains I especially put into Odile who I tackled second unlike the alphabetical order that I have presented here! I'll have in-depth discussions on each designs and matching practice portraits under the cut but before that-

Siffrin 'barely taller than a preteen' no middle name no last name Loop is still barely taller than a preteen but now that preteen can claim fire to their height!

Alphabetical order GO!

Bonnie, who I've been calling Bonfire (which if that ends up being their name I can imagine Bonnie calling them 'Fire' while they call Bonnie 'Face' to match), was the last of my designs because frankly I knew from the start what their design was going to take influence from and also knew I was going to draw fire :P They were based on bonfires (of course) and also specifically the Burning Man effigies just for a humanoid figure, plus being a chef cooker and a campfire and also a very heated expressive person.

Their flames are hot but not actual wood burning so the Favour Tree (and Mirabelle in the height chart) are not at risk of combusting, they're just incredibly bright-

Isabeau my first design, with influences from @basilpaste 's Lock (with a dressform body) and @nullapophenia 's original version of Husk (the faceless identityless sketch), I have combined them both to make a mannequin it/its loopified design that finally gets to be capital T Tall all for the low low price of being Changed against its will and suffering another bout of body dysphoria that it can't fix anymore :) :) :) When I was referencing mannequins I actually noticed how long their legs actually were let alone how they were perma-stuck in that Barbie-like highheel pose and thought why don't I just curse Isa with something he previously wanted :P

Something something Isabeau actively Changed not only his body but his personality to become someone he wouldn't be ashamed of, yada yada Loopsabeau is back to hating itself and has started to become a person it despises to match (also like a mannequin it's head and arms are technically painlessly removeable :P)

Third in order and third in design is Mirabelle, who technically is the only loopified design with technically hair and clothes, but the hair are the tangled roots of the Favour Tree and the clothes are like the carved hardstone statues of religious figures :P Initially my Idea for Mirabelle was to make her kinda like her statue, with the wonky expression of someone who made it without much mastery over details, not to pit anything against Mira, no, no. Thought about maybe abstract statue design but I couldn't find a version I liked but I did always imagine her statue being weathered in some way, there was a reason why I saved her for third I couldn't pick what I wanted. But then I remembered the broken Change God statues, thought about the 'blessing' that ended up being a curse, and then thought about overgrown weathering and gave her the roots.

I actually looked up Black hairstyles and mostly wondered what specific hair texture Mirabelle had (she wears it in a fro of course, but she has flyaways that aren't coils, but she described her own hair as kinky and :P) so that if I were to mimic hair with tree roots I can get an appropriate matching hairstyle (settled on megatwists). Hah, if Mira has 4C hair, considering how long her hair actually looks, if she to wear her hair in twists she might actually have elbow length hair :P

I spent 8 non-consecutive hours on Odile can you tell? Can you see my hands bleeding my wrist breaking my eyes drooping? Yeah so Odile was again, my second design and it took me a week to recover, and she's a combination of gem and mirror suit with all the little fragments floating around her the 'diamonds' that represent all her family members party plus the ones she originally had in sets of 2. I also put geodes where parts of her body have broken off (inspired by how when the King strikes she can't move, plus also being a glass canon) where when I was actually drawing those geodes that they kinda use the Change symbol?

Circle within a circle within a circle, regardless of how wiggly it is, and at the centre is a cluster of crystals. That was an accidental reference to Odile's mixed heritage but hoo boy what a connection! Her missing pieces are a combination of 'being too old for this' fragility and also 'i didn't want to render more mirrors sue me'

Anyway I am going to put my wrist in a cast and imagine loopified party members with their pre-wish counterparts :P

[caeslxys]

Something I think is extremely interesting thematically when it comes to connecting what Downfall and the ideas it tackled to the overarching narrative of campaign three is that the things Downfall made a point to showcase of Aeor—Cassida, Hallis, the visual of an aeormaton proposing to her partner, the specific and intentional decision to shed light on a far from insignificant amount of the population being civilians or refugees—is that it plays in perfect parallel across from what is happening (and, really, has been happening) to the ruidusborn on Exandria in present.

Bear with me for a moment. Aeor is ultimately a city that was collectively punished for the decisions of its leadership. We could (and, judging by the amount of discourse around this particular topic already, probably will) argue about what the Gods’ motivation for all of this was—whether it be that they could not, in the end, bear to kill their siblings or that they were terrified at the prospect of mortality—for me it is a very healthy dose of both—but for this I am much more interested in the latter. They were scared. That, really, is the driving force behind both this arc and their role in c3 as a whole.

Why I point this out is: It is far more interesting to me, especially as we go back to Bells Hells this week, to dissect the Gods and their decisions not purely on sympathetic motivation alone but as beings in the highest seat of power in the highest social class in Exandria.

So, having established that the Gods (in relation to mortals) are more a higher social class than anything we could compare to our real life understanding of divinity and that Aeor was eviscerated largely because of their fear—what is the difference between those innocents in Aeor caught in the trappings of their autocratic government leadership and a divine war on the ground, and those of the ruidusborn being manipulated both by Ludinus and by the very thing that inspired such visceral fear in the Gods to start with. I would argue very little.

I think of Cassida, doing what she genuinely thought was right and good and would save people, her son, and the object of her worship—and how that did not matter enough to any of them to spare her because of the fear they held at the very concept of mortality. I think of Liliana and Imogen, one of which we know begged for the gods to help her or send her a sign for years on years, and how every single one of their largest struggles could have been avoided had the gods loved them, their supposed children, as much as they feared what they could be. I think of how the thing that did save Imogen, in the end, was a woman who herself existed in direct defiance of the gods will. I think of that young boy, sixteen years old, that Laudna exalted on Ruidus.

