#so please forgive mistakes

[away-ward]

Original ask here.

I want to preface this by clarifying that I understand why people don’t like Will. I didn’t like Will the first time I read through the series. In preparing this, I’ve struggled with how to explain my feelings about him, because while I do understand where people are coming from, I can’t help but appreciate his story arc and character overall, especially when compared to the three other Horsemen. I’m not entirely sure how to bring all my thoughts together to coherently present to you why I don’t hate that he got the girl in the end.

Before we start, please know that I am not attempting to change your mind. This isn’t a persuasive essay. I’m just explaining my thoughts on Will’s story arc and characterization, and you are free to agree or disagree as you please.

Please note that below the cut is about 7k on why I like Will Grayson. If reading that would upset you, please feel free to skip. I’ll catch you on the next post. No worries.

If, however, you are down to inspect this little nut case from my overly enthusiastic perspective, hit the button. Now, on to the insanity.

The Anon asked me to focus on Will’s growth, but the problem with that is that I don’t think Will has a ton of growth within the series. At least not a straight, upward linear path. The order of the series, the overlapping timelines, can make it difficult to track his trajectory, but if we start from Will’s earliest point in the storyline, which would be in Nightfall, and follow it all the way through to the end, Will’s character declines, almost consistently. With each installment, he almost always becomes a worse person.

I know. Probably not the explanation you were expecting from a Will defender. Hold on, I’ll get there.

When looking at Will’s story overall, I think there’s one key characterization that readers should remember. And that’s: Will lies. I mean, all the boys lie, but Will lies to the reader, and he’s good at it. I think of all the other Horsemen, Kai might come close to having this skill to a degree. Still, I don’t think he’s as good at it as Will is. Will wears a mask that fools just about everyone he encounters, and it was this interpretation that had me reconsidering my original impression of him.

I didn’t love Will for most of the series. In fact, I hated him so much I nearly didn’t make it to Nightfall because what was the point. Will was mean and rude, and the constantly drunk thing was old. I didn’t care about him at all.

But then I met high school Will. I was mystified, and in wonderment about this charming boy who loved this one girl with his whole heart. He was so sincere toward Emory. He was difficult to swallow and a bit obtuse at times. Yet, my heart bled for them and the reasons they couldn’t be together; how much it hurt him to lose her and how he didn’t understand.

It was impossible to reconcile Will from high school to Will in the present. They were not the same person. When I finally gathered the bits of my shattered heart off the floor, I went back through the series and read just Will’s scenes to try and make some sense of what happened. I first concluded that PD didn’t know what they were doing, because they unintentionally wrote two different characters. Will in Corrupt, Hideaway, and Kill Switch was not the same character in Nightfall. End of story. I brushed my hands off, ready to let it go.

However, I found that didn’t sit right with me. There had to be a reason. And this may be where my projections and head canons for Will start to take over. Where I see what I want to see and have no problem with that because at the end of the day, I just want to enjoy myself and my ship.

When I read through the scenes again, with the understanding that Will was lying in most of the scenes he’s in, I began to see three different versions of the character, each with their own motives and priorities. However, I don’t see all versions as authentic – the “real” Will. Again, he’s lying or wearing a mask to cover up his deepest thoughts and feelings.

In the original Will post, I did a fair job summarizing Will’s high school life. We know he’s wealthy; the grandson of a senator, the youngest son of one of the wealthiest families in the country; he was raised in an affluent area, surrounded by people just like him. It seems that his older brothers are probably a good number of years older than him, and so the family member closest in age would have been his younger cousins, Misha and Annie.

He says that he was his parent’s good boy, and that his mother always sought his company, but Damon says he caused them trouble. This leads me to believe that Will’s parents spoiled him. He is their baby, after all. At the same time, I think he was probably generous with them as well. Will says that he had a Doris Day marathon when his mom asked, and he also came back to Thunder Bay for her when all he wanted was to stay away, so it seems that Will went out of his way to please her.

Damon says that Will’s house was his favorite. I’ve head-canoned that this is because the Grayson’s are genuinely a loving, happy family, and this is what allows Will to make it to high school with the sort of levity he has.

Will likes a good time, and he likes being mischievous. In high school, he finds friends who have similar tastes, and then there’s no limit. The Horsemen are privileged enough to avoid punishment no matter what they do. Will has everything he feels that he needs, except for one thing. But as I said before, he’s also delusional enough to think it’s only a matter of time before Emory gives into him.

I liked this side of Will. See, this Will, while obnoxious at times, is kind. He’s not always nice, but in general he’s kind. In Hideaway, when Damon knocks Banks off her bike, Will stops along with Kai and calls Damon an asshole for it. In Kill Switch, when Winter gets pushed into the boy’s locker room, and the rest of the boys are taking advantage of her blindness, Will approaches to make sure she’s okay.

Will said it himself. He likes being nice. Being mean is not his default, and in fact, it takes a lot of pushing to get him there. We don’t know how long Martin had been pulling him over before Will started pranking him. And that’s where he began – small, and what he thought were funny, harmless pranks.

After Emory leaves him, he tries to ignore her, but he can’t. He’s still obsessed. He still watches her, and eventually he’s able to piece the puzzle together. I’m uncertain how long it took him to figure it out, but it doesn’t seem like it mattered. Emory had made her feelings clear, and he wasn’t going to continue throwing the dignity he had left out the window. He graduates from high school and all his friends go to different colleges. Much like Damon, Will isn’t good alone, and without his support system he starts to spiral out of control.

When people complain about Will, I often wonder if they realize Will hated himself too. No one’s saying anything he wouldn’t have agreed with, if he were being honest.

Getting into the past scenes in Corrupt, he seems the same as before. He’s loud, flashy, eager to party. He’s quick to tease, he’s not really being mean. Unlike Damon, he doesn’t mind that Michael is bringing Rika along. Like Kai, he’s seen this coming for a while, and it’s going to begrudge Michael his chance.

The Gazebo scene is a break from his usual demeanor. Will’s sudden shift is such a shock, that a lot of us found it to be the most compelling scene in the whole novel. Of course, right after that, he’s back to being loud. He deems Rika their Monster, plays air guitar, and gives her a lap dance. And by the end of the night, he’s black out drunk. So drunk that he doesn’t even know Damon has put him in the back seat of Michael’s car and is plotting with Trevor.

I think, at this point, it’s impossible to ignore the effect that seeing the completed gazebo had on him. Will was going to get drunk regardless, but I wonder if he would have gotten that drunk. From what we can tell, his drinking has increased over time in both frequency and amount. However, this was a special occasion – a reunion with his friends, and I think he planned to spend the night getting drunk with them, not before them. But then Michael was distracted with Rika, Damon had his own things going on, and now… the gazebo.

The following morning he’s arrested. As he sits in that room, aware the cop he assaulted is watching him, aware that it’s his fault the video exists and that he took his mask off, he’s as equally unaware that Emory has come to save him.

I image Will feels the burden for everything he’s done. I bet it stings, as he sits in that chair, knowing whenever the subject of Emory Scott comes up, he loses all sense of control. He can't help it. Meanwhile, she probably doesn’t even think about him anymore, having a great life at Berkley.

He doesn’t know why, but his family convinces him it’s better to plead guilty so that his sentence is lowered. Two and a half years of his life gone. His 21st birthday is spent in prison. Kai’s and Damon’s, too. Kai gets his degree, but he feels shame in it. Damon’s in solitary, his sentence longer. While he has nothing to do with Damon’s video, I think he still takes the blame for leading his friends to Martin.

Michael comes up with the plan for revenge as a way to keep them together. He needed a way to keep them from losing themselves, and keep that fire burning inside them until they're free to ride again.

And this is the end of the first version of Will. And in my opinion, this is the most authentic version of Will. This is who he is when he’s not trying to fool anyone. He cares deeply about his friends, his family, and Emory. He wants her to care about him, too, but he doesn’t want to force her to love him.

I’m not going to say he didn’t deserve what he got. As it was stated in Nightfall, Emory didn’t owe him her heart just because he wanted it. It wouldn’t have mattered if he did everything right, and she still didn’t want him. I think readers might be more sympathetic towards him if he had done things the “right” way. However, that he didn’t do things the right way doesn't change the fact that his motives for Emory were out of sincerity, and that’s why I think this is the most authentic version.

 Will is different when he comes out from prison. He’s impatient, more careless, and less trusting. When he teases, there’s a bitter edge to it. He genuinely wants to scare and hurt Rika. He’s angry.

Weird head-canon here, but I think Kai was the one who came up with the idea for the dagger and the note, Damon was the one who had the idea to get Christiane out of the way by sending her to rehab, and Will was the one who burned the Fane house down, though I may be forgetting if that was established. Correct me if I’m wrong. I just feel the fire and impulsivity of it goes along with Will’s anger. I also think it’s interesting that Will later moves into that same house with Emory after they pay to have it rebuilt.

Anyway, after the dust settles and Rika’s proven innocent, Will is shown to be able to quickly shift the way he thinks about her. He’s the first one to apologize, and he asks her if she’d like a drink in a “gentle voice.” When Michael tries to put Rika in her place, Will sits quietly, though she expects him to laugh. He's not finding this funny right now.

Michael starts the party. Will flies Alex down, but doesn’t seem to be paying a large amount of attention to her, since she complains that he left her to the high school guys. It seems his idea is the more, the merrier, and he’s not going out of his way for her. Again, it seems he’s just being nice and including as many people as possible because that’s what he’s known for. The next time he’s mentioned is the next morning when he’s dealing with a hangover.

He’s definitely taking this time to blow off some steam. Remember, he thought he was going to be getting his revenge on Rika for her betrayal. However, he was forced to talk about why he went to prison, forced to discuss Emory, and betrayed by Damon. Not the night he planned.

After this, Will is the most determined to get revenge on Trevor and Damon. He insists that it must happen soon, and that everyone needs to be on board, including Rika. Will’s sense of right and wrong is largely based on loyalty, so to him, Rika needs to get hers too for everything to be made right.

I thought it was interesting that Will is seen driving frequently, which to me tells me he wasn’t drinking regularly at this time. I doubt Kai or Michael would allow him to drive, especially with Rika in the car, if he were constantly drunk or hungover.

We all know what happened on the Pithom, and how Damon attempting to kill him would have affected him, so I think we can skip to what’s going on with him in Hideaway.

Hideaway is a weird period for Will. Michael and Rika are engaged, and Kai has secluded himself across town in the White Hall district and his focus is on finding Damon. He lives at Delcour and works at Graymor Cristane, but he’s left out of a lot of their conversations. Kai notes that he’s been “misbehaving” since Damon left, but it’s unclear what that means exactly. I understand that he’s been drinking more and getting into harder drugs, but what trouble has he caused? Regardless, it’s clear that Michael and Kai have been trying to manage him, so to speak. But their way of managing him causes more friction. It’s probably because Michael and Kai have much a much stricter approach to his habits. While their solution to the problem is to find Damon to give Will his revenge, I wonder if they’d actually worked with him on his addictions and communicated, if Will would have been able to recover sooner.

But they’re men who don’t want to appear weak by communicating or showing any kind of vulnerability. What can you do?

I think when Will is left alone, his thoughts circle back to Emory eventually, and this contributes to the cycle of his addictions. He’ll do anything to make the pain stop. Will wants to be comforted. He needs it, too, after everything he’s just gone through. However, with Michael and Kai distracted, Will only has one other person to turn to, and it just so happens that Alex also lives at Delcour, making it even easier for him to have access to her. I’ve spoken about how his relationship with her changed during the time jump between Corrupt and Hideaway, and I think this might have had something to do with it.

When Will speaks, though, he’s back to being rude and cutting, especially with Banks. There was one scene I found particularly interesting, and that’s when he’s trying to mock her virginity. Banks snaps back at him, and it seemingly shuts him up.

On the surface, this appears to prove that Banks is tough and witty, and that Will can’t beat her with sheer cockiness. But like I said before, being mean isn’t his default. He doesn’t like it, and I don’t think it comes naturally to him. At the same time, the fandom loves to compare Banks and Emory for their similarities. Dark hair, not traditionally girly, sarcastic, tough, having gone through difficult things at a young age which left them with a critical view of the world? Banks response to him much the same way Emory would, and unlike the girls he usually finds himself surrounded by.

Is it possible that Will was able to pick up on these similarities, too?

I also wanted to touch on the scene where Banks reveals what she knows to Michael and Will. You can tell me if I’m off my rocker or not, because this may be a very different view of the situation, but I don’t want to ignore the possible meaning.

Banks tells Michael that Will can’t go five minutes without reaching for a bottle, and that he’s being hounded by Martin again. This is supposed to tell us how much information Banks has; she knows things even Michael doesn’t know, and they’re happening right under his nose.

She calls Martin a “child-abuser” but as we know, Martin has abused his power in other ways. He was going to rape a sixteen-year-old before Will, Kai, and Damon stopped him. It’s not clear if she knows about Emory’s history yet.

Will defends himself with Michael, but then the subject is dropped. No more thought into why Will is acting this way. This is odd behavior for Will, because we know that Will doesn’t do things alone, so why is he trying to handle Martin without Michael or Kai?

Banks is looking at everyone closely, but this information is only surface level. It's what you’d get by watching people and tracking patterns. It seems more likely to me that she’s installed cameras to keep track of multiple locations and reviews the footage, versus her staking out each of the Horsemen in rotation. I think she’s gathered information, but doesn’t know quite know what it all means. She’s also strategic in a way, but in this case, only when it relates to Michael and Kai. Damon’s likely told her certain things about Will that aren’t entirely true, like when he told Rika Will is too stupid to add two plus two. That’s an exaggeration, of course, but the implication is that Will is stupid. It’s possible Banks is underestimating him.

