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morkhan · 5 years ago

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Will Byers is Gay: The Evidence So Far

With the release of Stranger Things 3, there has been a lot of discussion kicked up about the character of Will Byers and his sexuality (or lack thereof). I've seen a lot of takes about what "it's not my fault you don't like girls" was intended to mean, many of which seem to take it in isolation, so I wanted to make a post putting it into what I think is its proper context; not an isolated incident, but the latest carriage in veritable train of queer themed language and imagery that has followed Will Byers since episode one of season one, and before that. You ready? Alright, let's go.

Season Zero: the Montauk Files

Before Stranger Things became Stranger Things, it was called Montauk. Like many would-be show makers, the Duffer Bros put together a "show bible" describing the premise, setting, tone, and characters of the show they intended to make. Like many shows, a lot of these ideas changed or were lost on their way to the screen, but it's always worth looking into their original concepts. Here is their description of Will Byers in the Montauk show bible:

Obviously, the major whammy there is in the first line "sexual identity issues." But there are some other interesting notes, like his "colorful clothes" that you might want to keep a lookout for on your next rewatch. Now, onto...

Season 1

The thing to pay attention to regarding Will in season 1 is in the language used to refer to him when he is not present (which he isn't for most of the season).

Episode 1: the subject of bullying comes up right away in the conversation between Joyce and Hopper. "The kids, they're mean. They laugh at him, laugh at his clothes, call him names." "What's wrong with his clothes?" "I don't know!" This harkens back to the Montauk show bible, but it's arguable, since it's never made clear what about his clothes draws ire.

She also mentions that he is "sensitive," "not like most," and that his dad said he was "queer" and called him a "fag." Hopper asks "is he?" to which she replies "He's missing is what he is!"

Episode 3: Troy says he's not missing, he's dead. "Probably killed by some other queer."

Episode 4: Troy, again "Will's in fairyland, flying around with all the other little fairies, all happy and gay."

Sensitive, queer, fag, fairy, and gay are all used to describe Will in season 1, but perhaps more notable is the fact that they aren't used to describe anyone else. If the show were truly period accurate, let's be real; the whole party would've been called queers on a pretty regular basis, because "queer" doubled as a generic insult back then. But in season 1, these words are only ever used in relation to Will, with one exception; in episode 6, Steve says to Will's brother, "I used to think you were queer." So it's not even an active accusation in that moment; it's used in the negative.

Hell, Troy walked up to Lucas mockingly proposing to Mike and proclaiming his love for him, and he still didn't call them queers. That language is reserved for Will.

Now granted, most of these are used as insults by characters who don't like Will, but still; as a writer, if you want your audience to remember something, repetition is an excellent way to embed it in their minds. There's a reason for the specificity of language surrounding Will, and a reason that language keeps coming up over and over and over again.

Season 2

Season 2 retires much of the homophobic language used to insult Will, replacing it with "Zombie Boy." The only homophobic language used in season 2 is the word "faggot," used by Billy's father to refer to Billy, who expresses a clear interest in women (and an arguable interest in one particular man, but that's the subject of another post).

Still, there is an arguable bit of queer theming in Will's conversation with Jonathan regarding the benefits of being a "freak" and how normal people never accomplish anything. Jonathan even invokes bisexual icon David Bowie to make Will feel better about his "freakishness."

The clearest piece of queer theming for Will in season 2 comes in episode 8, in this beautiful speech from Joyce to Possessed Will:

"When you turned eight, I gave you that huge box of crayons, do you remember that? It was 120 colors. And all your friends got you Star Wars toys, but all you wanted to do was draw with all your new colors. And you drew this big spaceship, but it wasn't from a movie. It was YOUR spaceship; a RAINBOW Ship, that's what you called it. And you, you must have used every color in the box. I took that with me to Melvald's, and I put it up. I told everyone who came in, 'My son drew this.' And you were so embarrassed, but I was so proud. I was so, so proud."

This is one of the most powerful memories of her son that Joyce has, an image so strong and distinct that she uses it to invoke his true identity against the monster that is slowly subsuming him. She notes very specifically that it's not something he copied, but something that came entirely from Will himself, an image that she felt represented him so perfectly that she took it with her to work and proudly touted it as his to everyone she knew. The Rainbow Ship is Joyce's picture of her son's very heart, and surely I don't need to explain to you how powerful a piece of queer imagery the rainbow is.