I think it’s completely fair to judge Aeor’s overall society as deeply corrupt—it was!—but its leadership and police force are not a reflection of every one of its citizens. Similarly, it is fair to judge the Ruby Vanguard as corrupt—it is!—but its multiple heads of leadership and even the god-eater further are not a reflection of every one of its members.

Notably, and what I think the Hells will latch onto, this did not matter to the Gods. It did not matter that Cassida was trying to help. She was still too much of a risk. Will it matter, what Imogen does? Will it matter, if that young boy is in the blast radius when they decide to take no further chances?

I’ve seen a lot of people say that the Hells will side with the gods and I don’t think I agree. Especially as Imogen has been scolded and villainized over and over for daring to try and save her mother—who herself has been seen by some as an irredeemable evil in spite of her drive being the exact same—her family—but when it’s the Gods it’s justified? When it’s the Gods, it’s sympathetic? Too sympathetic to criticize further than “they’re family”?

I obviously do not think the Gods should die or be eaten or what have you, and I certainly don’t agree with Ludinus (though I find him much more compelling than just a variation of hubris wizard), but when talking about the Gods in Aeor and in present it isn’t really at all about their motivation or their family. It can’t be. Too many people, including our active protagonists, lives have been effected for it to be as cut and dry as “they’re family”. These are your children. They are your family, too.

[nonbinarylesbianherb]

don’t think you understand just how feral I get whenever i see butch wolverine fanart like im gnawing at the bars of my cage right now

[redhoodie1723]

lando norris number one enemy now

[stealingyourbones]

Gotta love when folks write Superman incredibly anti-clone even though he had good reason in the beginning to Not Like Superboy (HES A WINDOW INTO WHAT CLARK WOULD HAVE BEEN WITHOUT THE KENTS) and decide that forever on he’ll be spiteful towards clones even though he literally Does Not Care if you’re a clone unless you’re Superboy.

[robynrocksforbrains]

Mike Wheeler is important and there's nothing wrong with analyzing him

Since y'all wanna be insufferable bitches about it I'm gonna explain to you why he's important, why Will loves him, why his struggles should be acknowledged, and why his character depth is pivotal to byler endgame being a satisfying conclusion for both Mike AND Will. Deal with it!

We are not seeing smoke where there isn't a flame. We are seeing smoke where there is a literal fucking forest fire.

Starting off with something a lot of people aren't ready for but I've seen more people talking about: Mike is the main character of s1 at the very least. He is the character that brings us into the world of stranger things. He is the character that the writers chose for this. Mike is the main character of s1 and it was an instant hit. The writers love Mike. Contrary to popular belief, giving a character an arc where they are struggling and their behavior changes from what is normal for the character we know and love does NOT mean the writers hate that character. It means they deliberately chose to give that character complexity and depth. Your inability to like characters that do anything wrong ever is not the fault of the writers. Your decision to act as if a character is not important is not reflective of the actual narrative because it in fact is in direct opposition to the narrative. So just to be clear, if you genuinely believe that Mike isn't important, or that the writers hate him, or don't care about him, or that his story "takes away" from any other character's - ESPECIALLY WILL'S - you are simply wrong.

In s1 and s2 Mike is established as an extremely caring person. He's loving, loyal, brave, intelligent, and trying his best. He is also established to be hot headed, someone who speaks without thinking quite often, someone who is capable of hurting his friends despite that being the last thing he wants to do. He is all of these things and more. He is a human. He is a kid. So in s3, when suddenly he is entirely different, it is completely logical to assume that there is a reason for that. He did not just wake up one day and decide he wanted to be an asshole, push Will away, make his friends feel abandoned, and echo the same sentiments their bullies held. Something is happening with him. He has so much going on in his head and it is painfully obvious. He's holding something in, he's hiding from everyone and from himself. We see glimpses of what he's trying to hide after Will calls him out on his behavior. Will gets through to him. Mike is usually unresponsive to tough love, except for when it's coming from Will. After their fight, it is obvious that he's trying to be better. But he still doesn't wanna face certain things, and he doesn't know how to navigate that. Because he's 13 years old.

There is a reason for all of that internal conflict. There is a reason it comes pouring out of him at certain times. He's crumbling. He is quite literally falling apart because he's holding on to too much. It's not a stretch to assume that, it just takes basic media literacy. Why would the writers have Mike act this way if he was just supposed to be a one dimensional character? Why would Finn be directed to portray Mike the way he does if there was nothing more going on? There are times where Mike looks like he's in physical pain because of his internal conflict. There is a reason for that. And acknowledging that DOES NOT mean people are taking away from Will. That's the most idiotic thing I have ever heard. Do y'all seriously not understand that more than one character can have emotionally complex storylines? Genuinely asking, is this a new concept for you?

Will's love for Mike

Will is head over heels in love with Mike. That is very much established. So when you're dismissing the emotional depth of Mike's individual arc because you think acknowledging it "takes away from Will" you are actually diminishing the significance of a huge aspect of Will's emotional arc. By taking away the significance of Mike, you take away from the significance of Will.

Let's do a quick recap of the very significant role Mike has played in Will's entire life:

Mike is Will's first friend.

They have grown up together and it can be assumed that they've reached important milestones together.

Mike has always been a safe person for Will. He's been a constant in Will's very chaotic and unfair life. Until the summer of '85, Mike had always been something good in Will's life. (That's not to say he is no longer something good, but it can be assumed that the summer of '85 is the first time Mike has been a causal factor in Will's unhappiness)

When Will went missing, Mike did not hesitate to search for him. It wasn't even a question of if. The moment he knew Will was missing he knew exactly what he'd be doing that night. He spearheaded the search amongst the party. He was the leader.

When Will came back, Mike was the only person that didn't treat him like he was gonna break. He cared for him, and he was there for him, but he didn't treat him differently; Will tells us as much. Which means we can infer that the way Mike was with Will in s2 - how gentle and loving he was - was nothing new. He had just always been like that.