It’s supposed to appear that Will can’t fool Banks, but he has. She doesn’t think deeply about what’s going on with him beyond the surface, trying to determine what’s causing him to act out and how it could potentially affect his future behavior, which is a variable she should want to know. And even later, in the following years when Will is spiraling even farther, and he disappears, Banks doesn’t seem to have any extraordinary insight into why.

So, either Banks is not as insightful as she seems, and is just good at gathering information, which doesn’t feel entirely true, though I am willing to consider this aspect of her personality has been exaggerated. To me, it’s more likely that Will is very good at keeping his true thoughts and feelings behind a mask that even Banks can’t see around.

Anyway, again, I may be looking at this from a different angle, and I hope I'm not pissing-off Banks’ fans, but I thought it was interesting. Remember, I’m not implying that she isn’t smart. Only that Will might not be as dumb as we think he is. Regardless, I personally would have preferred if in Kill Switch she continued pushing him and could see the cracks in his lies that the others were missing.

In the last half of Hideaway, Will comes around as Kai’s feelings for her become more evident. This is like what happened with Rika, though he is a bit slower this time around. He has less to feel guilty about and less of a personal connection with Banks, so I don’t think much of it. He still tries to be kind to her in some ways, and it makes me think that the times he was being mean was because he was covering up other feelings. I’ll point out again that Banks has a personal connection to Damon and could possibly remind him of Emory in certain ways; Banks also calls him out for hiding things, which might give him a moment to fear she’s seeing too much. He has reasons to be weary around her, but even then, when she asks him for help, he’s right there dog-nabbing with her.

And I can’t help but think that this is because, at his truest, best self, he is a kind person who wants the people he cares about to be happy. Despite everything, he’s allowed Banks to enter this circle.

This also got me thinking that everyone sees Will as the happy one. He’s jubilant, for sure, but I don’t think he’s truly happy. So it’s interesting to me that he would still care and go out of his way to make sure his friends get their happy endings, to make sure they have what they want and need, that they see “justice” served for them, but he doesn’t try to go for it himself.

Before getting into Kill Switch, I want to address another side thought, because it might become relevant later, and I’m not sure where it fits best.

I’ve noticed this trend in the Anon’s asks that people are mad at Will for a variety of reasons, but one that gets mentioned that I just can’t wrap my head around is that he never reached out to Emory in the time between his release and Blackchurch. This one is a difficult topic for me to respond to because I feel that Will not reaching out to her, for whatever reason, was the right decision for both he and Emory.

For three years in high school, Emory told him no and pushed him away. She said yes for one night, but then pushed him away again. From there, all he knew was that there was a secret between her and Damon, but he figured out about the abuse on his own. He continued watching her and thinking about her; even as he tried to ignore her, he couldn’t.

Looking at it from Will’s point of view, Will knew he loved Emory. He tried being honest and open with her. He revealed his heart to her, thought he’d made it clear that he was willing to do anything for her, but some reason she wasn’t going to trust him. Even when she had left Martin and was out of his control, she still didn’t clarify anything with Will. I don’t know what other conclusion Will was supposed to draw other then she didn’t want his help, and that she didn’t love him.

At the point that Will’s been released from prison, Emory is an adult and she’s out of immediate danger. If she cared, if she was angry, if she had any thoughts for Will at all, she knew where to find him. He had been at the same address for two years. In his mind, it must have seemed like Emory was communicating loud-and-clear: she wanted nothing to do with him. And he couldn’t keep forcing himself into her life; the constant rejection hurt too much. He’d take the loss and pretend like it wasn’t killing him.

Overall, he wasn’t in the state of mind to have a productive conversation with her, and they both would have come away more hurt.

This is not to say that I think Will was aware he was respecting Emory’s wishes, or that that’s what he was intending to do. I think Will was trying to ignore her because he was in pain, because his pain had caused problems for his friends, and because thinking of her caused more pain. But he was indirectly respecting the signs Emory had given him. At no point since homecoming night had Emory given him a green light to interact with her, and he kept his distance. I can’t hate him for that.

Disclaimer before anyone gets mad: Expecting Emory to make those kinds of decisions is expecting way more than he should. I agree with the decisions Emory made. At seventeen, Will had too much hubris, as a lot of young adults do, especially those who come from privileged backgrounds. It takes some experience and humility to look back and identify where you were wrong, and even then, you need to be clear-headed enough to accept it without being angry. Getting out of prison, Will had neither experience, humility, nor a clear head.

And I bring this up now because one, I think this is one of the small ways that Will does show some growth, and two, it’s related to the level of his happiness.

Which, going into Kill Switch, is at an all-time low.

Damon is back. We know that he’s reached out to taunt Will. I think this has caused his character to decline the farthest it’s been at this point. You see, he appears to be nice to Winter, but the truth is he has no real interest in her. Winter is the way to get to Damon because Will knows she is Damon’s ultimate target. He knows Winter is different, and that’s the key Will intends to use to get his revenge. Planning this on his own might be the most devious thing he's done.

His dynamic with Winter is a bit different from what it was with Banks. Winter’s already in with their group because she’s been around for a few years, and they’re somewhat familiar with her. She’s also a “friend” of Rika’s, and in fact it’s Rika’s idea to send Will into to help Winter train. I wondered if Rika had asked both Kai and Will to help, and Will was the one who accepted because of Damon. It could have also been that Kai was just busier and Will had more free time, but whatever.  

While he’s somewhat kind in his direct dealings with Winter, he’s also mean to her. The way he speaks about her to goad Damon outside the pool house, regardless of if he believes his words or not, proves he has ulterior motives. Also, the way he forcibly kisses her when she’s leaving Michael and Rika’s home as a desperate move to hurt Damon, shows a lack of consideration and respect for Winter. It’s worth noting that he goes this far after Damon brought up Emory in the pool house, but it’s up to you whether you think it’s connected.

Again, I can’t help but think this lashing out is… a mask. He hides his true thoughts and feelings under a mask, sometimes of cruelty, which he learned from watching his friends, and sometimes of happiness, the kind he used to have when things were better. And I think to face Damon, he felt he had to be cruel. What he found was that even his false cruelty was nothing against Damon’s genuine viciousness. He couldn’t compete, and if he were being honest, he didn’t want to.

We see a shift in the way Will begins to treat Winter in the last half of the story, when things are coming together for the group. It seems that at the first chance he gets to start being kind, he goes back to his default.

Because he never wanted to be mean in the first place.

This ends the second version of Will. I like to think that this is the least authentic version of him; or at least the one farthest away from who he’d like to be, and that he’s behaving in a way that doesn’t come naturally to him. I believe he’s acting this way because he’s in pain, not because this is who he is in his heart.

Looking at the life Will has experienced for the past few years, it’s interesting to me that at this point, Will seems to be in the best situation he’s been in for a while. With Damon back, he has the strength and willingness to stop using drugs. To me, this was a sign that he was starting to heal, and if he continued going in this direction, things would have only improved. Will was tired of himself, tired of dragging his friends down, and tired of feeling dead to the world, and this was the first step in the right direction.

I also think this is the first time he had women in his life who were friends and not nameless girls he could bed and forget, and this helps him to start to develop actual ideas of what it means to truly love someone. As he witnesses the things his friends are willing to do for their women, I can’t help but wonder if he’s started to reflect on the way he handled Emory. Again, we have no way of knowing, but it wouldn’t make sense if it didn’t come up sometimes. He also has Alex, who has her own heart break and way of masking her pain, but genuinely seems happy for his company despite all the problems he has. Which, unfortunately, Emory never got the chance to do, though we know she would have.

He’s getting the help he needs; business is moving forward. This is probably the time he finds Coldfield, buys it, and designs it himself. Coldfield is also where he parks the bus from homecoming night, which he somehow managed to secure, showing he’s still thinking about Emory in some capacity.

Who knows, maybe once he was fully sober and free of his vices, he would have reached out to Emory and tried to reconnect. Maybe once he felt like he had something to offer her, or a way to fight for her, or that he could stand a chance. Maybe, for the first time in years, Will is hopeful for the future.

He never got that far, though, because it was at this time that he was made aware of the document Emory signed.

Will says he went to Blackchurch for a few different reasons, but mainly because he knew he’d need the extra help getting sober. It couldn’t be just his friends; they were too generous with him. More than that, he wanted to be done with all of it, the drugs, the alcohol, and the women.

He also wanted to be able to bring something more to the table. This makes sense, in a way. Michael and Rika were brought their college degrees and inheritances, with a clear future already set. Kai and Banks, as well, had Sensou and the empire she inherited from Gabriel. With or without an inheritance, Damon was a force to be reckoned with. They were also starting families and planning their futures, and what did Will have? He knew Misha wouldn’t be interested, and his family was becoming more saddened with his lack of direction, though they'd never cut him off. He had no drive and nothing to be better for.

However, without the drugs and alcohol to numb his pain, Will is an open wound. Personality wise, he’s stripped bare, with nothing left to cover up the parts of him that are bleeding. Being in a nearly abandoned forest with no connection to the outside world might have served the purpose of helping him to sooth his anger. That being said, Will still isn’t dealing with the source of his pain. Locked on that island, he has no reason to; it’s not like Emory can just drop in out of the blue, right?

Yeah…

And again, there’s nothing to prove this, but I wouldn’t put it past Aydin to identify Will right away and decided to “help” him break down those walls he’s built up to keep his pain from ravaging him, and then wait for the perfect time to bring in the source of that pain just to see what happens. Aydin knows Emory is salt on Will’s wounds. Seeing her burns him like nothing else, and he has no way of covering it up. He’s given up those tools and hasn’t developed any coping skills. All he has is his cruelty to keep from falling apart. But again, it's false cruelty meant to hide what he is truly feeling.

As mean as Will is with his words, the actions he takes show that he still cares deeply, despite what he believes Emory thinks of him. It’s because, even after all this time, that he still cares about her that makes him so angry. But I think his anger is more directed at himself than at her, though it’s her he lashes out at.

It's interesting, though, that before Emory showed up, he’d already garnered the friendship of Micah and Rory through act so kindness. I’m reminded that being kind is what comes naturally to him. He just doesn’t want Emory to see it. He's protecting that part of himself from her. I think he believes if she sees it, she'll see how pathetic he is because of how much he still loves her, and that would slice him open even more.

In Nightfall, Will ponders over the reality of him pursuing Emory for revenge, and there’s an edge of doubt to his thoughts. This indicated to me that there originally was a part of him that intended to get sober just so he could seek her out, but that once he was in Blackchurch, he started to reach some clarity. Still, he's not prepared for her to show up, and so he is incredibly defensive with her. He doesn’t go out of his way to protect her, but he doesn’t want to see her hurt at someone else’s hands.

He tells Aydin he wants her gone, and Aydin accurately surmises that what Will wants is for her to be safe.

When Aydin spikes her soup and Emory tells the story of the day she got drunk at school, Will wonders if he saw her that day. And when she tries to drink again later, he prevents her because he knows what it’s like to lose himself, and he won’t let her do that.

The way that Will treats Emory when they get off the train feels like he’s starting to revert to his old self, but not the Will that he was before Blackchurch. The person he was before he went to prison. Though he is slightly different.

In high school, Will told Emory he would hurt anybody for her. I don’t think Will included himself when he said that. In fact, the actions he took when he was hurt by Emory, and the blame he placed on her for his pain, prove he wasn’t willing to hurt for her.

However, this Will is. He burns down the Cove because it’s time to move forward. The Cove was dead, and the Horsemen were always planning on tearing it down. They were just waiting on Will, who was still hung on up it because it was his last good memory of Emory.  

He also tells Emory he loves her, but he’ll let her go.

This is a Will who understands that when he says he’ll do anything for her, that has to include things that might hurt him. And it’s this willingness to let go that tells Emory he’s a safe place to land. He’s not going to try and trap her or control her or leave her when he's done, like she feared he would before. He left the choice with her in the fullest sense, and that’s what she wanted.

Will is able to show he loves her in the way that matters to her, not to himself, which is the standard he set in high school. This is his most significant change, though it's very small.

Like I said, I don’t think Will experienced a ton of “growth” throughout the story. I think Will in high school was the best of him, and from the point that we meet him in Corrupt to the present scenes in Nightfall, his character experienced a sharp decline in quality, but I also don’t think that everything we see from him is “true.” I think he’s lying to protect himself, and people who are in pain do awful things.

Returning from Blackchurch with a clear head of what he needs to do is when he starts turning around. I believe that that Will could eventually become someone that his high school-self could not only be proud of but impressed by. I also believe this version of Will is going to fair surpass who he would have been if prison had never happened.

The problem, all of that would happen after the book ends. At the point where the series ends, Will still has a lot of work to do, and it’s not going to be easy. But I see a return of his natural patience and inclination to be kind helping him greatly.

As an example, when Emory was talking of buying her old house, he thought it was a bad idea because of all the memories it held. Emory explains her reasons, and he listens, he nods, and simply agrees. He doesn’t continue to push for his way, like he did in high school. He understands that Emory knows what she wants and what’s best for her. He’s capable of change, and we know he’ll always want to be better for Emory.

This is what I see when I read his story. I don’t think his story is as sad as Emory’s by any means. Will caused a lot of his own problems, he moped and wallowed, and he made several bad decisions. Despite the fact that cruelty isn’t his default, he is still very capable of being as cruel as any of the guys, and he displays that in a variety of ways. I try to reason on, not excuse his behavior. But seeing him this way is what helps me to think that he and Emory are going to have a wonderful life together, that Emory is going to be happy with him, which of course, is my goal.