Some subtextual stuff; in episode 9, when the girl asks Will to dance, he stammers "I... I don't..." and only goes to dance with her when Mike literally pushes him towards her.

During the final montage, the scene cuts to different characters in time with appropriate lines from the song: "every move you make" cuts to Mike and El (as he is teaching her to dance), "every vow you break" cuts to Nancy dancing with Dustin (as she technically cheated on Steve with Jonathan), "I'll be watching you" cuts to Lucas dancing with Max (as she has playfully called him 'stalker' all season). What line cuts to Will? "Every smile you fake," specifically on the word fake, while Will dances with a girl wearing this expression:

That is not a real smile, that is not a comfortable boy, and that is not an accident; Noah Schnapp is one of the best actors in the entire show, and of the young boys, he is the one the Duffers trust most to do dramatic heavy lifting.

Do you want it to be a little more explicit? Okay, here is that scene in the script:

I mean, that pretty much speaks for itself. It's less explicit in the actual show, but it's still there, you know?

Season 3

And now, the biggest and most explicit thing to date; The Scene. I mean, you could discuss the obvious subtext in the simple fact that Will is the only male main character who has yet to find a girlfriend or express any interest in girls whatsoever, but that pales in comparison to The Scene.

The setup for The Scene is pretty simple; after declaring "a day free of girls" in order to get his friends to run the D&D campaign he's probably spent a significant amount of time creating, his friends have blown him off to continue bemoaning their girl troubles, so Will has decided to leave. Mike, realizing too late that he has genuinely upset his friend, chases after him to try and get him to come back.

A back-and-forth argument ensues, where Will accuses Mike of ruining the party and abandoning his friends in favor of girls, and Mike, in the heat of the moment, responds with "It's not my fault you don't like girls!" After which, everything stops. There is a full second of silence, and a close up on Noah Schnapp's face so you can take in his reaction.

There is a lot to unpack here. Now, acting is up to interpretation to a degree, but to me, that expression conveys two primary emotions; shock, and betrayal. That face says "how could you?" Because here's the thing; regardless of what Mike does or doesn't know about Will's sexuality, Mike knows for a fact that Will has been called a queer all his life by everyone from his school bullies to his own fucking dirtbag father. By invoking even the specter of that, Mike has crossed a fucking line, and he knows it. And we know he knows it, because he immediately backtracks and tries to mitigate the damage. But it's too late. The damage has been done.

I also think there is a tinge of fear in that image. Just a moment of soul raking panic that pretty much every closeted queer person knows intimately. It's very brief. But I think it's there, if you look.

This scene sends Will into an emotional tailspin that culminates in him tearing down the literal last bastion of his childhood in a fit of sorrow and rage. His innocence has been destroyed. He cannot regain what he has lost, and he can never go back to the way things were before. This is the emotional climax of his arc for season three. It's a powerful one-- shame it comes in the third of eight episodes, but that's neither here nor there.

And that's pretty much it for now. Any one of these things taken in isolation could be very easily dismissed, but here's the thing; they aren't isolated incidents. They are part of a clear and consistent pattern, one that goes all the way back to the show's inception, before even one minute of footage was filmed. And this pattern points to one very obvious conclusion; the Duffer Brothers have always intended, and continue to intend, for Will Byers to be gay.

Now, for the obvious question; why haven't they made it explicit yet?

The answer is as unfortunate as it is obvious; I don't know.

It's entirely possible that there is some external force that the Duffers have to answer to that is preventing them from actively pursuing this particular storyline. This happens all the time in Hollywood, and it could be anything from Netflix to Noah Schnapp's parents to Noah Schnapp himself just being uncomfortable with it. Many are the creators who dream Big Gay Dreams only to run into the horrors of our Forced Hetero Reality. If the Duffers ultimately submit to these pressures, I hope you won't be too hard on them. This shit is harder than you think to get to the screen sometimes.

But it's also possible that they just aren't ready for it yet. That they have been saving this for a future storyline, that they just want their characters (and the actors) to get a little older before they pursue this particular storyline explicitly, but they've been busily laying groundwork for it so that anyone paying attention will know it's coming.

I don't know. Only time will tell for sure.