When Will was possessed, Mike stayed by his side. Even when it was scary, even when it could've gotten him killed, he stayed. Because once again, for him, it wasn't even a question. That's just where he knew he needed to be. He was in the shed when they were trying to get through to Will. He was set apart from Lucas and Dustin, but he also wasn't equated to family. And his retelling of the story of the day they first met was the final push Will needed to find a way to communicate.

After a year of things being "weird" between them, Mike tells Will that he didn't deserve to be treated the way he had been. Mike tells him that he wants them to be okay again, and for the rest of the season he puts in the work.

Things get rough in s3, and at the beginning of s4, and despite all of that, Will confesses his love (albeit veiled). In a moment where Mike is feeling awful about himself, he tells him that he loves him and needs him, and he tells him why. And to him it doesn't matter that he's breaking his own heart to do it, because it's Mike. Mike, who makes him feel like he's not a mistake at all, and that he's better for being different. For Will, there was no other option. The person he loves was hurting and he knew how to help, and so he did.

Mike is the first person Will tells about Vecna still being alive. Because they're back to being a team. He knows he can trust Mike, and Mike seems to be very determined to prove him right.

SO.

These are all real and canon aspects of Mike's presence in Will's life. Will falling in love with Mike isn't something that just happened for no reason. Will fell in love with Mike because of who Mike is. When you acknowledge that, and when you acknowledge the reasons they've set out for why Will loves him - the reasons Will literally told us - you can better understand Will. But when you dismiss all of these things about Mike, you are dismissing a large portion of Will's emotional and romantic arc. You aren't being a Will Warrior. You are erasing so much of him and his feelings and his lived experience. That is not the hill you wanna die on.

Will loves a person. Not a feeling. Yes, he says that Mike makes him feel like he's not a mistake and that he's better for being different. But that's not why he loves him. He feels that way because he loves him.

Mike is a fully fleshed out character with his own feelings and struggles and fears and traumas and motivations. He's not a plot device. He's not just an accessory to Will's arc. He's not a character that was written only to be Will's love interest. He's Will's love interest because he's Mike.

If Mike didn't matter, and if Mike didn't play a significant role in byler, then they would be able to write in a love interest for Will in s5 and have it be somewhat satisfying. But they can't do that. Will's love for Mike has so much depth because Mike has so much depth. It is genuinely crazy that this has to be stated and that I have to back up this claim because it is simply a canon fact.

So yes, the rain fight affects Mike's character development and his involvement in it is important. Yes, the van scene literally could not exist without Mike and therefore his involvement in it is incredibly important. Yes, every single byler moment has an impact on Mike, and Mike has an impact on it because they are BYLER moments. Yes, Mike will have a lot of significant moments - with Will AND on his own - in s5 because his arc deserves and needs as much attention as Will's in order to execute byler endgame in a satisfying way.

No, none of these facts negate Will's importance or take away from his story. If anything, they add to it because Mike and Will's arcs are corresponding and intertwined.

Mike's struggles

To name a few

Dysfunctional family

Has been bullied his entire life

Extreme self worth issues

Inferiority complex

Hero complex

Lack of self preservation

Suicidal ideation (has been on display since SEASON ONE)

Internalized homophobia

To get this out of the way: Mike's internalized homophobia is allowed to be discussed. Discussion of it is not the dismissal of Will's internalized homophobia. Surprise surprise, two queer kids in the 80s have internalized homophobia! Who'd'a thunk it?! Their internalized homophobia presents in different ways but it is there for both of them. I personally relate to the way Mike's is portrayed way more than I relate to Will's. So why is it that we can't discuss it without being accused of erasing Will's experience? Or without people saying that we're "copy and pasting" Will's story? Because quite frankly, that feels dismissive of my - and likely many others' - real and lived experience. So please for the love of all things that are good just stop with this talking point because it will never hold up.

Moving on

I'm not gonna do a full breakdown of all of Mike's issues. Because contrary to popular belief, there are a lot. And that would be exhausting and I'd get carried away and it's not the point of this post. The point of this post is to defend the acknowledgement and mere existence of them.

If you're a byler that for some reason thinks Mike only exists to be Will's love interest and his trophy as compensation for his trauma, let me ask you this: Have you considered how awful it would be to have a queer character's individuality and emotional depth completely ignored for the sake of focusing on the queer character that "really matters"?

If Mike's own issues, with his queer identity and otherwise, aren't thoroughly explored... What's the point of all this? If Mike really is insignificant in this storyline and his individuality has no effect on it.. where's the emotional payoff? If his perspective doesn't matter... Why have the writers gone to such great lengths to ensure we don't have that piece of the puzzle yet?

Analyzing Mike and understanding Mike is very important to understanding byler. Once again, I think it's crazy that this needs to be said.

I also think it's important to note that characters can have similar struggles. There's no rule against that. Just like real life. Characters having similar struggles is not a bad thing, and acknowledging that their struggles are similar is not dismissive of either character. We're talking about STRANGER THINGS. Jonathan and Nancy's thing is "we've got shared trauma". They have literal matching scars. Shared experiences are some of the main building blocks for this show's romances. Byler has a TON of shared experience, basically their entire lives. We already know that. So wouldn't it be so beautiful for them to learn that they've been struggling with the same thing this whole time? That the entire time they felt alone in what they were going through when really they had each other and they never even knew it? Wouldn't it be so beautiful for Mike's acceptance of Will and Will's love for him was also a step toward accepting himself? Wouldn't it be beautiful for Will to learn that his love makes Mike feel like he's not a mistake? None of that would be in the realm of possibility if Mike didn't have emotional depth and if his individuality wasn't important.

And that leads me to my concluding point...