It would have been nice if Will had done all that work before reuniting with Emory. Maybe there is an alternate universe where he never gets that document Emory signed, gets sober, quits his vices, gets some therapy and heals before he goes to see her in San Francisco, just to apologize. They can take off from there on some sweet, second chance rom-com. Who knows.

Point is, he didn’t do the work before Emory was thrust back into his life, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t ever do the work. People don’t think that Will deserves Emory, which is funny to me because they say it as if Will thinks he deserves Emory. I think more than anyone, Will is aware he’s married so far out of his league, and he can only hope that she continues to think he’s worth it for some reason.

Now, I know this might not have meant anything to you. If you hate Will, you hate Will and that’s fine. But I think if we’re going to believe that Michael, Kai, and Damon have done enough to be “redeemed” according to PD, then Will would have done those things too if there’d been time. Although, I don’t want to see what those things would have been; I prefer my own version, thank you.

I’ll take this moment to answer some of the complaints I get regarding Will’s behavior and why they don’t bother me as much as they seem to bother others.

Will and Alex sleeping together; Will sleeping around in general.

I don’t care what type of relationship Will had with Alex because neither of them were in a committed relationship. They didn’t have anyone to answer to. They were two adults engaging in a relationship with dynamics they both agreed on. Will didn’t owe Emory celibacy, just as Emory didn’t owe Will anything. On that note, other than Alex, we don’t know if Will’s sexual habits changed greatly from when he was in high school. In Corrupt, Michael says that he buried himself in women the first few weeks he was out, but then it’s not really commented on again.

He also wasn’t forbidden from falling in love with someone new, either.

Now, I don’t believe Will ever developed romantic feelings for anyone, Alex included. I also don’t believe Alex had any romantic notions towards Will. I think they loved each other, but not that way. As I mentioned, Will used sex to comfort and soothe himself, the same way Damon used sex to control.

The truth is, Emory Scott has owned Will’s heart and mind since she was thirteen years old, and there was nothing neither of them could do about it. Will had to drink and drug himself into oblivion just to stop thinking about her. He eventually got to a point where he didn’t want to do that any longer. Not even Alex’s charm was enough to make him stay.

He used Alex to make Emory jealous.

Yeah.

And in the past scenes when she didn’t do what he wanted, he told her she could be replaced easily, even though he didn’t want to do that. Honestly, that hurts me more than the Alex thing. It’s so mean.

But look at him! In the nearly ten years they’d been separated he has one thing that would get a rise out of Emory. And that thing is not that he’s had a lot of sex. It’s that he fulfilled the fantasies he developed for Emroy with someone else.

It shouldn’t be the burn that he thinks it is. He’s basically telling on himself. Emory gets jealous, but I want to be like, babe, he still has all the same fantasies from high school… he’s still thinking of you. This man is obsessed and has not stopped thinking about you for ten years. Take the win.

It’s pathetic that he uses the idea of another woman to make her angry, but it’s also the only thing he’s got. It only works because Emory loves him.

He’s being mean, but it’s out of desperation, and that’s just sad.

He’s a horrible person.

You could count the redeeming characters in this series on one hand. I don’t know what to say. That’s the series.

But here’s some reasons I like him:

He didn’t deny that he was the one that needed to change, and took steps to make those changes before Emory was back in his life. He wasn’t successful, but he started.

He returned to college when he had every reason not to, even though he hated school and was embarrassed to be so much older than most of the other students.

He also was the only one who adopted a dog from Banks, and I’m going to give him extra points for that.

He seems to be a decent father who loves the mother of his children.

I can’t remember any of the other complaints at this moment, I could go look, but I’m sure someone will remind me soon enough.

If you made it this far, you deserve a treat. Let me know if you decide to treat yourself. I’d give you one, but all I’ve got are hugs and head pats. Let me know if there was anything here that changed your view, even if it was only one aspect. Or let me know if I’m completely insane. I’ll accept that, too.  

This was fun. Take care!

-KO

[the-phantom-peach]

🗣️ huh?? what do you mean I haven’t posted any Link signing propaganda yet??

[anna-scribbles]

vive la résistance and happy halloween!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

[right to left]

STILL thinking about drunk chess actually

stupid as hell bonus:

[dragonbonez]

Little brother learns to do flower crowns.

[thesunisatangerine]

playing for keeps – chapter three

alexia putellas x barçakeeper!childhoodfriend!reader

warnings: coarse language, light angst

(a/n in the tags) [chapters: one, two, three]

word count: 8.8k

[1]

Just before you turned thirteen your body, finally, began to change. 

While Alexia’d gone ahead of you a year prior—with her limbs now lanky and sinewy, and her muscles stretched close to the newly grown bones—you were left behind. She’d grown taller, yes; not by much but the two-inch difference (two and a half, as Alexia was always inclined to remind you) felt like a foot to you. So the change was welcome when it finally started, and more importantly, it happened to coincide with something that completely altered the trajectory of your life.

During the spring after your birthday, your father got a promotion at work. To celebrate this milestone, he took you and your mother for a trip around Europe. And as a gift for your hard work and for getting into La Masia with Alexia just a few months before, your parents surprised you with tickets to at least one game in the country, or area, you were visiting. 

In Gelsenkirchen, Germany, you found your destiny. 

Or at least that was how you liked to look at it. 

Before seeing the match between Schalke 04 against Stuttgart, the idea of keeping never entered your mind; you’d played forward your whole life, and you thought that would be the position you’d play in professionally. But as you saw Manuel Neuer controlling the outcome of the game with his hands, a spark ignited within you—this overwhelming surge—and right there and then, you were enlightened to the art of keeping. That spark returned home with you and, playing into the hands of fate, your journey to keeping began.

[2]

The crescendo of the cicadas’ song was this close to lulling you to sleep. It didn’t help that Alexia’d curled herself up beside you in your bed, her head on your lap while her math notebook laid forgotten at the foot of the bed, and her eyes already closed. It was a rare occurrence for the both of you and even more so for Alexia to ‘slack off’—if you were to put it as Alexia had—but this afternoon was a particularly hot one. Summer had practically bled into spring, and even someone like Alexia clearly wasn’t immune to its soporific effect. 

The numbers from the homework you were working on began to blur when you heard a knock downstairs. Out of curiosity or just surprise, you snapped awake. And so did Alexia, apparently.

“You expecting someone?” Alexia yawned, stretching out her long limbs before settling over to her other side. The movement made a lock of hair fall to her cheek which you brushed away with the back of your finger.

“No, it’s probably Mamá’s.” You hummed in answer, relaxing down on your pillow to finally chase that nap that continued to tempt you.

But then came your mother’s voice, “Guille! Hello, my boy! How are you?”

Alexia let out a startled yelp when you jumped out of the bed, now fully awake, tripping on the rug as you rushed into the closet. 

“What the hell? What are you doing?!” Alexia hissed with annoyance but you were too busy trying to get changed to address it. 

You snatched the closest pair of shorts and jersey shirt, and began to shed the ones you had on before you slipped the fresh ones on in quick succession. 

As you did, you began to explain, “I completely forgot! I was supposed to meet up with Guille today!”

When your head popped out of your shirt, you found a deep crease between Alexia’s brows. She was sitting in the middle of your bed, cross-legged, looking very much like a disgruntled cat woken from a nap with the way her hair stuck out in odd places. 

She looked adorable. 

You bit your tongue before you could say it.

Crossing her arms, Alexia retorted, “Why? It’s Saturday.” 

The tone she used made it seem that today being a Saturday was a valid enough reason for you to not go. 

“And it is because it’s Saturday—and no training, Alexia—that I can go with him.” 

At that, her frown only seemed to deepen. You had half a mind to tease her but you knew that’d probably just piss her off even more, although if you were being honest, you didn’t understand just why this seemed to bother Alexia so much.  So instead of teasing, you tried a placating tone, “You could come with if you want?”

Alexia opened her mouth, “I—”

Your mother’s shout cut through the air. 

“Honey? Guille is here for you!” 

You sent Alexia one last apologetic glance. 

“I’m really sorry! Please stay for dinner! I’ll be quick!” 

And with a quick hug goodbye, you rushed out of your room and practically flew down the stairs. At the bottom, you found Guille leaning against the bannister, hands in his short pockets, with a small rucksack on his back who, upon seeing you, gave you a bright smile.

“Hey! You look—” He began but then suddenly, his eyes darkened and the quirk of his lips turned upside down, his tone flattening, “Oh. You’re here.”

In the same second you noticed Alexia beside you, Alexia’d slung an arm over your shoulders.

“Lovely to see you as always, Guille. And I could say the same about you.” Alexia deadpanned, flashing Guille a smile full of teeth, her eyes void of any warmth as she stared at him down her nose. Then she turned to you, her face lighting up as she asked with a little too much excitement, “So, are we going or not?”

“Wait, she’s coming with us?” Guille blurted out, but before you could even answer, Alexia left your side and ran down the steps. 

“Of course, Guille! Come on, keep up!” Alexia exclaimed on her way out of the door, tapping Guille’s stomach as she did—not without force apparently with the way Guille expelled air out harshly. 

When you got to him, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Are you okay?”

He let out a strained, “Yes.”

You gave Guille an apologetic look, grabbing your ball bag. 

“I’m really sorry for the last minute change. I’ll make it up to you.”

Still clutching his stomach, he said, “Don’t worry about it.”

The three of you got to the field near your place—which you were glad to find empty—without any more incidents. You were faced with another problem as it was only after you’d begun warming up that you realized that in your haste to leave, you forgot to bring water with you. When you told Alexia, she offered to go to the nearest corner store to buy some.

You stretched as you waited for Alexia’s return when Guille suddenly said behind you.

“Here.”

Turning, you found him holding a paper parcel bag. You considered his outstretched hand with curiosity before you met his eyes, taking the bag from him slowly. “What’s this?”

“Just a little something to get you started,” he answered, scratching the back of his head. “You said you wanted to keep, so I thought you’d need them.”

Peering into the bag, you gasped at what you found inside. 

A new pair of keeper gloves.

“Guille, you didn’t have to!”

He shrugged, smiling, “Yeah, but I wanted to anyway.”

“Thank you! Come here, you big baby!” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. Unlike Alexia, Guille was only taller than you by mere centimeters so it was relatively easy to ruffle his hair as you pulled away. 

“Mess up my hair again and I won’t teach you anything,” He threatened with a faux glare as he swept his fingers through his curling locks in an attempt to tame them. 

You rolled your eyes, grinning at him. “Okay, Antonio Banderas. So, what are the basics?”

He imitated you, rolling his eyes before he shook his head slightly, his smile never leaving his lips. Then he pointed to a spot by the goal line. “Put your gloves on and stand right there.”

You did, noting the way your new gloves fit perfectly over your hands and fingers. It felt different—stuffy—and you could already feel your palms beginning to sweat from the trapped heat. When you stood where Guille pointed, he walked around you all the while he instructed you to correct your posture: he told you keep your feet shoulder-width apart, to bend your legs slightly so that your chest was just past your knees, and to hold your palms facing out. 

“The main thing to worry about starting out is your stance. It will take time to get the balance right but once you get it down, you’re set.”

“Is this alright?” 

Guille took a step back and he gripped his chin as he hummed. After a moment of scrutiny, he nudged you back suddenly. It wasn’t quite forceful but it made you tumble down on your rear all the same. 

You smiled at him sheepishly, getting up. “I guess that’s a no?”

“Yep. It looks like you keep your weight on your heels too much.” He crouched down at your feet, drawing a square over the front half of your foot. “Keep your weight spread out around here and you should—”

Guille scrambled back suddenly, yelping as a football went flying past where he was just a second ago and into the net. Turning to the direction where the ball came from with your mouth agape, you found Alexia there with water bottles clasped to her chest, an eyebrow raised, while one corner of her mouth was set in a bemused droop, another ball rolling beneath her left foot.

“What the hell was that for, asshole?!” Guille shouted as he stormed his way over to Alexia. He was in front of her now, looking up at her with flame in his eyes but Alexia remained unfazed. She put the water bottles down before she settled her hands on her hips, cocking her head slightly to the side. 

“I’m sorry, Guille. I didn’t see you.” Alexia said flatly, “And aren’t you supposed to be playing keeper?”

“Really. You didn’t see me? Besides—”

“Ale, I asked Guille to teach me.” You huffed, running in between them and separating them with your arms before things got out of hand—again. 

This wasn’t the first time this… row between them happened. In fact, you noticed it’s been occurring more frequently lately. For all their similarities—the main one being their short tempers—the two never got on well together for reasons you never really understood and the only thread that tied them together was you. 

They weren’t always like this though; they were nice with each other the first time they’d met. Guille transferred to your school not long after you’d joined Sabadell, and if you and Alexia were inseparable there, it was always you and Guille at school. And when an opportunity arose for your two favorite persons to meet, you took it. It went well; they were friendly with each other. You only noticed things had changed after you and Guille’s school team started playing against Alexia’s so you were never sure when this all started, and by that point, the friction between them was too great to smoothen out which both saddened and disappointed you.

And it wasn’t like you never tried to get to the bottom of it. You’d asked them what happened, they both gave similar answers. By that, you meant completely avoiding answering. 

Guille’d assured you, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re friends? Don’t worry.” 

While Alexia’d said with a confused frown, “What do you mean? Nothing happened.” 

And when you pestered her, asked her if the reason was because she liked Guille as a joke, she looked at you without reply, and when next practice came, she made a nuisance of herself enough to let you know the answer to your question and more. 

And here you were again, with them acting like this–always at each other’s throats. 