For now, I can tell you this; I see a great deal of evidence that the Duffers still intend for Will to be gay, and precisely zero that they have changed their minds.

I hope that holds true.

#stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #dustin henderson #stranger things spoilers

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tigerlilynoh · 5 years ago

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Almost Got ‘em

Written for the 2019 @spnsummergen. Rating: G Featuring: Original characters, and a couple familiar faces Word Count: 3,143 Warnings: foul language Author's Notes: The prompt was “Early season - demons in hell plotting to take the Winchesters down.” I was immediately inspired by the Batman: The Animated Series episode “Almost Got ‘im.” Summary: Deep in the depths of Hell, a group of demons discuss the two latest pains in their collective ass: Sam and Dean Winchester. Rumor is that the brothers had found the Colt and even killed a demon. Of course, rumors are just big talk— yet a pair of demons patiently listen; their plan is already in action.

Two figures made their way through the halls of the third lowest dungeon in Hell. As they walked the jagged stone walls seemed to close in around them, but their petite, female forms prevented the blade-like rock from tearing at their temporary flesh. Even if they were injured it would be of no importance; they were demons and there was a meeting that they very much wanted to attend.

Both were wearing lean, blonde women who might’ve been mistaken for sisters, but that was the limit of their outward similarity. The slightly older of them wore a gauzy, white dress that, when combined with her delicate steps, gave her the air of a drifting spirit. Her partner was another story. The younger demon’s black combat boots thudded with every step, announcing her presence. Her attire was entirely leather—the cow sort, not human—dyed dark enough to hide spilled blood.

Neither of them said a word as they approached the auxiliary dungeon rumored to be containing an unusual sort of rendezvous. The pair didn’t have anything more to discuss for the moment. They both knew their immediate goals, responsibilities, and when push came to shove, which of them was in charge. They damn well better have known. Between the two of them, they’d spent over a decade putting their respective pieces in order and double-checking their work.

When they reached the unmarked door that they’d heard whispers about, the demon in the white dress pushed it open without hesitation. She stepped through the door with an unassuming demeanor. Her colleague followed her, studying the contents of the chamber with a wary eye.

Inside there were eight lesser demons standing or sitting around a storage room. Three racks had been laid out flat, then pushed together to create an improvised conference table. Five of the occupants were perched on crates of acid, steel nails, and other implements of pain. The remaining three leaned against the far wall, cautiously keeping some distance.

A brutish-looking man with pasty skin, a pronounced brow, and stringy black hair glared at the newcomers from the opposite side of the table. He stared with the intensity of someone who had taken charge—he certainly didn’t hold any noteworthy rank as evidenced by his badly calloused hands that hinted at many decades or centuries of wielding a whip, the shoddy ones meant for working souls.

In a low growl he asked the two women, “What do you want?”

“We heard that this is the place to be if you truly hate the Winchesters,” answered the elder one.

He stared at them for a moment before replying, “Get inside and shut the fucking door.”

The pair entered, closing the door behind them. From the way that everyone turned their attention to a stout demon sitting on a box labeled ‘spiders’ they assumed that it was his turn to speak. The two women settled themselves on a non-technically-iron maiden that was lying along one of the walls as if it were a bench.

The stout demon resumed addressing his audience. “So then I tore the cow apart—six chunks, big ones but still enough to spread around, and some smaller hunks. You don’t want to waste it by piling the whole cow in one corner of the room. You might as well not bother cutting the damn thing up—Anyway, I hung pieces of it throughout the house.” The sound of scuttling inside the box he was sitting on filled the room as he fumed for a moment in anger. “It’s a classic omen! It’s a horror! And the older of the brothers makes a joke about hamburgers!”

“So disrespectful,” muttered a female demon with hollow eyes and frayed white hair. Several demons nodded in agreement with her comment.

“That kind of work takes time,” complained the portly demon. “I’m not a high-caste demon. I can’t just wave my hand and make things move. Do you have any idea how long it takes to cut up a cow? And the first cleaver broke and I had to find a store—”

“Was it a vegetable cleaver?” asked the lean demon with a mangled left arm and long, frizzy brown hair sitting next to him. When he looked up at her face in confusion, she rested her hand on his thigh, then said in a soft voice, “Milmont, sweetie, two kinds of cleavers. Vegetable ones aren’t made for bone.”