A satisfying execution of byler endgame hinges on Mike's individual emotional arc being handled well

God I hope this isn't controversial to say. I sincerely hope most people haven't forgotten that.

Here's a hypothetical:

Imagine season five has been released. You're watching it, and you notice that Mike has been relegated to just a supporting character for Will. We don't get any of his perspective. We don't get any explanation for his s3 and early s4 behavior. His breakup with El doesn't have any real tangible effect on him, it's really just used for El's character development. We never see him pining for Will like we saw Will pining for him. And then suddenly Mike is learning about the painting and then suddenly he's confessing his love and then suddenly byler is canon and official.

Now wouldn't that just be awful? Wouldn't that be unfair to the audience, to Mike, and to Will? For us to never learn just how much Mike had to go through to even be able to say it out loud? For Mike to never get the chance to prove to himself through word and action that he is the heart? For Will to never get an explanation for why things did get so "weird" between them? It would leave us with one big, nagging question: What was the point of everything Mike has said and done throughout the entire show if his conclusion is that lackluster?

Disregarding Mike for a moment (I know that's incredibly ironic given what the entire point of this is but just bear with me) - how would that be a satisfying conclusion for Will? I mean, Will's s4 arc was basically dedicated to showcasing his struggle with his sexuality and with his love for Mike. We were shown just how deep that love is. We were shown how patient, unselfish, unwavering, and beautiful that love is. So how would it be satisfying for Mike's love for him to not be shown with just as much depth? How would it be satisfying for Mike to just be a one dimensional character whose s5 arc is essentially "break up with girlfriend, wait to find out best friend is in love with him, say he loves him back, then they live happily ever after"? I think Will deserves for his love to be returned with the same intensity at which he gives it. And I think it should be clear to the audience and to Will himself.

Back to Mike!

Mike has been through so much shit. I don't think anyone that is denying that actually believes he hasn't been through shit. Because you'd actually have to watch the show on mute and with your eyes closed to think this kid hasn't had just the worst time. It's so ignorant to act as if this stuff hasn't affected him. There's stuff we've seen but there's stuff we also haven't seen. There are issues he has that date back to his childhood pre-canon. Just like Will, Mike has been a queer kid growing up in 80s smalltown conservative america. Acknowledging the pain he 100% carries because of that is so important. His perspective has been withheld from us, not because it's unimportant, but because it's the final puzzle piece. If we had Mike's perspective in s4, byler wouldn't be a "will they won't they" (even though we all know they will). If we got his perspective in s4, byler would be a "100% certain without a doubt they will". But the thing about his perspective is that it's so much more than just loving Will. It's fear. It's pain. It's insecurity. It's doubt. It's the belief that his happiness just doesn't matter all that much. All of that has to be explored. All of that has to be laid out in the open for us in order for byler endgame to feel earned. Mike's emotional payoff will lead to byler's emotional payoff.

Mike has known he loves Will. In s5 we will see him make a deliberate and active effort to overcome the things keeping him from doing something about it. And then he will do something about it.

And so when it finally happens. When both Mike and Will finally know that their feelings are requited, and when their arcs end with us knowing that they will face whatever life has in store for them together, that will feel earned. That will feel like the logical conclusion for both of them. Not just for Mike. Not just for Will. For both.

And Mike is just as important to that conclusion as Will is.

And one last thing...

Some people are going to talk about Mike more. Some people are going to talk about Will more. Because newsflash, people have preferences. Some people just relate to Mike more, or they find his emotional arc extremely compelling, or they just like him. It isn't an attack on Will or any other character. No one is saying Mike is more important than any other character (I'm sure there are people that say that but they are a vocal minority and they are simply wrong). We are just saying that he is important. If you wanna engage in media analysis, please understand that "main character" or "central character" does not mean "only important character" and "only character that should be analyzed". If you wanna talk about Will and only Will, that's fine. But you don't get to act like people that talk about other characters are doing a disservice to your fave, because that's not how any of this works.

[bachirasbodyguard]

:x

[normal-person-i-promise]

slurred teases and sweet kisses

arataka reigen/female reader

tw for drinking, bars, intoxication

You roll your eyes as he takes another sip of his drink, his mouth set in smug grin as he swirls the liquid in his glass and watches as the ice clinks against the walls of his cup. With each sip he takes, his face gets more flushed, his words get more slurred.

Arataka has an embarrassingly low tolerance to alcohol, and you're witnessing it firsthand. He's feeling it too; that urge to kiss you is a lot stronger than usual...

★ ★ ★

...Should he invite you? You're just his employee after all, and the both of you would be alone in the bar...

Arataka glances at you for a moment, looking up from the newspaper he was reading at his desk. He's not actually reading it, of course — he can barely concentrate on breathing when you're in the room with him. You're just so... Distracting, he can't help it.

The slow rise and fall of your chest, the motion of your hand as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, the way your eyes would flit between him and the window — Arataka could watch you for hours and not grow bored.

If Arataka invites you to just... Go to that bar he used to be a usual at, then the two of you would be alone. Like a date, which it— it isn't, of course— that would be crazy! There's no way you'd want to date Arataka, of all people, it just doesn't make sense for you to like him!

You think of him as an employer, a friend, maybe a close one, but just that! Nothing more, nothing less!

Arataka exhales sharply through his nose, flipping the page to look like he's reading the paper. He can feel the grain of the grey newspaper between his fingertips as he rubs his finger absentmindedly on the edge, pick up that faint scent of printed paper in the air.

You risk a glance at him, and your eyes shimmer with the evening sun's light as you study his features: his disinterested gaze, his relaxed posture, his incurious expression. He's... Mesmering to look at in this state, this boredom, especially since he's so expressive usually.

He also looks rather attractive, but that doesn't really matter.