At your answer, Alexia looked at you, confused. “Why would you ask him to teach you how to keep?”

Your gaze lanced away as you bit your lip.

Maybe you should’ve told her after all… 

Mustering up the courage to meet her eye again, you replied, low and serious. “I want to start playing keeper, Alexia.” 

Alexia blinked, and then she crossed her arms before she eyed Guille who was scowling at her in return. She looked at you again. 

“Have you told Alejandro about this?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh.” A pause. “What did he say?”

“I’ll still start as a forward. But he said he’ll put in some extra technical sessions for me starting next week which was why I asked Guille to help me get started. Alejandro said if I get good enough, he’ll see if I can start as keeper for the team.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over you three. 

You caught Guille’s eyes darting from you to Alexia and back again from the corner of your eyes but you remained focused on Alexia’s face. At a glance, Alexia might seem calm—impassive with the way all of her features remained flat. But her eyelids drooped just so they hid more than half of her pupils, how her lower lip was slightly concealed beneath the upper one; she was pissed and even worse, she was hurt. And knowing that you’d hurt her was enough to compel you to reach out and touch her arm, apologetic.

Alexia regarded you for a moment longer. Another word of apology was on the tip of your tongue when she finally sighed, the corner of her lips tilting up to a half-smile as she spoke softly. “Okay. How can I help?”

You couldn’t help yourself. You threw your arms around her and it felt like a weight was lifted from your chest upon hearing the chuckle she let out.

The next couple of hours were spent with the three of you working together: Guille by the goal who continuously gave you notes and instructions, while Alexia—upon Guille’s signal—would send some shots to the net so you could try and stop them. The first… fifty or so shots went right past you—going easy was never exactly Alexia’s strong suit—but the more you focused on getting the timing right and reading the language of Alexia’s body to anticipate the direction of the ball, you ended the session with a few decent saves. 

It was a rough start but you were satisfied with it.

You’d left to use the restroom but upon coming back, the two of them were bickering once more.

Oh, no. What was it now?

You heard more of their words the closer you got, but you didn’t have to move too close with the way they were shouting.

“Come on, dude! Please, don’t tell me you’re still pissed off about that? It was a fair match!”

“How was that fair, Alexia? The two of you playing together is never fair! You’re both in La Masia for crying out loud! And even more importantly, she was supposed to be on my team! That was the original plan, but you went ahead and took her away!”

“What made you think I took her away?” Alexia crossed her arms, scoffing. “Let’s face it. She likes to play with me more than you.”

“You don’t know that!”

That was the moment Alexia spotted you and before you could even get a word in, she said, “Why don’t we just ask her who she’d rather play with?”

Two sets of intense eyes looked your way and without meaning to, you gulped, taking a step back.

“So? Who would you rather play with: me or her?” Guille asked, eyes wide and pleading. 

Suddenly feeling like you were backed into a corner, you stammered in your panic, “Umm, I—”

[3]

Alexia stayed over for dinner that night. That was normal; what was unusual was she left you alone to do the dishes. You had a feeling where she might be, especially since she’d been mostly quiet throughout the whole evening.

After you put away the last dish in the cupboard, and when your arms were finally free from suds, you took a peek into the living room. She wasn’t there—a confirmation of her whereabouts.

Putting on your flip flops, you headed out of the back door. 

The light from the living room casted a faint glow that dissipated the darkness around the garden when you opened the door that led out to it, aiding you just enough to see Alexia on the swing, sitting still with her back hunched forward. Once you were just a few paces behind her, you saw the contours of her headset, but even with them on, there was no way she didn’t know you were there—the fact that your shadow stretched to reach her before you did was a dead give away. Yet still, she made no move to acknowledge your presence.

Okay. That was fair.

“Ale,” you said softly. 

She gave you a glance before she went back to looking down at her clasped hands. 

“Alexia, come on.” 

Still no response. You fiddled with your thumbs as the moment dragged on. 

You sighed, sitting down on your heels next to her.

“I should’ve told you about the keeper thing,” you muttered. “I wanted to get a feel for it first, to get a bit better at it before I told you. But I didn’t consider how that would make you feel… and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel that I didn’t want or need you by my side, Alexia. I wanted you to think I was good enough for this.” 

Finally, Alexia turned to you, taking her headset off, the movement barely above a whisper. And softly, she spoke, “What made you think that I’ll think you’re not good enough for anything?”

“I don’t know.” You admitted, pulling at the grass in front of you. Your mother would probably see the hole you’d made on the lawn and berate you for it in the morning but you needed something to keep your hands busy. “I just wanted to go through this without too many expectations. And it’s not like I don’t want to keep our dynamic going. I love playing forward with you, Alexia, but I think keeping is my calling, just like midfield is to you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I completely understand. You didn’t want any added pressure. I’m not going to hold that against you.” 

“Thank you,” you smiled at her. Then, “So, tell me why are you sulking?”

“I’m not sulking!” Alexia huffed with indignation. Then she looked away again, working her lower lip between her teeth.

You put a hand on her knee. “Alexia, what is it?”

“I…” Alexia sighed, brushing the bridge of her nose with her thumb. You gave her another moment. She heaved another breath before she began.

“That thing you said… Did you really mean it when you said you’d rather play with him than me?”

Oh. So that was what this was about.

“Of course not. We both know it’s always going to be you, Alexia.”

“Then why did you tell him that?”

“I feel like if I didn’t, I’d lose him as a friend.”

“And you’re not worried about losing me?” Alexia cried out, her tone inflected while her eyes reflected her hurt.

You blinked at her. 

There were moments—just like now—where you’d feel a sudden urge to shake Alexia. For all her sharpness and unmatched awareness, she sometimes failed to see even the most obvious of things. Couldn’t she see that you loved her and that you’d follow her to the edge of the earth if she asked you to?

At the absurdity of her question, you really couldn’t help but laugh. You stood up and shuffled behind her before you threw your arms around Alexia’s neck, draping yourself over her broad back, which made the swing move forward. The dampness of her hair felt cool against your cheek, the scent of your shampoo that clung to them filled your senses as you chuckled into her ear. 

“Why are you laughing? I’m serious!”

“Because, Alexia, do you hear yourself? I love you, you idiot!” You giggled again. “I know our friendship isn’t that shallow that I’d lose you over this. Or am I wrong?”

Alexia turned her head and you saw a hint of a smile on her lips. “No, I suppose not.”

A pleasant silence blanketed you both. And then Alexia hummed.

“But if there was something that could break us, what do you think it would be?”

You stopped to ponder, twirling a lock of Alexia’s hair with your finger, noting her hair was nearly dry now. When your mind drew blank, you replied nonchalantly, “Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Good.” Alexia leaned away so she could give you a lopsided smile—an earnest one. “Because me neither.”

[4]

“—you okay?”

You blinked and turned to Alexia. “Hmm?”

She glanced at you for a moment before she turned back to what she was doing, sleeves rolled up as she scrubbed a plate in the soapy water in the sink.

“I said, are you okay? Is there something wrong? You’ve been out of it since practice.” When a moment of silence lapsed, Alexia added, “And don’t think I didn’t notice you on your swing the past few days, too, because I did.”

You looked out the window and watched how the rain sluiced down the glass pane. In the darkness behind the window, you saw glimpses of soaked, curly locks and heard the hasty confession all over again.

You sighed, blinking the memory away.

“Guille asked me out.”

The sound of glass shattering and metal clanging made you jump, and you watched as a casserole pot twirled like a top on the hard, kitchen floor, while fragments of a broken plate skittered out to different directions. 

“Oh, shit!” Alexia cursed, looking down at the mess, while a voice called out from the living room. 

“Alexia, is everything alright in there?'' Came Eli’s voice. A few seconds later, Jaume’s head popped into the kitchen. He glanced at you then his eyes settled on Alexia who was crouched down, looking up guiltily at her father.

“Are you okay, girls?”

“Yes, Papá. I just… dropped some stuff.” Alexia said. You crouched down, too, about to pick up a fragment when Jaume spoke.

“Don’t pick that up, love, you might cut yourself. I’ll do it.” 

Jaume shooed the two of you to a corner he deemed safe and the both of you watched as he picked up the pieces, throwing them in the bin by the back door. Afterwards, he gave Alexia a kiss on her temple, and you a hug and a ruffle to your hair, as he retired for the evening, leaving the two of you again in your own company. Alexia went back to the sink to finish up whatever was left, and you returned to your place on the counter beside her. 

The silence that intruded was cut short by Alexia when she cleared her throat, “So… what did you say?” 

“I haven’t said anything, yet,” you sighed again, looking back out the window, the questions coming back full force. In the eight years you’d known Guille, how long had he harbored those feelings for you? When did it happen? What did you do to make him feel that way?

“Do you like him?” Alexia’s question brought you back to the present.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want him?”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You laughed slightly, glancing back at Alexia who shrugged her shoulders in answer.

“No, I don’t think so. Desire is a drive, like it makes you want to act. Attraction is just… I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s a weaker feeling. And they complement each other but they’re not the same.”

“And you know this how exactly?” You asked her teasingly, a brow raised.

Alexia averted her eyes, and shrugged your question off with a laugh.

In the moment of silence that followed, you traced Alexia’s profile, and your gaze ended at the elegant curve of the bow of her lips. She looked so pretty casted in the candescent glow of the kitchen light that it made your chest ache just by looking at her. You dropped your eyes to your feet as your mind ran faster than before this entire conversation happened.

Clutching your arms tightly across your chest, you muttered, “I don’t know what I want.” 

[5]

Maybe hoping it would all turn out fine was a bit naive because naturally, Guille didn’t take your rejection well. It was your fault really for expecting otherwise but nevertheless, the inevitable discomfort of disappointment settled like lead in your gut. 

The thing was, you were ready to give Guille the space he needed to accept your boundaries—friends, or nothing at all—and to heal. But accusing Alexia of making you turn against him? Now, that was something you couldn’t let pass. 

He knew he’d crossed a line, too, with the way he kept avoiding you. At first, the silence didn’t bother you; he was hurt, after all. But when the apology never came, you understood that you’d be going through your last year of high school without your closest friend there by your side.

A fortnight passed without any word from him so it surprised you when he showed up at the local meetup that the three of you used to go to. He refused to meet your eyes but he had no problem leveling with the glares Alexia kept giving him. And when you ended up in Alexia’s team, the only sign of his distaste about it was the way his lips flattened to a line. He looked like he was about to say something, but with a slight shake of his head, he turned around and made his way to his teammates.

With one last look at Guille’s retreating back, you tuned back in your team’s conversation.

“—doesn’t need to play keeper. We need her more in the offensive.” Alexia said evenly but when you met her eyes, there was a clear question in them. 

You gave her a slight nod to let her know you were okay. 

She nodded back.

“How will that work? She’s the better keeper.” And then Marco added, “No offense, Julia.” 

Julia only shrugged carelessly, a gesture of nonchalance.

“Julia is perfectly fine and besides, with you, Benji, and Carmen, our backline is already strong. The four of you together lessens our chance of conceding.” Alexia paused, looking over her shoulder to the other team before she faced you all again, continuing, “Our priority is the offensive. What good is a strong backline if we can’t counterattack? That’s why I’m suggesting she play as forward in the meantime, while Martina and I will play as interiors. Does that make sense?”

A collective nodding occurred.

“So just to clarify, we’re playing three–two–one?” Benji asked.

Alexia hummed, nodding her head. “Mostly. If we find the space and some opportunities, we can easily do three–one–two.”

“No pressure on us defenders, right?” Carmen said with a laugh, if not with a hint of nerve. 

Everyone laughed but at the end of it, Alexia placed a hand on Carmen’s shoulder. “No pressure because you guys, as I said, are very strong. You got this.”

Carmen smiled at Alexia at that, nodding before she finally moved to her spot. As you and Alexia moved towards the middle of the pitch, Guille was introduced to your line of sight, and a weight pressed in your gut. Disappointment? Perhaps. Or maybe you just actually missed talking and hanging out with him.

Alexia’s teasing tone pulled away your attention from Guille.  “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to play forward from all the keeping you’ve been doing.”

“Four years of keeping against the five years of playing forward? You need to brush up on your math ‘cause I think you’ve forgotten how to count.” You said dryly, giving her a look so dirty that had her throwing her head back in laughter.

Alexia leveled you with an unimpressed look but her tone remained playful. “You are such a bitch sometimes. You know that, right?”

“Thank you. I do try, you know. It’s my only defense against your smart-mouth.”

“Stop denying you don’t like my teasing.” Alexia waggled her brows as she smirked. The way she looked just then—with both hands on her hips, the ball beneath her left boot—your throat dried, heart racing; a sensation that’d familiarized itself to you during its recurrent visits over the past few weeks. Your mind blanked out, clear as the white of Alexia’s shirt, and when no words came to you to retort back, you shook your head and just laughed. By the time the game started—or maybe it was because it started—the feeling finally went away, replaced by the adrenaline that shot through your veins the moment Alexia kicked the ball to you.

It proved to be a tight game. The main strategy of the opposition seemed to be to mark and shut you and Alexia down whenever the ball so much turned your way. Alexia was right to trust your backline: any counterattack from the other team was dealt with immediately, and Julia only needed to save a handful of shots that passed through your defense, which she handled well.

At last, your team finally made a breakthrough.

Alexia cut a diagonal through the box, taking two of the defenders as she did, freeing up the space just behind her. You knew what she was doing so you faked a sidestep, turning quickly to lose your marker, before you sprinted in towards the middle of the box. And as you anticipated, Alexia sent the ball back to you with a flick of her heel. Now, if you could just—

The ground tilted, and there was a moment where the whole world suspended. It lasted for less than a breath before everything—the sensations and sounds—came rushing back in.