“I don’t fucking believe this,” muttered a red-haired demon. He was dressed like Billy Idol but his rosy cheeks undercut the attempt at an edgy look. “Did you fight them or not?”

“I fought them!” Milmont replied indignantly. “I had a knife—”

“Paring or bread?”

“—and I swung at the older one’s neck.”

One of the demons standing in the shadows noted aloud, “Swung means a miss. You got your ass kicked.”

The stoat demon flustered a bit before reluctantly explaining, “He shot me in the chest with rock salt and hit me in the face with his gun—”

“You fell on your ass,” guessed the red-headed demon.

“The younger brother can perform an exorcism really fast,” Milmont said while shifting, jostling the box of spiders.

“You shouldn’t have gone after them,” said the brutish leader of the group. “You’re too weak.”

The stout demon glared as he hissed, “I have every right to go after the prey I choose. I’m allowed to prove myself!” He waved his hand at the rest of the room as he asked, “How many of you have been exorcised by them? If you’re here bitching about the Winchesters on your weekly one-hour break, yeah, I’m guessing they made you look like an idiot too.”

Several of the demons nodded in acknowledgement of the point or murmured agreement. The leader let out a small grumble as he reached into an open crate next to him. He pulled out an unlabeled bottle containing reddish-tawny liquid, then yanked the black cork from it with his teeth. After taking a swig, he handed it to Milmont.

“Corceo.” The stout demon toasted him before having a sip.

“You’re lucky that you were only exorcised,” the hollow-eyed woman told him while reaching out, wordlessly asking for a drink. Milmont passed it to her and she took a sip before continuing. “Rumor has it they possess the Colt.”

“Dajhila, they don’t have the Colt,” replied the demon with the bad arm. “I brawled with them ten days ago and they didn’t shoot me.”

“Maybe you aren’t worth the bullets?” jabbed the rosy-cheeked punk.

With her good hand, she picked a knife up off the ground and stabbed it into the wooden table in front of her, inviting him to fight.

Corceo, the leader, hit the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “Tisha, don’t carve Frey a new asshole. He has plenty already,” he joked, earning a chuckle from one of the demons watching from the wall. “The fact is that they had the gun. They killed Tom.”

“Tom was an idiot,” huffed Frey. “The only reason he wasn’t wading through viscera like the rest of us was because he was Azazel’s son.”

“Apparently he was attacking Sam, and Dean shot him,” Dajhila explained. “There were witnesses.”

Frey shrugged indifferently at Tom’s death. “Silver-spooned nepotist should’ve been the one to get his ass beat before he got shot.”

“I’m fine with the younger Winchester getting that bludgeoning,” interjected Tisha. She snarled, “You know that little shit is a psychic? I was so close to killing them. It took me three weeks to lure them to this abandoned insane asylum. I’d murdered twenty people in there—six hunters came before the brothers finally took the bait. That’s the shit I had to deal with in order to roll out the red carpet for those thick-brained, underwear-model-looking—“

“They aren’t that good looking,” said Milmont.

“They are,” countered Corceo. “Now let her finish or I’ll tear your fucking tongue out.”

Dajhila with the hollow eyes quietly said, “We should’ve kept the talking stick.”

Frey held up the pointy, splintered remains of a blood-stained wooden dowel that had evidently been used to stab someone. The woman shrugged, conceding that it had worked better in theory than in practice. The red-haired demon tossed it aside, grabbed the bottle of alcohol from where it had settled on the table, then gestured to their current storyteller.

Tisha waited a beat to see if anyone would interrupt her before continuing. “I swear on my life, that Sam kid really is a psychic. They knew it was a trap. I’m sitting there with a semi-automatic rifle—I’m not fucking around—and all of a sudden the sprinklers are raining holy water.” Her lips curled downward at the memory as she snarled, “Sam used a megaphone from the parking lot to exorcise me. I only got to see their faces as my cloud was getting dragged back down.”

“Jesus,” exhaled Frey. “A megaphone… and you had a rifle.”

“What weapon did you go after them with?” asked Tisha.

He thought for a moment before finally admitting, “A big rock.” Everyone stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter, so he added, “Sometimes simple is best. We’re stronger than them and there was a big rock right there that I could throw— It was a tactical decision.”