You can see him stiffen, trying to ignore how hot he feels with your eyes roaming all over his body, but... Not that he doesn't enjoy it, of course — Arataka adores when you study him, just like how he studies you. You've noticed a lot of things about him by now; the way he'd adjust his grip on the newspaper, the way his eyes skim over the text, the way he leans back in his chair, his posture relaxed; bored.

You quickly avert your gaze, and Arataka feels a pang of sadness at the loss of your attention.

You, yourself, are not doing much. You're just... Sitting quietly at the little couch in the corner of the room, waiting patiently for the customers to come in. You're staring out the window, watching as the pedestrians on the streets walk along back to their homes or to the restaurants and bars, watching the way the trees sway in the light breeze, some of their vibrant green leaves falling off the sharp brown branches.

It's your job, after all — the job Arataka is paying you for — to be whatever customer service is needed when he's too busy exorcising the client's spirits or helping talk through their worries.

You take a slow, deep breath, inhaling that familiar scent of salt and incense, of sweat and cologne.

Arataka doesn't need you, not really. He just wants an excuse to see your face day after day after day, hear your darling little voice call his name when you need help.

He likes it most during that little frame of time when Mob has left to go back home, but you're still in the office — alone — with him, simply coexisting in eachother's presence. This is the time that he'd talk to you, joke with you, spend time with you — but just because he enjoys talking to you for every second of the day you're with him doesn't mean that he isn't content in settling into a comfortable silence with you. He likes... Coexisting with you, whether you're on your phone or looking out the window, whether he's reading the newspaper or watching the little TV in the corner of the room.

It's... Nice, in a way, to have someone care about you just as much as you care about him.

"The sky's pretty nice, isn't it?" You say to Arataka, tapping on the glass with your finger and bringing his attention to it.

It is rather pretty; golds and oranges are strewn across the sky like an artist's first experimental brush strokes on their canvas, the colours shifting with every minute that passes as the sun goes lower and lower on the horizon. The clouds are rimmed gold — a delicate, thin outline to show its form, shimmering and soft as the light bounces off it.

It's not sunset yet, no, but — oh, how that golden light spills into the room, how it makes Arataka's eyes sparkle—

"Yeah, it is pretty."

His words are simple, but it's evident that he's fighting himself to keep his tone disinterested. He doesn't want to show interest in you: he'd look like a fool. He doesn't want to look like a fool in front of the girl he likes.

You clear your throat (you always do that when you need to distract yourself from your thoughts, Arataka's noted), and you settle back in your seat. He grins, an opportunity to tease you coming to his mind, the words already beginning to brew.

"You what looks nicer, though?" He asks, his tone playful as he looks you up and down, feeling pleasant shivers run down your spine. It feels so... Good, to be the object of his attention, to be the subject of his praise.

"What?" You ask, crossing your legs as you lean back in your chair. You're grinning pridefully, knowing that he'll most definitely say you're prettier.

Arataka's thin smile widens noticeably, his eyes narrowing in delight.

"Me, of course."

You roll your eyes, though it's clear you mean nothing malicious by it. "Oh, please, Arataka," you say, your tone teasing, "you're full of yourself. You're a lot uglier than the sky."

A lie. To set off any suspicions that you like him.

He just grins wider, settling into his seat like a proud king.

Even though it's nothing more than light, playful banter, every second Arataka spends with you feels like a moment in heaven — your voice the angel's songs, your hair their shining halos. You never refuse any of his silly little jokes, always laugh at those half-wit puns he makes, and it... It sends waves of butterflies to his stomach, knowing that you enjoy being around him, knowing that you like being his friend.

And vice versa — every second you spend with Arataka is such fun, such enjoyment, that you lose track of time and go back home hours later than intended. He's just so... Fun to talk to, what with his witty replies and clever jokes, his carefully placed puns and playfully sharp remarks. He's such a joker, always able to make you laugh, and he likes it. He likes hearing your laugh. He likes it a lot.

The newspaper crinkles loudly as Arataka folds it, placing it on the desk. Struggling to keep his expression neutral and his voice level, he asks you a simple question.

"Wanna go out for drinks later?" Grinning, now, "I'll pay."

Please say yes. Please, please say yes.

You hum in thought as if you don't know your answer already. Your voice is light; playful, and Arataka can hear the grin plastered on your face when you reply.

"I don't know... I don't drink."

You don't, that bit is true: you've tried, and failed, to enjoy alcohol and intoxication. It's just so... Sour, and overwhelming, and it feels so horrible the next day.

Arataka lets out an exasperated groan, but the both of you know it's fake.

"Come on— please?"

He leans on the desk, his whole upper body resting on the wood, trying to get as close to you as he can to you without getting up. His eyes almost seem to sparkle as he smiles wide, trying as hard as he can to convince you, knowing you can't say no to that god forsaken smile. "Pretty please? It's my birthday!"

He's almost pleading as he tilts his head innocently, his cheeks resting comfortably in his hands, his elbows planted on the desk. "You don't wanna upset the birthday boy, do you?"

You sigh, though you aren't annoyed. You can't say no, the both of you know that — especially since it's his birthday. And, unbeknownst to you, it's the first birthday Arataka will be spending with a friend in a long, long time. He's ecstatic, Especially since it's you.

Even if it's just one friend, and even if that friend is a girl he really likes is his employee, it's still counted, right?

You... Are a friend, right?

Because the way your pretty little lips would curl into a grin whenever you'd tease him, the way your words would cause him to erupt into fits of laughter, the way you always enjoyed the little games of banter the two of you often shared certainly made it seem so.

You roll your eyes at his display.

"Fine, fine, okay. I'll go celebrate your birthday with you or whatever."

Arataka has to hide his excitement, struggling to keep himself from smiling ear to ear, struggling to ignore how his heart flutters, struggling to ignore that familiar feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

He always feels this way when he's with you though, so he's gotten pretty good at ignoring it.