You slammed to the ground. 

Air was squeezed out of your lungs from the impact, while your skull and teeth rattled within the confines of your skin; the taste of green, earth, and copper spread on your tongue. Muffled shouts and grunts filtered past the ringing in your ear but when you cupped a hand over your tender ribs, your resulting groan was all you could hear.

When you finally came to, Alexia’s face was over you, the doubled image of her finally merging into one. Her wide, hazel eyes looked on you with worry and you felt the warmth of her fingers as they grazed over your face: from your temples down to your cheeks which she took in a gentle cradle.

“Alexia?” You let out another groan as you turned on your back while Alexia helped you.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

There was a tension that constricted around the front part of your head, but you could feel the blood pulsing most on the side that collided with the ground. “My head… it hurts.”

“Okay, okay. Just lay down for now, I’ll get you…”

You seemed to have passed out after that because one moment you were lying on the fields, and the next you were beside Alexia on her living room couch. You had a vague recollection of being carried on Alexia’s back, but the feel of the strong plane of her shoulder against your cheek remained there, warm and comforting. 

And only then, after Eli gave you ice for your head, did you see the bruise that bloomed deep in the skin of Alexia’s jaw, just below her left cheek, and the scuffed knuckles of her right hand which were splotched with deep reds and purples.

You took her hand onto your lap, gently running over the ice for your head over her knuckles, while you looked at Eli sitting on the opposite couch with Jaume beside her. Eli’s face burnt redder than you’d ever seen before, while Jaume held onto her hand, circling his thumb over the top of it in an attempt to calm her down.

Alexia remained quiet the whole time, eyes casted down as she took her mother’s reprimanding words. There was the unmistakable shine of shame in them, her guilt, but also an unwavering quality that stood for what she did. At the end of it, Eli and Jaume hugged the both of you before letting you retreat into Alexia’s room as you waited for your parents to arrive.

Instead of getting on her bed with you, Alexia plopped down on the floor just by the foot of the bed, her back against the wooden bedframe. You regarded the back of her head, her neck curved downwards, and you suddenly felt the need to be close to her so you shuffled off her sheets, and got down beside her. 

“Thank you, but your mother was right, you know? You shouldn’t have done it, Alexia.” You mumbled, unfurling her fingers to rest on your knee so you could access more of her knuckles that way. Gently, you placed ice over it, but she still hissed in pain. “You shouldn’t have punched him.”

“Why not? He deserved it.” Alexia said evenly as she stared at the far corner of the room. “And before you start defending him, you didn’t see what I saw—what the rest of us saw. He didn’t even touch the ball—it was all feet. He meant to trip you up.” 

Warmth bloomed in your chest at her words—at how her action showed just how much you meant to her—but the discomfort in your gut marred the surge of your affection for her. 

You took a deep breath, sighed it out, and it tasted like disappointment. 

“Alexia, I appreciate the gesture, I do. But you can’t just hurt people just because they did something to me.” 

Alexia puffed her chest and proclaimed, “I can.”

“Stop that nonsense, Alexia. I mean it.” Firmer now, you said, and there was a hint of desperation in the intonation of your words. There was an urgent need to make Alexia understand the gravity of what she did, what future implications it held if what Eli and you told her didn’t sink in now. “Actions like this can jeopardize you, Alexia, and all the things you worked hard for. Do you understand that? What will Alejandro say when he sees you all bruised up next practice? And if I get tackled dirty during a game and I get hurt, would you risk a red card, or suspension, for behaving like this?”

Alexia became silent, the muscle in her jaw working, and when she turned to you with her mouth open and you spotted a defiant crease in her brows, you were quick to stop her.

“If the answer to that question isn’t no, Ale, I don’t want to hear it.” The sound of teeth clattering filled the air. She casted her gaze aside again, her cheeks growing a shade deeper. “Look at me, Alexia.”

When she kept her eyes glued to the floor, you dropped the ice pack to take her face in your hands. She flinched from the coldness of your fingers but as you looked into her eyes, rimmed with redness and framed by drooping eyelids, you found exhaustion and the shine of apology. You brushed away a matted lock of hair from the tail end of her brow.

“You have a good heart, Alexia, but you have to promise me. Please don’t do something like this again. Ever.” 

Alexia looked into your eyes, deeply as if in contemplation, and then she closed them. A moment later, she sighed, sagging into your touch as if a weight had left her shoulders, before she opened them again. 

“I promise.” 

This time, you believed her.

Smiling softly at her, you whispered, while you placed a light kiss on her cheek. “Thank you.”

Settling into the moment, you rested your head against Alexia’s shoulder, her bruised hand in yours. In the brief silence before your father arrived to pick you up, Alexia spoke in an earnest tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I know you can handle yourself, but that won’t stop me from having your back.”

At her words, your heart felt like it would burst your chest open. And you should’ve known that this was where you’d end up—with her, it seemed inevitable anyway—because the years of you’d known Alexia flashed quickly before your eyes, and the memory stopped to this person beside you, haloed golden by the warm glow of her bedside lamp, and you were hit with a realization that took what little breath you had away.

You liked Alexia.

And, even more importantly, you want her.

[6]

When you got on the field in a Barça jersey for the first time after your return, you didn’t expect to be welcomed like you did. Jona subbed you on after the first half and as you left the tunnel, you heard the crowd chanting your name. The cheers made you feel excited, accepted and seen, but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t pressure you at all.

It was originally intended for you to come on during the last twenty minutes, but seeing as Caro, Patri, and Alexia gave the team a comfortable enough lead, Jona decided to sub you on ahead of schedule. You didn’t see much action on your end though, something that you didn’t mind at all—a quiet defensive-third was the best kind. The midfielders kept the midline high to sustain pressure in the offensive-third, while the defenders maintained such a tight backline that any loose through-balls sent to the opposing runners were called offside. Of course, there were a handful of times when you needed to get out of your box to ping the ball back into the offensive, but other than that, it was quiet. When the match ended, you were satisfied that Barça had another clean sheet and four goals to add to the season tally.

For the celebration, you moved with your teammates around Estadi Johan Cruyff, and during the procession, you spied your parents, Eli, and Alba who was talking to a raven-haired woman you’d never seen before, clapping and cheering. Warmth filled you upon seeing your family in the stands again—such a scene was a luxury when you were in the States because plane tickets weren’t exactly cheap—and when you felt the familiar weight of Alexia’s arm slung over your shoulders, the fabric of her captain armband against the skin of your neck, it felt like a perfect homecoming.

Well, almost.

After you’d showered and changed to your casuals, most of the crowd had gone while some lounged about, one of which was the raven-haired woman Alba was talking to. When Alexia took her hand, you knew instantly, and your heart—damn your heart—dropped.

“This is Diana,” Alexia said after the both of them made their way to you. And if it wasn’t their intertwined hands that revealed what they were to each other, their gaze—saccharine when they met—made it all the more clear the nature of their relationship long before Alexia said the words, “my girlfriend.”

Diana beamed up at Alexia, her cheeks deepening in color before she regarded you again, sticking her hand out towards you to shake. Preceding the intention, you took her hand and when you did, Diana placed her other hand over yours, clasping your hand between her warm palms.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you. Alexia’s talked so much about you.” 

She did? Your eyes flitted to Alexia but when she shied away from that, you focused back on Diana’s face. She was stunning: with her high cheekbones carved to elegance, her brows following the perfect line of her temple, her full lips painted with a terracotta shade made deeper by the bronze of her skin, while her loose, straight, raven hair framed her face in such a way that accentuated the sharpness of her jaws. Her eyes were dark but still light enough to see the outline of her pupils, and they had an amiable shape that reflected her warm nature. And for some reason, her light brown eyes looked really familiar—

“Ah! My favorite cousin made it, after all! Although I’m not sure it was me you went to the game for!” Tori’s playful voice resonated in the near-barren corridor. Diana’s eyes flicked somewhere behind you—to Tori, you supposed.

“Don’t be like that, Tori, of course I came to see you, too!”

“Lies!”

Diana shook her head, laughing, as she took Tori in her arms. “Come here, you!”

In response, Tori said something in Portuguese that made Diana laugh. When they broke apart, Diana said, “Forget you? Never. Especially when I owe you one.”

“Owe her what?” Alexia asked with her brows creased with curiosity.

Diana took Alexia’s hand and squeezed it, looking up at Alexia with a gentle expression. “For giving us the chance to meet.”

“Damn right!” Tori exclaimed, putting both hands on her hips, as she grinned so wide that her dimple showed. Tori must’ve seen your confusion because she leaned in to whisper, “I brought Diana as my plus one for last year’s Ballon D’Or ceremony.”

You allowed your mouth to drop open before you smiled, letting out a small laugh that made your chest ache. “Ah, I see.”

“She kept complaining about going but now, aren’t you grateful I took you away from your precinct, Detective Beauregard?” Tori teased.

“She’s never going to let us live this down, will she?” Diana muttered dryly to Alexia but it was deliberately loud enough for all of you to hear. In response, Alexia threw her head back laughing. 

“You’re a detective? That’s amazing!” You said, impressed.

“Please, Tori’s exaggerating. I work in forensics. DNA analyst is the correct title.” Diana threw Tori a dirty look to which the other woman raised her shoulders in response. “It’s a whole different world compared to yours so—and please don’t let this get to your head, Tori—I am grateful I was able to step into it.”

Her eyes, still locked with Alexia’s, grew all the more soft.

“Get a room, you guys,” Tori said with a mock sound of disgust, and then she continued to mutter, “And to think that you’ve only been going out for four months… I don’t even want to think about how it will be like in another three months.”

At that, Alexia raised a brow and then, “Want to do some extra laps tomorrow?”

You and Tori knew Alexia was joking, but Tori being Tori, she spluttered, “That would be a hard no, Captain. I’ll just—Have a great night!” 

With that, she ran away, arms flailing behind her in an exaggerated manner as she hastily made her exit. The sight drew laughter from the three of you.

“We’re having dinner at Mamá’s, want to come over?” Alexia asked.

You shook your head, flashing a look at Diana, before you told Alexia,“Not tonight. I’m just about to head over to my parents’ as well.”

“Alright. But Alba’s going to ask about you, you know? I think she wants to hang  out with you.”

You laughed. “Tell her to text me. She’ll know what that means.”

“Is that something I should know about?” Alexia smirked.

Flatly, you retorted, “If it’s something that concerns you, I’d be telling you by now, right?” 

“You see what I have to deal with?” Alexia told Diana, almost whining.

Inching backwards, you said as dry as you could manage, “I’ll take that as my queue to leave, Alexia might start crying. She’s a crybaby, you know?” 

“Hey! I’m not—”

“No need to be embarrassed about it, Alexia. Be proud!”

Diana only laughed, saying, “Alright, kids, I think that’s enough for tonight.”

Nodding, you grinned at Alexia while she mouthed the word ‘bitch’ to you. In kind, you mouthed ‘smartmouth’ back. With a shake of her head and a smile, she gave you one last hug, and after a pleasant goodnight from Diana, the three of you parted ways.

You sent them a look over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of the watch around Alexia’s left wrist. It glinted as they walked together down the corridor, hand in hand, looking as in love as any new couple would. 

The sight made you smile, but it felt heavy, and as if the universe wanted to rub salt to the wound, you found Patri outside the locker room when you turned around with a look akin to pity in her eyes.

[7]

The next day, Guille stopped by at your place. He’d given you notice a few days prior but even still, the moment you saw him behind the door, you squealed like you were ten again from your excitement. After you hugged him tight—he made a choking noise when you did to tease you—you held him at arm’s length to see what changes the last few months had done to him.

He looked different. Gone were the long, dark curls; now sheared close to his scalp that left only about an inch of length, his hair retained their luscious shine, their color still as dark as night. 

His scar—the one just by the tail end of his left brow—that used to see little light from the obstruction of his hair, now stood apparent and without meaning to, the day he got it came back to you: the bruised knuckles, ice-cold fingers, and the warm blush of a lamplight.

 And your chest ached a little.

Leading the conversation to the living room, the two of you ended up ordering takeaways—mostly for Guille’s benefit because you weren’t about to subject him to your football diet—and as you ate, the two of you caught up.

Guille was close to finishing his dissertation—the biomechanics of concussion in sport and its neurocognitive implications—and he was both excited and fearful about what would come next. He then talked about his girlfriend, Iris, smittenly if you might add. She was actually with him in the city, but his mother insisted she steal Iris for the day for some quality bonding, and you laughed at the repertoire of stories he’d relayed in great detail about his mother’s teasing of their relationship.

“When am I going to meet Iris?” You asked with a teasing tone.

He rolled his eyes, “Well, since you’re actually staying in Barcelona this time, we can arrange that.”

A pause, and then, “Is Alexia staying here, too, or are you here by yourself?”

“No, it’s just me here.”

“Oh. I thought the two of you’d be rooming again like—” Probably seeing your change in demeanor, Guille cleared his throat as he ate his pasta a bit too eagerly. “Speaking of, how is she?”

The question was casual but you knew it was anything but.

“She’s doing good, if not a little stressed. Our first Champions League game is just around the corner after all and it’s against Chelsea, so.” You shrugged to complete your thought. You knew what he was asking but you’d rather not talk about that.

His eyes could burn a hole on the side of your head by the way he stared at you in the silence that followed. Then he sighed deeply.

“She still doesn’t know.”

Tension filled every inch of your body and you shrank tight as a coiled spring. You stood up as you felt a sudden urge to get away from him, taking the used plates on the coffee table as a pretense to move from the couch to the sink.