“With genius thinking like that, it’s no wonder we can’t catch a break against them,” said Corceo.

Dajhila commented, “The only good news is that the dad, John, he died two months ago.”

“John Winchester, hunter savante— That piece of shit finally dropped?” Milmont looked around, eyes wide with excitement. “What did ‘im in?”

“I do not know.” The hollow-eyed woman crossed her bony arms. “Margot, down in processing, says his file is classified, but it is there.”

Frey leaned forward with interest. “File— We got him? Fucker isn’t playing a harp?”

“In the pit as we speak,” she replied smuggly. “Rumor is that Alastair’s working him personally.”

“Alastair?” asked Corceo. “They’re breaking out the Grand Torturer himself for a Winchester?”

Tisha nodded slowly to herself as she put together a few pieces. “Well, he is classified.”

The two women silently observing from their place on the iron maiden exchanged a knowing glance. The one in leather subtly placed her hand on a bulge by her belt that was obscured by her jacket, but the woman in the white dress discreetly shook her head and gestured for her to wait. At the order, the younger demon gave a quick roll of her eyes before relaxing her posture. By the time they’d turned their attention back to the meeting, the conversation had switched back to discussing different methods of pursuing the still-living brothers.

“Dean is a hedonist,” commented Dajhila. “Take a meatsuit with a figure as an hourglass and lay yourself in his path.”

Tisha raised an eyebrow. “You really think he’s going to fall for something like that?”

“He’s young and proud.”

Tisha countered, “He’s a paranoid with low self-esteem—“

“Here we go,” muttered Milmont.

“—You all think they’re heroes out of a fucking Greek epic, but they’re just men—feeble, petty little things—“

“Little,” Frey scoffed. “Have you even seen them?”

Tisha slammed her fist on the table. “They are mortal children, too absorbed by their grief and self-pity—Yes, they are little, but that makes them paranoid, partially-psychic, sneaky cunts who use megaphones.” She paused a moment to look around the table at the others, then said, “And maybe they don’t have it now or maybe I wasn’t worth the bullets, but they know about the Colt. They know how to kill us— Kill, not exorcise.”

After a brief, pensive silence, Milmont asked, “When was the last time you heard of one of us getting killed? Cain going nuts and turning traitor? That was almost 150 years ago—Earth time.”

Corceo nodded. “Half the crew in my dungeon wasn’t even turned back then. The sniveling pups thought we were immortal until they heard the news: the fucking Winchesters killed Tom.”

There was a grumble of shared frustration at the indignity. Humans had managed to kill demons, for the first time in over a century—and the bastards hadn’t even had the decency to stick around long enough to be killed in return.

“We have to stop them,” said Milmont quietly.

Frey scoffed. “Have you been listening or are ya’ as dense as iron?”

“Oh, choke on a ball of blades,” Tisha hissed.

The red-haired demon waved his arms, sarcastically miming fear.

“Save it. The enemy is up there.” Corceo waited to see if anyone would interrupt, then continued. “I’m tired of all this theatrical, solo bullshit. We murder them in their sleep. If they salt the door, we use guns. If they ward the building, burn it down. Fucking drive an oil tanker truck into them—this is war. So how do we find them?”

Milmont replied, “Since their dad died, my denmate, Bahshin, spotted them a few times with another hunter: male, middle-aged, reddish-brown greying hair and beard, baseball cap, one of those grizzled sorts.”

Tisha nodded. “I know the one. His name is Bobby—don’t know the last name. I’ve run into him and his partner a few times. He sticks to the north central U.S. Rural looking, lots of plaid. He had an old truck.”

“Fucking hick hunters,” muttered Frey.

The woman in leather sitting along the wall wordlessly withdrew a small notebook and pen from her pocket, then wrote down, “Margot: soul processing department grunt,” and “Bahshin: den-dweller, has an Earth pass.”

Corceo eyed the two silent newcomers from his place at the table. “Taking notes? Dainty little things like you gonna go gunning for the big bad Winchesters?” He laughed. “Well get in fucking line. You come here, don’t say shit, and crib off our hard work— How close have you come to offing them? What makes you so cocky you’re gonna be the ones to kill the bastards?”

The woman with the notepad gestured to her partner, inviting her to address the challenge. The demon in white stood up and smiled, unconcerned by the hostile attitude of the others in the room.