"When do you say we should go?"

Arataka tilts his head more heavily to the side as he asks you that question, his eyes roaming around the room as he thinks. You watch as he shifts in his chair, trying in vain to get comfortable in the god awful position he's sitting in.

His grin widens. "Now?"

Flitting your eyes to the clock and reading the time quickly, you answer him, your voice level; though there's a slight undertone — barely even there — of a playful, almost accusational chide. You're just buying time to annoy him, giving him pointless excuses.

"It's still ten minutes to closing."

Arataka sighs in dramatised exasperation, putting such an emphasis on the rolling of his eyes that it makes you scoff in playful annoyance. It makes his heart flutter, knowing that you're entertained by him. God, how he loves that voice of yours... How he loves you...

Spinning his hand so fast that it's a blur, he stops abruptly, pointing to himself as he grins proudly. "I'm the boss, here. I can close this place any time I want."

He gets his elbows off the desk, kicking his feet onto the wood as you hum in response to his words. Nodding as you speak, you agree with him. "Good point, good point."

Arataka and you clean up the office a little, sweeping the corners here and dusting the chair over there. The two of you are in a comfortable silence, content enough with the fact that you're in each other's presence.

As you clean, Arataka can't help but notice — he always notices — all those little things you do: the way you place one foot in front of the other to the beat of the song stuck in your head; the way you hum softly to yourself, quiet enough to think he can't hear; the way your eyes would catch glimpses of his every so often.

More often than not, he'd get lost in all your little habits. It's just... The minor ways you'd entertain yourself as you clean, the manner in which you would tuck your hair behind your ear, the way you'd roll your sleeves up before doing anything, is so... Cute, you're so cute...

It's not long before the place is as good as new, and Arataka is switching the lights off and taking the keys to the door.

"After you, m'lady," he says in an unnecessarily posh voice, bowing slightly as he opens the door for you. You nod, thanking him as you step out, bathed the hot summer night air — it's humid, the air thick with moisture as you breathe in the scent of moist pavement and soaked leaves from the rain that had happened a few hours earlier.

The more you walk, the more you can hear the bustling of the shopkeepers in their kitchens and behind their counters, pick up the buzz of the neon signs just beginning to flicker on, listen to the indistinct chatter of the night life starting to settle into the bars and night clubs. Though it's faint, it's most definitely there, and it's getting louder and louder with each minute that passes.

The walk to the bar isn't quiet; it's never quiet when the two of you walk together. The air is always filled with friendly conversation, laughter and giggles peppered in here and there, occasional glimpses at his soft, pink lips...

Arataka is taking in every little thing about you, from the way your smile would form to the tapping of your shoes on the pavement. You're... Perfect, you.

He tries his best to match your pace, making sure that his footfalls are in tandem with yours, making sure that you both are walking as one.

If someone was looking on at the two of you, they'd think you were a couple.

A few minutes later, Arataka is pushing open the door of the Happy Trails bar, gesturing for you to enter. The floor is sticky, the air thick with the sharp smell of alcohol and sweaty office workers. The lights are dim; warm, inviting, as you take a seat after Arataka pulls one out for you.

"So what'll you have?" He asks, flashing you the most charming grin he can muster. He settles into his seat, getting more comfortable: unbuttoning his suit jacket, loosening that pink tie on his neck, undoing the top buttons of his immaculate white dress shirt. God, he's so hot—

It's hard to keep from staring, but you manage.

You shrug. "Just soda."

Arataka nods, not questioning it as he calls the bartender over and ordering for both you and him: an iced cola for you, and a lemon sour — extra sour — for him. He always orders that, and, based on the few times you've gone out drinking with him, you don't think he drinks anything else.

He settles into his seat, and you struggle to get your voice to pierce through the indistinct conversations of the other patrons.

"So, Arataka," you nearly shout, your tone playful, "how do you feel now that you're 28?"

He hums in thought, bringing a fist to his chin as he thinks about his answer.

He shrugs.

"So-so, but—" he pauses for dramatic effect, the shadow of a grin ghosting on his lips —"I'm feeling a whole lot better since you're here to help me into my old age."

You laugh slightly at his little joke. Arataka's dopey little grin widens with pride, having made you giggle yet again.

Your drinks arrive a little after this, and you can't help but notice the bartender giving you an accusational side eye as he slides the both of you your glasses, seeming to doubt the fact that you and Arataka aren't dating.

"Oh, come now, Arataka—" his heart flutters at the sound of your voice saying his name —"you're not that old." Your grin widens, your tone teasing. "You look a lot older, though."

He lets out an offended half laugh, shoving your shoulder playfully in mock offence. "How mean!" He cries, trying in vain to make his voice sound offended.

It's quiet as you sip your cola slowly, and you're not blind to the way Arataka's eyes follow your tongue as it darts out to get whatever droplets of your drink missed your mouth.

...God, how he wants to taste that sharp, teasing mouth of yours, feel every crevice and crease of your lips as they press into his... How he wants to run his hands through your soft hair as he combs it out of the way of your perfect face, how he wants whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you fall asleep in his arms...

"You should... Really watch that tongue of yours," he warns playfully, his words beginning to slur, fighting to ignore his thoughts. He's barely even had a sip of his drink, and he already looks like he's about to pass out.

He wags a wobbly finger in your face like a mother reprimanding her child. "I might get tired of you and fire you."

You roll your eyes, scoffing.

"Oh, Arataka," you tease, leaning in close — close enough to smell the scent of his expensive cologne, close enough to smell the alcohol on his breath, close enough to feel just how hot he is. He grits his teeth, struggling not to close the distance between the two of you as you speak lowly, quietly: for his ears only.

"We both know you like me too much."