“What’s it to you if she doesn’t know, Guille?” You asked flatly, rolling up your sleeves after you turned the tap on.

“I just want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”

“And who says I’m not?” Your tone was flat and when you glanced at him over your shoulder, Guille only gave you a pointed look.

Then he said softly, “She could make you happier and you know it.”

And there it was again, that look in his eyes that you just couldn’t stand. Gritting your teeth, you gripped the edge of the sink and your voice quaked when you spoke. “Please stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like,” you tried to find the words but when they evaded you, you huffed and threw your hands up in the air. “Why are you making it sound like I have a chance?”

“Because you do! You’re the one who’s not giving Alexia a chance by not telling her.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.”

“She loves you.”

A pause.

“That’s bullshit.” You shook your head, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh. As much as your heart wanted that to be true, you knew otherwise.

“It’s really fucking not.” Guille countered.

“If she did, she wouldn’t have said what she did.” 

“People say stupid shit when they’re drunk.”

“That can go the other way, too. Alcohol has a way of loosening what’s been bottled.”

“Oh, come on!” Guille scoffed. “You’ve known her since you were eight. You’ve been through thick and thin together! Do you really think she wanted you to leave?”

With the reminder, the memory sprung up on you and you could hear Alexia’s voice, grating and wrenching your heart raw again when you heard the words from her lips. You whirled around to face him, eyes burning.

“You weren’t there when she told me, Guille!” You breathed out sharply and then you continued, in a lower tone filled with resignation, you whispered as you buried your face in your palms. “You didn’t hear the way she said it. You didn’t—”

You choked on your words. 

After all this time, it was still too painful.

Darkness filled your vision but the tears escaped nonetheless, branding tracks down your cheeks. You heard the rustling of clothes followed by soft footsteps. Before you knew it, Guille’s arms wrapped around your shoulders and his familiar, comforting scent made you sink into the embrace.

“You’re right. I wasn’t there. But if you could forgive me for being an asshole and what I did to you, why can’t you do the same with her?”

You didn’t say anything after that, only clutched at his shirt a little tighter.

Guille kept quiet, too.

The both of you knew just the reason why.

[8]

“Did you see the news?” Jona asked as he kept the door open for you to an empty meeting room, closing it as soon as you’d gone in. 

Sitting down on one of the cushioned chairs, you said, “I did.”

You saw it this morning and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t faze you. 

Jona nodded, taking the chair across the table from you. He put his clasped hands on the wooden surface and the way he tapped an erratic rhythm with his thumbs didn’t help your nerves.

“Lyon paid a hefty transfer fee for her and that makes me worried. I don’t know what Bompastor is planning to do with her but her transfer to the European league will be a concern for the club.” With a pensive crease appearing between his brows, he continued. “You probably know why I asked you to come in.”

“You want me to tell you what I know about her.”

He nodded, leaning forward as if to emphasize his point. “She’s a lethal forward and you’re the only one in the club who’s ever played with her. In fact, you two seemed very close during your time in Angel City.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back into your chair, frowning slightly. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

Jona blinked at you.

Then slowly, “Surely you must’ve trained closely together considering she’s a forward and you’re a keeper? Unless training was vastly different in Angel City, then I’m sorry for the assumption.”

“O–Oh, I thought you were implying—” You shook your head, uncrossing your arms as you waved the rest of your sentence away. “Never mind. But yes, that’s right.”

Jona gave you another questioning look before speaking again. 

“She’s going to be a big problem. And that’s why I’m going to change things up a bit. I want to put you in the starting lineup as soon as possible—put as many games with our current team under your belt. We’ll most likely face Lyon in the Quarters and that’s unfortunate but what is great is that you’re here: the best counter to what Lyon acquired. If we could eliminate Lyon early, we have a higher chance of winning this year’s Champions League. The question is, are you ready for it?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Jona.” You said seriously, ignoring the pressure that pressed in the periphery of your mind.

“Use me.”

[kimasousparky]

didnt intend to post this but i like the coloring :)

[redwitchrune]

happy pride month heres some gay people

[daily-dose-of-bucket]

Day 77: my measly contribution to mermay before it's over

I decided to make her a Japan blue guppy and I also gave her a fun little outfit because I was feeling silly. And Kugie is a hermit crab using Kanna's bucket as a shell. Don't worry about the logic here.

The scales texture is by jojo-ojoj on DeviantArt!

[legerescriptor]

I saw a post the other day, about how humans are indestructible. How nothing can stop us.

Shot in the arms? The breast? Even in the lungs or the head? Nothing we can't recover from.

Acid in the eyes or even burning alive? We're not dead yet. Not dead soon.

We can recover from basically anything if we have the willpower to do so and even with way less resources and medical aid than you might think.

And that's what we seem to be to other species. On a spaceship it's always the human that willingly goes into danger zone, because they very probably will survive about anything that would kill other species immediately.

Except for when a human comes back alive but not quite so. Sometimes a human comes back and just a few days later is getting sick. Some are coughing blood and some are just slowly losing energy, always needing more sleep, until they never wake up again.

Sometimes humans survive the battlefield, but die slowly later on and no one knows why. They seemed fine. They didn't even have an injury. They just... Slowly withered away. Very very slowly. And most of the time very very painful.

The tale of the indestructible human was just that. A tale. A myth. But it kept getting repeated. It kept getting told. Because it was interesting, unbelievable, heroic.

But the truth? It was gruesome, hard to hear and even harder to tell. It was a horror story. And worst of all: It was even harder to believe than the myth.

But then there was this day. A spaceship, alone, no help could reach them. Not fast enough. Something needed fixing. But there was radiation coming off it and all of the protective gear was damaged and no longer useable since the ship crashed into a meteor only a few days prior. Nothing too bad happened. Just the storage. The storage and with it all the gear in it.

And now they needed it, noone would survive the radiation. Noone except for maybe...

They asked the humans, there were two of them on the ship, and they were indestructible, right? Surely they could go and fix it. They could save them all.

When they approached them with their request, one immediately nodded, while the other looked shocked.

"You can't go in there."

"Of course, I can."

"You will die!"

Everyone in the room looked taken aback. Surely they wouldn't die? Humans didn't die. That's what everyone said.

The human indeed shook their head.

"I'll be fine. And we will all die if no one goes in there."

"Oh, please, don't. Don't do this. Don't sacrifice yourself."

"I have to."

"I'll come with you!"

"You absolutely will not."

"But- but you need help!"

"I don't. And you know that as well as I do. Stay here. I'll go." The human stood up and went to leave.

"I'll go! Instead of you!"

"No!" Fast. Loud. Fierce. "It"ll be me." They went away.

Their friend tugged on their arm and tried to convince them to stay, but they just shook off their arm.

The captain was worried. Why were they arguing?

"Nothing will happen to them. Humans are indestructible, after all. Am I right?"

They just looked at the captain with tears in their eyes and stormed off, in the other direction as their crewmate.

A few hours later the brave human came back from their mission. It was successful. Everything was done. And without so much of a scratch at the humans body. They congratulated them, praised them. Even their human friend came back and hugged them, tightly, with still teary eyes.

The next days the humans spent a lot of time in their rooms, scarcely coming out, the one praised as their hero not eating well. They became weaker, day by day, while their friend stayed at their side, holding their hand and talking to them, even while they were asleep.

Of course, the crew worried, but they still believed, it was just exhaustion. After all, it was a difficult mission. And they saved all of their lives. They deserved the rest.

Until one day they heard sobbing. When they opened the door, they saw the human, laying on their friends body. Their still warm body, but without breath in their lungs and without a beat in their heart.

They were dead. Impossible.

Humans are indestructible.

"No!" The other human cried out loud, when they tried to take the body away. When they tried to touch them, when they tried to understand what happened. They were not injured. So why did they-

For a week, the other human didn't leave the room. Didn't talk to anyone. Didn't eat.

Everyone was worried. Would they lose them too? Was something happening to the humans? Maybe they were sick? A sickness even they couldn't survive?

But this human came back. Looking paler and older than before. But they came back alive.

Only then the captain dared to ask. "When you said, they'd die. You-"

"I meant it. It killed them. They went in, because you asked them. But it killed them."

"But I thought-"

"We are not. We never were. But they let you believe. Because they wanted to save us."

"Why didn't you tell us? We would have never let them go in there."

"I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Because it was either them or me."

[the-labyrinth-of-me]

Wait did both Alice and Zane record Alan when he was at his lowest point? Didn't Alice make her exhibition to show the world what she sees? To show Alan the truth about himself? That it never was Scratch visiting and terrorizing her, but Alan himself? Did she depict his "self" and Zane depicted his "persona"? The two sides of him that he wishes he can eliminate bc they brought him into trouble (Scratch representing anger and the fallouts with paparazzi and stuff, Zane representing his self-destructive behavior with alcohol and drugs and the party nights)? The both sides that caused his marriage to start falling apart? Was that the reason Zane made that video of Alan when they were on that booze and drug-fueled bender while working on the Return manuscript? Is this party video the companion piece?? Alan's downward spiral, same as Alice's photos? Do they fucking work together aasdffjfjfkfk

[redwinterroses]

[part one] [part two] [part three]

Jimmy woke to the muzzle of a rifle nudging under his chin.

Blinking furiously, he followed the line of the gun up to its wielder: a stocky man with a bushy black beard and eyes like two ice chips. 

A sardonic smile played around the man’s mouth. “Well,” he said. “Want to explain why I got a couple’a burglars sleepin’ on my floor?”

“I—” Jimmy’s mouth was dry with sleep. The bright morning sun streaming in the windows made his eyes water and—the morning sun. He cursed himself for falling asleep. “I’m Jimmy. Ah—Tango said you wouldn’t mind—I mean, if you’re Cub?” It came out as a question, and he swallowed against the cold iron nuzzling his throat.

“Tango?” the man’s eyes flicked over to where Tango—damn him—was still softly snoring, his derby settled over his face. The muzzle of the rifle retreated a little bit, and the man kicked Tango’s foot.

With an indignant exclamation, Tango came awake, his hat falling to the side.

“Hey!” he spluttered. “What’s the big—oh. Mornin’, Cubby.”

“Tango.” Cub withdrew the rifle and held it loose at his side. “Seriously? You could have knocked, man. I’ve got spare rooms.”

Tango sat up, gesturing at the rifle. “Sure, but I know better than to bang on a door in the middle of the night when Ol’ Faithful might see me before my good buddy Cub.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” Cub stood back, and let the rifle hang loose at his side. His eyes narrowed. “Back to my first question. Why do I have a couple’a burglars sleeping on my floor—besides the fact that they didn’t want to wake me up in the middle of the night?”

Tango groaned and got to his feet, stretching mightily. Jimmy, eyeing that rifle dubiously, sat up as well and tried to work the cricks out of his neck. 

“Train robbery,” Tango said. “Just south of here. Greysides gang cottoned onto me and had someone waiting for me when I tried to catch a ride back to Tumbleton.”

Cub whistled appreciatively. “Greysides, huh? Bad bunch.”

“We need to send a telegraph, actually,” Tango said. “Assuming Chef’s awake this early?”

“Man’s up before dawn most days,” Cub said. He nodded toward the door. “Who’re you planning to wire, though? Those pillagers’ll be gone long before any law gets there.”

“They stopped the train,” Tango said. “I’ll wire ahead to Tumbleton and if they haven’t arrived someone will have to go and find the engine—or whatever’s left of it. I doubt they killed anyone but they might have scuppered the works.”

Cub nodded, then pulled a tin out from under the counter. “Coffee? I can have it brewed by the time you’re back.”

“Cubby, I could kiss you.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Tango turned to Jimmy. “Wait here—I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

And with that, he jogged out the door and vanished into the morning sun.

To his dismay, Jimmy felt a twinge—a pang of something in his chest that tugged after Tango. He resisted easily, for now, but that confirmed his suspicions: his curse had officially latched on to the bounty hunter.

He barely kept himself from swearing.

“You’re from Spawnheart?” 

The question was so abrupt that it made Jimmy start. He turned to find Cub regarding him with an unreadable expression. The saloon owner stared at him, and Jimmy shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if he were being measured and weighed, and that Cub wasn’t impressed with what he saw.

“I… yeah, I am,” he said. He clambered to his feet and started packing his bedroll. Glancing back at Cub, he raised a self-deprecating eyebrow. “Is it that obvious?”

Cub shrugged. “I grew up there myself, actually. And it’s a pretty obvious guess—you’re not from around here, you were on a train heading toward new-gen…” he tilted his head thoughtfully. “You look familiar.”

Jimmy tensed. “...Yeah?”

Cub’s eyes were fixed on him, his expression entirely neutral. “Maybe. What did you say your last name was?”

“I didn’t.” Jimmy wondered how fast he could make it to the door—though where he thought he’d go after that he hadn’t the foggiest—before Cub lifted the rifle at his side. He shifted his weight, and Cub’s hand twitched a hair on the gun—

And then the man smiled, relaxing. “Fair enough, fair enough,” Cub said, his voice amiable. “A guy’s entitled to his secrets on the frontier. Sometimes they’re the most valuable thing you’ve got.”

Still wary, Jimmy buckled the leather strap around his bedroll, his attention never leaving Cub. He felt like he was facing down another creeper, and he couldn’t figure out why this one hadn’t exploded yet.

He held the bedroll aloft. “You, ah… you mind if I toss this back in the ender chest?”

Cub plonked the rifle down on the bartop and gestured for Jimmy to go around behind. “Be my guest,” he said. “Again, I guess.”

Jimmy stepped behind the counter, dropped the roll into the void-space of the ender chest and let the lid fall shut. “I can pay. For using your floor last night.”