And he— he blushes, oh, and he pushes you away with the tip of his unsteady finger to your forehead. You swallow the slight hurt you feel as Arataka replies, his response clumsy as always — more so now that he's drunk. "And we... Both know you like me too much to let yourself... Get fired."

You roll your eyes as he takes another sip of his drink, his mouth set in smug grin as he swirls the liquid in his glass and watches as the ice clinks against the walls of his cup. With each sip he takes, his face gets more flushed, his words get more slurred.

Arataka has an embarrassingly low tolerance to alcohol, and you're witnessing it firsthand. He's feeling it too; that urge to kiss you is a lot stronger than usual...

And though the motion is wobbly, unbalanced, now it's his turn to lean in close. He almost falls on you.

His grin is wide, and though it's lopsided from the alcohol, it still manages to be annoyingly smug, and... Wonderfully endearing, too, like he's trying to make you happy regardless of how his vision blurs and his head pounds. "I'm... Doing you a favour for not... Firing you, you know."

You scoff mockingly at his words, drinking your soda as you grin. "Please, Arataka"— another rush of butterflies to his stomach —"I know I'm far too important to you to just... Get rid of."

You're grinning smugly now, leaning in closer to his face. Your noses are almost touching, and you can almost taste his lips now — the sweetness of alcohol mixing with the sharp mint of his mouthwash, his saliva thick as Arataka swallows. You're not blind to how his unfocused eyes fall down to your mouth for a moment, licking his lips like he's looking at a freshly cooked meal, ready for devouring.

"Ah, but you need to... To remember," he says, leaning away from you, gripping the table in tight hands to stop himself from falling off his barstool. He squints as he talks, trying hard to form the words. "I could totally just do it right now. Nothing's... Stopping me."

You sigh, smiling, rolling your eyes but staying quiet.

Arataka downs the remainder of his drink in one swift gulp, slamming the cup down onto the wooden bar table with a loud thud.

He doesn't order another one, thankfully, because at the rate he's getting drunk, he's bound to pass out or vomit anytime soon. His cheeks are an almost bright red, his eyes half-lidded and glossed over, unfocused as he stares at you; when he breathes, you can smell the alcohol on his breath.

"Hey, Arataka."

You sip your soda, licking the glass a little to see how he reacts get the drops that missed your mouth. Arataka watches your tongue, almost hungrily so, his gaze unblinking and his breathing shallow.

You want to try and get as many secrets as you can get out of a drunk Arataka, just to have something to either a) tease him about, or b) blackmail him with.

"What do you think about me?" You ask, grinning.

Arataka shifts in his seat, thinking hard about his answer, and doing it for a suspiciously long time. A plan to avoid your question brews, half-finished in his mind.

He gives you a lopsided grin, leaning in with a shaky, unsteady motion, before abruptly jerking away and pressing his hands to his mouth as if he's trying to prevent himself from vomiting. As he hunches over on himself, your face immediately shifts to one of concern, your brows furrowing and your grin disappearing.

"...Arataka? You okay...?" You ask gently, rubbing his back. You've seen him vomit aggressively after taking so much as a sip of alcohol, and you're definitely preparing to wipe bile from the corners of his mouth.

It's quiet for a moment, save for the clinking of glass and the chatter of overlapping conversation.

"I... Eugh." He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing as he feels his head pound — and that plan, that drunk one that sober Arataka would definitely not approve of, starts forming more clearly in his mind.

You grow more worried the more you watch, his movements shaky, his words all blending together. He thinks he's doing a pretty good job at looking like he's going to vomit — and since you're acting so worried about him, then he'd wager that his plan is working.

"Arataka, are you okay?" You ask again, your voice firmer, though still retaining that soft, quiet worry. You rub what you hope are soothing circles on his back, and you can see him visibly relax, letting out a long sigh.

"'M fine," he mumbles, swatting your hand away, his eyes struggling to open.

It's working, it's working! Keep going, Arataka!

Just as you're about to speak again, Arataka opens his mouth, faking a retch, and you panic. He falls — definitely not accidentally — straight into your lap, and it takes a moment to register that no vomit has come from his mouth before you hit him playfully on his forehead. His heart skips a beat when you don't push him off, merely just hitting him.

"Ow!" He exclaims, his grin crooked as he struggles to fake a grimace of pain, rubbing the spot you hit him.

"Even when you're drunk, you still manage to annoy me," you grumble, though the amused smile on your face gives away what you're feeling.

You ruffle his hair a little, tangling your fingers in between the delicate golden strands — and he lets out a sigh at your touch, closing his eyes in contentment. Your heart beats faster as you look at him: his flushed cheeks and content, closed eyes, his relaxed body resting in your lap — god, you have to fight yourself not to plant a kiss on his low, pointed nose.

Arataka pries open his eyes when you stop combing through his hair with your fingers.

"What... Can I say," he says slowly, looking at you with a gaze that can only be described as one of a lover's: sweet, tender, and affectionate. "I love... Seeing your smile."

Your heart flutters.

The two of you stay in this position for a while, a position a lot like a couples'. Neither of you complain — if anything, the both of you enjoy it — and it's not long before Arataka's eyes slowly shut, his breathing slowing as he starts to fall asleep in your lap.

You feel butterflies in your stomach when you gaze upon his calm expression: his eyes closed firmly shut, his kissable lips curved in a slight smile, his face relaxed.

The bar is almost empty now, save for three or four people having a conversation at one of the tables in the corner. You can pick up their mumbling: they're talking about the two of you, how Arataka didn't vomit yet, how he used to be a usual at this bar, how he never brought any girls with him until today, and what a surprise that he managed to pull such a pretty one.

"Happy birthday, Arataka," you say — and, smiling, you push those golden bangs out of the way with a hand and plant a firm, chaste kiss on his forehead. It's a kiss you've wanted to give him for a long time, but also one you're forced to keep short, just in case you're overstepping boundaries.

Arataka's eyes snap open and widen considerably, his face flushing even more than you thought was possible. He's speechless for a moment as he brings a shaky hand up to feel where your lips touched him, his heart beating a million times a minute, his breathing quick and shallow.

He just... Stares at you, starry eyed, for a minute, his mouth slightly agape.

He snaps back to reality.

"Again," he says impatiently, his tone demanding as he brings his hand down to rest, clasped with the other, in his lap. "As... The birthday boy, this is... Is my birthday gift from you. Kiss... Me, again."

You smile, letting out a slight chuckle at his slurred demand.

"You're sure you won't regret it tomorrow...?" You ask slowly, playfully, as you rake your fingers through his soft, blonde hair. You know he most definitely will.

Arataka shakes his head vigorously in your lap, though stops immediately when he starts to feel his head pound, wincing.

You just watch him for a moment, combing gentle fingers through his hair, smiling in amusement at his impatience. He whines when you don't do what he asked for yet, just staring at him, and he repeats his demand.

"Kiss me. Right... Here," he mumbles, tapping a shaky finger to his forehead.

You oblige, pressing a gentle kiss to his skin, pushing his bangs aside. He sighs, closing his eyes. And when you pull away, "Again," he says almost immediately.

You happily oblige, kissing him there once more.

He stops for a moment, breathing shakily, before getting up from your lap abruptly and wrapping his arms around you tightly. In the process of doing this, his unsteady movements cause the both of you to fall onto the bar stools beside you, so that Arataka is lying down comfortably on top of you; your noses almost touching, your lips just inches away from each other. He's so... Drunk, and so, so cute...

The bartender gives you a stern look, and you flash him an apologetic smile.

Arataka's eyes, half-lidded, fall down to your mouth, and he brings an unsteady hand to cradle your chin as he runs a shaky thumb over your bottom lip.

"...Can I...?" Arataka asks in a low, mumbly slur, his eyes unblinking as he stares at your lips.

You heart races as you nod, and it's barely a moment before he's pressing his lips tightly to yours, shifting and moving them until they're slotted comfortably against each other. His eyes flutter shut as he gets comfortable lying on top of you, getting more accustomed to the soft cloth of your clothes as he runs a hand down your side, getting more used to the soft strands of your hair that he's been itching to run his fingers through.

Arataka tastes... Sour, mostly from the drink he had a few moments ago. There's the faint, sharp tang of the alcohol, too; a sweet, distinct flavour, a rich undertone to the myriad of tastes you manage to sample as his lips shift against yours.

His lips are cracked, chapped, and dry, but you couldn't care less as he tangles a hand in your hair, the other holding your head in place as he tilts his own head to press his lips even more into yours. He grunts, seemingly not satisfied, and pushes his lips onto yours until the kiss is almost bruising.

Your face is flushed when you break the kiss. Though it's short, sweet, and chaste, it's clear that Arataka wants more. You both do.

Just as he's leaning in to kiss you again, the bartender taps your shoulder, glaring at you sharply and jabbing a thumb in the direction of the door. You blurt out a mumbled apology, scrambling to get up, Arataka nearly falling. As promised, he slips the bartender about one and a half times more money than owed.

You both wordlessly exit the bar, and as you walk, Arataka stumbles behind you. He's unsteady; his path is a winding zigzag in comparison to yours, struggling to keep to a straight line and nearly falling onto the road multiple times — and as a way to counter this, you wrap your arm securely around his waist. Arataka responds by leaning his weight onto you, and you both continue on without much issue or argument.

It's much later in the night now; the cars on the road are whizzing past the two of you, the shops all closed with their shutters pulled down over the windows.

The air is heavy with humidity, and you can feel Arataka's sweat from where he presses himself against you. Arataka himself smells of that familiar sharp, sour smell of sweat; the faint scent of salt; and that sweet, sweet cologne he wears. The fabric of the suit is soft as you grip him tightly, every step he takes making him sway more and more until it's clear he's going to either vomit or pass out.

A few moments later, he calls your name in a mumbly, shaky voice, before hurriedly pushing you off him as he staggers to the drain. Before you know what's going on, you're at his side as he vomits a sickly green bile.

You pat his back reassuringly, now only registering that he's vomiting.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Arataka grins at you, though his eyes are struggling to open and his smile is lopsided.

"We're staying... At your house, right?" He mumbles, though he stumbles slightly, and alarm flashes across his face as he swings his hands about to get balanced before he manages to stand straight again. He widens the skewed grin in his face, trying his absolute best to look charming, and failing. It's still adorable, though.

You snicker, nodding in response.

"Let's go, Arataka."

You slide your arm around his waist, and he leans nearly all his bodyweight on you as the two of you walk to your flat.

The walk is quiet as Arataka struggles not to vomit again, barely being able to stay awake to avoid falling unconscious in your arms — it would be a shame if you held him tenderly and he wasn't there to experience it. Nobody's on the streets, so it's just the two of you, save for a car that comes every so often.

The only sound you can hear is the steady tap, tap, tapping of your shoes on the pavement, followed by the much more unsteady beat of Arataka's shiny black dress shoes as he walks beside you.

Neither of you say anything when you walk, neither of you speak when you unlock your front door, neither of you argue when you lead him to your bedroom.

You set him down on the bed slowly, slipping off his grey coat and undoing his necktie. The whole time you're doing this, Arataka's just... Watching you. His eyes, fixed on you, are glassed over, unfocused — but full of so, so much love.

He doesn't say a word as he gets comfortable in your bed, and when he holds you in his arms, falling asleep, it's silent.

★ ★ ★

thanks for reading!!

second chapter !!

[ganondoodle]

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