Cub shook his head. “Nah, no worries, friend.” He jerked a thumb toward the door. “Just do me a favor and keep an eye on that knucklehead, and we’ll call it even.”

Like I’ve got any choice at this point. “Yeah,” Jimmy said. “Sure.”

Pulling out one of the barstools with his foot, Cub sat, and leaned forward, resting both arms on the bartop. All the suspicious tension seemed to have gone out of him, though Jimmy was still wary of those sharp eyes. “So,” Cub drawled. “What are you hoping to find out in new-gen? Gold? Adventure? Wide open spaces?”

“All the above, I guess.” Jimmy moved to one of the tables nearer the door and sank into one of the wooden chairs. It creaked slightly under his weight. “Mostly just… something far away. Find a little valley, build a farm. Maybe breed some horses—I’ve always liked horses.” Even as he said it, the dream took shape in his mind’s eye: a long, low cabin, cozy on the inside, with a barn full of bright-eyed horses and their hay-scented warmth. 

He brushed away the vision, stowing it away to consider later. After he’d gotten rid of his unwitting partner. “How do you know Tango? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Cub grinned—and unlike every other time, this smile was missing that predatory edge. This smile was genuine, and it took Jimmy a little by surprise.

“Oh, Tango and I go way back,” Cub said. “He’s been out here even longer than me, but when my first crew came out to new-gen he and a few others gave us a hand. We’ve all spread out over the years, but we keep in touch.” Steepling his fingers in front of his face, he raised his eyebrows. “How do you know Tango of the Tek variety?”

“Tek variety?” Jimmy shook his head. “I just met him last night. He… I think he saved my life? But he also made me jump off a train so I’m not exactly sure where that stands.”

The tugging sensation in his chest told him exactly where “that” stood, but he wasn’t about to explain that to the man who had woken him up with a weapon and apparently had a long history with Tango. Didn’t seem wise.

“That’s Tango all over.” Cub sat back and slapped the counter. “Well, if it’s new-gen you’re heading for, you could do worse than hanging around Tango for a bit. See if he’ll take you as far as Tumbleton—that’s about as far out as civilization goes at this point.”

Jimmy nodded noncommittally, and watched as Cub got up and retrieved his rifle. He slung its leather strap over one shoulder and stowed the weapon comfortably across his back, then gave Jimmy an evaluating glance. 

“Feel free to hang out in here until Tango gets back,” Cub said. He jerked his thumb toward the door. “I’ve got a few errands to run before the bar opens this afternoon. Alternatively… there’s a couple bottles of water under the counter and a spare ender chest you’re welcome to. Tango’s down on the east side of town so if you head west you can probably get a few miles out before he figures it out.”

Blinking, Jimmy fought the urge to reach for his pistol—or to bolt for the door.

“Ah…” he managed, “Why—what makes you think I would—”

“Boots.” Cub pointed at his feet. “You were asleep with your boots on. Maybe you’re just weird about it, but in my experience a man who sleeps with his boots on is a man on the move. Or on the run. And I’ll be honest with you, Jimmy—” he put an odd emphasis on the name, as if he knew there was something Jimmy was hiding. “I’m not sure I’m too keen on my buddy Tango takin’ up with someone on the run.”

There was no cold muzzle at Jimmy’s chin as there had been when he woke, but Cub’s expression was as emotionless as a bullet. 

Jimmy found himself shaking his head. “I’m not on the run,” he said, aware that he didn’t sound convincing, even to his own ears. The door, with its long rectangle of golden sunshine, seemed to pull at him—get out, get away, don’t make this mistake again. The allure of the open frontier, with no connections and no risks, was heady in its promise of freedom. 

But the far-more-tangible tug in his chest that told him Tango was already on his way back, and he wouldn’t get far enough to avoid the man chasing after him. And he would chase, Jimmy was sure of it.

Casting a glance toward the window, Jimmy cursed his bad luck—and apparent inability to wake up early. 

“I’m not on the run,” he said again, and the words were more sure this time. “And I’ll do whatever I can to keep harm from coming to your friend.” He looked at Cub, hoping the man could see the sincerity in his face. “Honestly, I can promise you that.”

Cub pursed his lips, then gave a sharp nod. “Good enough.”

As he said it, footsteps tapped on the floorboards outside, and the door swung open to let in a burst of fresh morning air and the smell of dust and sage. 

“Jimmy!” Tango said, striding into the room. “I feel like I owe you a ride to Tumbleton after getting your train burglefied. You ride?”

Jimmy stood. “You got us horses?”

“Well… no.” Tango said. “Chef had a package he needed mailed to Tumbleton anyway, so he’s loaning us a couple of his mules.”

Cub laughed, and gave Jimmy a friendly slap on the shoulder that was maybe just a little too hard. “Good luck, fellas,” he said. “You’ll need it.”

And with that, he sauntered out of the saloon. Jimmy watched him go and then looked at Tango, frowning.

“Tango, why would he say that?”

Tango laughed, and rubbed sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Oh, no reason, no reason,” he said unconvincingly. He gestured at the door.

“Let’s hit the road.”

[brass-tacked]

Looked to the sky (and said Please)

2.3K words, Buck x Eddie

Tommy’s gone. He barely even said goodbye. They were back on a sidewalk. This time they were supposed to be meeting for lunch. Tommy was 13 minutes late.

Buck had done his best not to panic as those minutes ticked by. He tried not to constantly check his watch. He tried not to think of worse case scenarios. He felt a gut punch breath push out of him when Tommy finally climbed out of an Uber. Buck was so relieved that he didn’t even notice when the Uber didn’t pull away. That Tommy didn’t even bother to close the door. He just leaned forward a little and proceeded to tear chunks of out Buck’s heart.

“This isn’t going to work, Buck. I need something else. I need more than you can give me.” His voice sounded clinical. His fingers were gripping the top of the car door.

Buck felt that breath of relief suck back into him. This time the oxygen was gone and Buck felt like he’d been breathing carbon monoxide. It felt thin and made his head spin. Before he could recover enough to move, to speak, to do anything, Tommy was gone.

…..

He didn’t remember what happened next. His mind a whirlpool of not enough, not enough, not enough.

Not enough not enough notenoughnot enoughnotenoughnotenough

Never enough.

Then Eddie was there. When he looked at his phone later he found that some part of his brain had been working enough to send Eddie a pin to his location. Apparently that was all the information Eddie had needed to drop everything and come to him. To show up like a guardian angel and sweep Buck into his truck.

They don’t talk. At least Buck doesn’t remember them talking. He does remember Eddie glancing over at him every time they came to a stop or there was a break in traffic long enough to safely take his eyes off the road. At one point Eddie reached over and put his hand on Buck’s knee, gave a little squeeze and then left it there. Buck remembers the heat of the it. The grounding it gave him. The oxygen coming back into his lungs.

…..

Not enoughnot enoughnotenoughnotenough

He’s in Eddie’s kitchen. Sitting in a chair and looking at all of the ingredients for sandwiches spread out in front of him. The lettuce looks like it’s started to wilt and the avocado is brown. Eddie is standing by the sink. Hands gripping the counter. Chris isn’t there.

Of course Chris isn’t there. He’s in Texas. Buck couldn’t get him to stay. He wasn’t able to do the one thing Eddie asked of him.

Not enough not enough not enoughneverenoughneverenoughnever

Buck must make a noise or do something because Eddie is now right there, kneeling next to him, and placing a hand on his shoulder. His thumb finding a home in that spot right between Buck’s neck and collarbone making small sweeping motions. Sometimes Buck thinks that Eddie’s thumb was specially made to fit perfectly in that spot. Or vis versa, maybe he was made to fit Eddie.

“What happened, Buck? Is it Maddie? Is she okay?” Eddie’s voice is soft. Almost a whisper. It’s like he’s scared Buck’s going to break. Eddie’s other hand comes up and sweeps across Buck’s cheek. That’s when Buck realizes that he’s crying.

“He’s gone.” That’s all Buck can get out. Even those words feel like they rip apart his throat on the way up.

“Oh, Buck. I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me, but I’m here if you want to talk about it.” Of course Eddie figures it out from just two words. Of course he does.

“There’s not much to tell. I just… I wasn’t enough.”

Maybe if Buck didn’t know Eddie so well he wouldn’t have seen the flash of anger in his eyes. Wouldn’t have noticed the clench of his jaw and the tightening of all the muscles in his body. They way the gentle sweep of Eddie’s thumb across his collarbone stuttered for a second and pressed hard against the bone before resuming its back and forth motion. But Buck did know Eddie.

Neverenoughneverenough

“Is that what he said? Buck, you have to know that’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true, Eds. I’ve never been enough. Not to anyone. I just, I ju- I can’t do anything right. That’s why they leave.” Buck’s voice cracks and stumbles. He can taste the salt from his tears. They taste so much like blood. All he can taste is Eddie’s blood mixed with the oil from the truck and the hot asphalt. The panic. The fear. He came so close to losing something so important, but at least that day he was enough. At least he thought he was. He’d saved Eddie. He’d saved his family. But in the end it still hadn’t been enough. “Of course it’s true. If it wasn’t, he’d still be here. He wouldn’t be… he’d be here.”

“If Tommy doesn’t want to be here? If he wasn’t smart enough to see how great you are? To know how lucky he was to have you? Then fuck him. He wasn’t enough for you.”

Buck can feel his eyes go a little crazy. Eddie’s words sending a new wave of wild emotions crashing through him. “Tommy? That’s not. Tommy doesn’t matter. I still, I still failed. I lost him.”

Eddie take a deep breath. His eyes searching Buck’s face and his other hand coming to rest on Buck’s other shoulder. Gripping him tight and holding him in place. “You gotta help me out here. I think we’ve got our wires crossed a little. If we’re not talking about Tommy, then who are we talking about?”

“I mean, I guess we are kinda talking about Tommy. He did leave me and say I’m not enough.” Buck lets out of small sigh before moving his eyes away from Eddie’s and standing up. Eddie’s hands fall away with the motion. Buck feels so cold. His mouth still tastes like iron. He can feel Eddie’s confusion as he steps away to get a glass of water.

Once he turns back around he still can’t look at his friend. His eyes instead stare through the walls like he has x-ray vision and can see straight into Chris’s room. Where he knows the bed is neatly made. The controller for his video game console is placed neatly on the bed stand on top of the novel his was reading. His placed marked with a bookmark Buck bought him at the aquarium two years ago. The lampshade has a light layer of dust on it. So does the dresser and the bed. Buck thinks he should clean it soon. Just in case.

Notenoughneverenoughnotenoughneverenough

A broken sound brings Buck’s focus back to the kitchen. It’s halfway been a whimper and gasp. It sounds a little like Eddie. Buck can’t quite bring himself to look at his friend.

“Buck no”

“I couldn’t do it, Eds. You asked me for one thing and I wasn’t enough. Chris didn’t stay. I couldn’t get him to stay.” Buck is looking at the glass gripped in both hands. Still full of water because he couldn’t bring himself to drink it. He didn’t deserve to drink he. He deserved to taste the blood forever. For as long as his family was broken.

“No.” Eddie’s voice is like steel. Like a command that Buck wanted nothing more than to follow, but he can’t. He doesn’t deserve to. “That’s not on you. That’s not your fault.”

Buck can’t respond. He doesn’t have any more words. He just shakes his head while staring down at the glass. It’s a Superman glass. His fingers run rubbing against the raised lines of the emblem.

“I never should have asked you to go in there. I was being selfish and I was scared. It was never on you to get him to stay.” Eddie’s in front of him again. He’s so close that Buck can feel the pulse of his body, the warmth of his breath ruffling against his hair. It’s so hard not to lean into that warmth.

“Buck, can you look at me?”

Buck wants to. He really, really wants to. He wants to look into those beautiful brown eyes and find forgiveness and all the things that Eddie has always given him, even when he didn’t deserve them.

“Please, just look at me.” Eddie’s finger hooks under his chin. He doesn’t push. Doesn’t force Buck to looks up, but just keeps it there.

It feels like a magnet as Buck shifts. His head coming up and his eyes seeking Eddie’s. It feels necessary and cosmic and ineffable.

“Buck all I really needed that night was for you to be there. I needed you next to me. My world felt like it was crumbling down and I did that to myself. I am the reason Chris left. You didn’t fail at anything. You being here, having my back? That was more than enough. You kept my world from breaking to pieces. Yes, Chris is in Texas, but I know he will come back. And you? You are more than I could ever ask for. More than I could even dream of hoping for. You’re everything.”

Buck feels warmth start to seep back into him. He’s still crying, just a little bit, but now the tears taste like saltwater again. He tries to fight a small smile from escaping because he’s still not sure he deserves to feel any happiness, but he can feel his lips start to turn up anyway. The smile grows bigger when Eddie’s thumb moves up and starts gently sweeping across his lips.

It feels like too much and not enough and like he’s about to explode as he stares into Eddie’s eyes. As he shivers from the sensation ghosting over his lips. He takes a deep, shaky breath and they’re close enough that their shoulders knock together and their noses brushing against each other.

The kiss feels so natural. Eddie’s lips soft and gentle. His thumb sliding away from Buck’s mouth and moving to cradle the back of Buck’s head. The feeling of Eddie’s fingers burrowing into his hair almost makes his legs give out. He reaches for Eddie to steady himself, wrapping his arms around the other man’s back. The kiss feels like an inferno. Consuming him. But it also feels like a mountain lake, cool and refreshing. It feels like the warmth of the sun in the early days of summer. It feels like being welcomed home.

He lets out a little laugh as the kiss ends. He can feel joy and hope and so much love bubbling through him. He wants nothing more than to keep on kissing Eddie forever, but he has to clear one thing up first. Even though it’s serious, he’s so happy that he can’t keep the smile off his face or the laugh out of his voice. “You know it’s not all your fault right? You never asked Kim to show up and pretend to be Shannon. Please tell me you know how crazy she was to do that?”

Eddie laughs too. Just a little one. He keeps his hands buried in Buck’s hair and gently knocks their foreheads together. “Yeah, I worked that much out with Frank. But that’s not important. You’re what’s important.”

“Did you work that one out with Frank too?” Buck’s smiling as his hands start tracing imaginary patterns on Eddie’s back. Savoring the moment and a little unable to believe it is happening.

“Yes, actually. Frank and I talk about you a lot. About how, besides Christopher, you’re the most important person in my life. About visualizing what happiness looks like for me and it had your face. About how to handle being in love with you while you were in a relationship with another man.” Eddie’s voice is so soft and vulnerable on that last sentence that it makes Buck’s heart squeeze.

Buck tilts his head back to swallow back the emotion that threatening to overwhelm him. The movement dragging Eddie’s nose down his cheek sending another shiver through his body and making his hands clench against Eddie’s back before Eddie drops his head to rest on Buck’s shoulder. He has to clear his throat a few times while gathering his thoughts before he can respond.

“The thing about Tommy, well, he was really just a placeholder because I didn’t think I could have what I really wanted.” Eddie made a wounded sound and Buck shushed him while tightening his grip on the other man’s back, pulling them impossibly closer. “I didn’t realize at first or I never would have started anything with him. Then Chris left and that hurt. I wanted to be here with you. I never wanted to be away from you. It made me realize some things too. I was going to tell him today at lunch that I couldn’t see him anymore. I wasn’t being fair to him. Not when I’m so in love with someone else. He must have figured it out for himself though because he broke up with me on the street before I could even say hello. I can’t blame him though. I know what it feels like to be the placeholder and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“I need you to know that you’re not a placeholder to me and I never want you to feel like one again.” Eddie says before turning his head and places a soft kiss on the side of Buck’s neck. “And Buck, I am the someone you’re in love with, right?”

Buck can tell that Eddie’s going for teasing, but there’s the faintest tremor in his voice that gives away his nerves. It makes Buck’s heart clench once more. He never wants Eddie to have doubts. “Yes, Eddie, I love you so damn much.”

[lost-gamer]

This was ment to be finished before C137 lost in the @ultimaterickshowdown but well xD

[ratinayellowbandana]

Hound "baby boy" of Ill Omen for prompts!

first off, thank you for carrying this whole ship on your back. you are our strongest soldier and we appreciate you.

second, even more thanks for sending this my way! I hope this is something like what you had in mind!

if anyone else sees this and would like to toss a little prompt my way, feel free :)

wc: 934

cw: body horror…kind of? it’s just canonically what the good boy looks like

~~~

Imogen loves Laudna. She does. Quite a lot, in fact.

Because it is a fact. 

It may as well be written in stone. In the stars. Recorded on one of those dusty scrolls in elegant script and stuck on a shelf in some stuffy library for the next bored student who may happen across it and learn of two witches who saved the world.

Laudna, it must be noted, is a woman of many quirks. 

And Imogen, it must be noted, adores her for them. 

They are just as much a part of Laudna as the angle of her nose, the brightness in her eyes. As are her projects, macabre and scrounged as they often are, and so Imogen adores them, too. 

(If it takes her a moment to come around, Laudna must never know. Each new creation, presented to Imogen with all the glee of a child in a sweets shop, will only ever be met with enthusiasm. Laudna, she knows, has spent too long squirreling away the odd parts of herself. Imogen is determined to recover them.)

“Come here, darling,” Laudna calls, and the flesh-and-bone creature that scared the everloving fuck out of Imogen the first time he burst from his maker’s chest trots happily to her side, tongue lolling from a fleshless snout. 

The hound twines between Laudna’s legs, and she lifts her skirts to allow him through. He leans heavily against the inside of her knee, and Laudna beams. She bends at the waist to wrap the creature in spindly arms. His back arches, and Imogen can hear the vertebrae curving, clacking, as Laudna scratches behind his one intact ear. The ichor-tipped remnant of a tail begins to wag, shaking them both with the force of it.

He spots Imogen several paces away, and his green eyes glow, peering at her curiously.

Laudna has stopped her scritches, and the hound tilts his big head. Laudna looks up, meets Imogen’s fond gaze, and her lips split into a wide grin.

“Go on,” she pats the creature’s sides encouragingly, “say hello if you like.”

The hellhound bounds forward, released from his command. 

Imogen recalls the day he learned his tricks.

Laudna had found Imogen lounging beneath a copse of trees one afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to sink, casting the forest in dappled shades of orange and gold. The festering hound loped diligently at her heels. His paws colored the leaf-strewn ground iridescent black in their wake. 

“Look!” Laudna had said, chest puffed. She turned to her newest creation and pointed one finger. “You’ve been so obedient all afternoon. I’ll see about giving you something from my collection if your other mom approves of your skills. I should have a deer leg that will suit you nicely.” She contemplated for a moment. “Ready?” 

The hound stretched into a bow, muscle snapping over exposed bone, yawned, and shook. Drops of blood and ichor spattered the clearing, but Imogen hardly noticed, too caught up in Laudna’s casual statement. 

She had said it nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just gifted Imogen something extraordinarily precious. As if Imogen’s senses hadn’t suddenly gone askew. As if she hadn’t just sent Imogen’s worldview slip-sliding into something new and dangerous and so welcome that it felt like a homecoming. Her mind spun until she was almost giddy with it. She wondered, then, how something said so simply could feel so significant. If Laudna understood what she had done. 

She had appointed Imogen the caretaker of a fragment of her soul. Of a creature that had been born of her, born from her. Crafted from the essence of her with whispered words and a desire to protect. 

“Imogen?” Laudna had said then, “Are you ready?”

And Imogen had glanced between Laudna and her hound, who sat on bleeding haunches and looked expectantly at his mother, and it was all she could do to swallow the creak in her throat.

“Let’s see what you can do.”

Now, as the hound nearly bowls her over, Imogen cannot find it within herself to be mad at him. Not even at the dark stains on her dress. They’ll come out with a prestidigitation or two. She knows from experience. 

She falls back in the grass and stares down twin emeralds. A broad tongue laps the side of her face, and she laughs, trying to dodge a cold, wet nose against her cheek. Her hands come up to cup the sides of his muzzle. 

“Hi, baby boy,” she coos. She rubs at his ears, and he presses harder into her palm, groaning loudly. She can feel the vibration in her chest.

Laudna scolds, “What have I said about knocking people over?” Her hands rest firmly on her hips. “Honestly, Imogen, you could at least discipline him. How will he learn?”

Imogen rolls her eyes, shrugs. “I’m the fun mom. He comes to me because he knows he can’t get away with anything when you’re around.”

Laudna huffs. “I’m sorry that I want our son to be civilized.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” The hound flops to the ground, sprawling over Imogen’s outstretched legs, and she lets out an oomph of surprise. “Are you going to join us down here?” 

Laudna sighs and settles beside Imogen, resting her head on Imogen’s shoulder. She runs her hands over the creature’s exposed belly, avoiding the biggest of the perpetually oozing wounds. His jaw unhinges happily. His tail thumps a steady rhythm against her shin.

Imogen presses a kiss to the top of Laudna’s head, and Laudna relaxes into her.

A soft smile spreads across Imogen’s lips.

[tleeaves]

Folks going "WHAT they made a show about the Fallout franchise?? I've been hearing people say Bethesda messed it up, but I haven't watched it myself, so I'm going to trust the word of other people -- some of which also haven't finished watching it" is driving me insane.

Being a hard core fan of something obviously brings with it a lot of passionate feelings when adaptations come into play. Of course, there's going to be people going "but in 8 episodes of the first ever season they made, they didn't explore Theme C or D, didn't introduce factions E and F and G, and because the source company is notorious for its scams, we and everyone else who's a TRUE fan should hate it".

The Amazon Original series Fallout follows the videogame franchise of the same name. It is a labour of love and you can tell by the attention to detail, the writing, the sets, and YES THE THEMES ARGUE WITH THE WALL. It's clearly fan service. I mean, the very characterisation of Lucy is a deadringer for someone playing a Fallout game for the first time. She embodies the innocent player whose expectations drastically change in a game that breaks your heart over and over again. Of course, she's also the vessel through which we explore a lot of themes, but I'll get to that.

There're some folks arguing that the show retcons the games, and I gotta say... for a website practically built on fandom culture, why are we so violently against the idea of someone basing an adaptation on a franchise that so easily lends itself to new and interesting interpretations? But to be frank, a lot of what AO's Fallout is not that new. We have: naive Vault dweller, sexy traumatised ghoul that people who aren't cowards will thirst over, and pathetic guy from a militaristic faction. We also have: total atomic annihilation, and literally in-world references to the games' lore and worldbuilding constantly (the way I was shaking my sister over seeing Grognark the Barbarian, Sugar Bombs, Cram, Stimpaks, and bags of RadAway was ridiculous). Oh, and the Red Rocket?? Best pal Dogmeat? I'm definitely outing myself as specifically a Fallout 4 player, but that's not the point you should be taking away from this.

The details, the references, and the new characters -- this show is practically SCREAMING "hey look, we did this for the fans, we hope you love it as much as we do". Who cares that the characters are new, they still hold the essence of ones we used to know! And they're still interesting, so goddamn bloody interesting. Their arcs mean so much to the story, and they're told in a genuinely intriguing way. This isn't just any videogame adaptation, this was gold. This sits near Netflix's Arcane: League of Legends level in videogame adaptation. Both series create new plots out of familiar worlds.

Of course, those who've done the work have already figured out AO's Fallout is not a retcon anyway. But even if it was, that shouldn't take away from the fact that this show is actually good. Not even just good, it's great.

Were some references a little shoe-horned in to the themes by the end of the show, such as with "War never changes"? Yes, I thought so. But I love how even with a new plot and characters, they're actually still exploring the same themes and staying true to the games. I've seen folks argue otherwise, but I truly disagree. The way capitalism poisons our world, represented primarily through The American Dream and the atomic age of the 45-50s that promoted the nuclear family dynamic -- it's there. If you think it's glorifying it by leaning so heavily into in the adaptation, I feel like you're not seeing it from the right angle. It's like saying Of Mice And Men by John Steinbeck glorifies the American Dream, when both this book and the Fallout franchise are criticisms of it. If you think about it, the post-apocalyptic world of Fallout is a graveyard to the American Dream. This criticism comes from the plots that are built into every Fallout story that I know of. The Vaults are literally constructed to be their own horror story just by their mere existence, what they stand for, what happens in each of them. The whole entire show is about the preservation of the wrong things leading to fucked up worlds and people. The missions of the Vaults are time and again proven to be fruitless, unethical, plain wrong. Lucy is our brainwashed character who believed in the veritable cult she lived in before she found out the truth.

So then consider the Brotherhood of Steel. I really don't think it exists in the story to glorify the military. We see just how much the Brotherhood has brainwashed people like Max (also, anything ominously named something like "the Brotherhood" should raise eyebrows). Personally, I don't like Max, but I am intrigued by his characterisation. I thought the end of his arc was rushed the way he "came good" basically, but [SPOILERS] having him embraced as a knight in the Brotherhood at the end against his will -- finally getting something he always wanted -- and him grimly accepting it from all that we can tell? Him having that destiny forced upon him now that he's swaying? After he defected? If his storyline is meant to be a tragedy, it wouldn't surprise me, because Fallout is rife with tragedies anyway. And a tragedy would also be a criticism of the military. That's what Max's entire arc is. It goes from the microcosm focusing on the cycle of bullying between soldiers to the macro-environment where Max is being forced to continue a cycle of violence against humanity he doesn't want to anymore because a world driven to extremes forces him to choose it to survive (not to mention what a cult and no family would do to his psyche). Let's not forget what the Brotherhood's rules are: humankind is supreme. Mutants, ghouls, synths, and robots are abominations to be hated and destroyed. If you can't draw the parallels to the real world, you need to retake history and literature classes. The Brotherhood is also about preserving the wrong things, like the Vaults (like the Enclave, really). They just came about through different method. The Enclave is capitalism and twisted greed in a world where money barely exists anymore. The Brotherhood is, well, fascism plain and simple.

Are these the only factions in the Fallout franchise? Hell no. But if you're mad about that -- that they're the main ones explored, apart from the NCR -- I think you're missing the point. These themes, these reminders, are highly relevant in the current climate. In fact, I almost think they always will be relevant unless we undergo drastic change. On the surface-level, Fallout seems like the American ideal complete with guns blazing that guys in their basements jerk off to. Under that surface, is a mind-fuck story about almost the entire opposite: it's a deconstruction of American ideals that are held so closely by some, and the way that key notion of freedom gets twisted, and you're shooting a guy in-game because it's more merciful than what the world had in store for him.

I mean, the ghoul's a fucking cowboy from the wild west character he used to play in Hollywood glam and his wife was one of the people who helped blow up America in the name of capitalism and "peace". There are so many layers of this to explore, I'd need several days to try and keep track and go through it all.

The Amazon Prime show is a testament to the Fallout franchise. The message, the themes? They were not messed up or muddled or anything of the sort, in my opinion.

As for Todd Howard, that Bethesda guy, I'm sure there's perfectly valid reasons to hate him. I mean, I've hated people for a lot less valid reasons, and that's valid. We all got our feelings. But the show is about more than just him. My advice is to keep that in mind when you're judging it.