“We haven’t tried to kill them,” she replied. “And we have a plan, the likes of which history has never seen.”

“Ready to shared with the class?” Frey asked. “What brilliant plan are you two peons gonna try?”

“We’re gonna give them what they really want.”

Corceo’s eyes passed over the two women. “A pair of eager-to-please blondes in suggestive clothes?”

The woman in the white dress corrected him. “The only one we’re eager to please is our lord, Lucifer.”

A few of the demons chuckled at the absurd statement. Lucifer was a fairytale, as much as God and angels were to the humans.

“I’ll bite.” Corceo’s mouth curled into an amused grin, punctuated by the occasional barbed fangs. “What are you gonna give them?”

“We’re gonna make them heroes.”

The demons around the table laughed outright at the reply.

“You’re going to make them heroes? Those hunter bastards know about the Colt. They killed Tom. They’ve been exorcising us.” He placed his hands on the table and stood up, ready to confront them. “The Winchesters aren’t scared of us—not the way they should be. We’re demons. That still means something. So I don’t know what crazy scheme you’re thinking up, but it isn’t happening. They don’t get to be heroes. They die.”

“They’ll die when we—” She gestured to her partner “—say they die.”

“Looks like we have something of a race on our hands.” Cerceo walked up to her and stood so that they were only a few inches apart. A head taller than her, he glared down at her before hissing, “You think you can beat me to them?”

Her eyes turned white, causing his jaw to drop. “Child you’re busy boasting and we’re on step fifteen.” Lilith waved her right hand, locking the door to the room. In a quick backhanding gesture, she threw Corceo against the far wall, then turned to look at her companion. “Ruby.”

Ruby stood up and smiled as she drew her knife from the holster on her belt. She systematically worked her way through the room, killing the others while her partner held them in place with telekinesis. Afterward, she placed the bodies on the table, then rested her palms on the topmost corpse. A few lines of Aramaic later, blue flame engulfed the bodies, destroying the evidence.

While watching the fire, Lilith asked, “Is Meg ready?”

“She’s still running recon on the other children. In terms of pressure points so far: four have lovers, eight of them are close to a parent, and we have a few like Sam where the sibling could be an incentive. As of yesterday, she was watching the stoner with imprinting telepathy to figure out his achilles’ heel.” Ruby wiped her bloody blade on the sleeve of her jacket to clean it while asking, “Did you take care of Crowley?”

“I encouraged several of his aides to let a few deals lapse. Numbers are down. He’s dying to get a big deal.” Lilith looked at her. “The second Dean Winchester’s soul comes across his desk, he’ll sign off on the contract just to get his name on something. The grubby-fingered broker didn’t check the fine print on John; why should the son be any different? I’ll hold Dean’s contract and the moment he bites it, he’ll get expedited delivery to Alastair’s dungeon. No official processing. No gossip—” She gestured to the smoldering remains of the demon who had accidentally outed Margot as a leak in the processing department. “—No mistakes this time.”

Ruby huffed an unamused laugh. “The two of us sure as hell won’t have time to clean up any messes once this show gets rolling. Round one we could afford to have things go a little sideways. Once we pop up on Sam’s radar, that’s it. We’re in, and I’m not coming back downstairs on a fucking milk run.”

“It will all turn out,” Lilith assured her. “Our lord wills his return. He cannot be denied.”

Ruby didn’t reply to the pious statement. Instead she studied the charred racks in front of them. “I know he’s your mentor and we couldn’t have done this without him, but Azazel can’t survive this. You know that, right?”

Lilith nodded. “When he finishes aligning his pawns, he’ll throw the fight. He knows how important it is that Sam’s anger be directed solely at me. That means clearing the field for the next generation of nemeses.”

“Don’t worry,” Ruby placed her hand on her partner’s shoulder. “When I’m done with him, Sam will be foaming at the mouth to kill you.”

“I envy you,” Lilith sighed. “You’ll live to see our lord. It’s going to be beautiful.”

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If you enjoyed this story, check out my Sam/Ruby Fic Masterlist or my Full Fic Masterlist.

#my fic #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn #supernatural #spn ruby #ruby #lilith

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bcxvi · 4 years ago

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Episode VIII - The Rock Road

I was barely awake, in the background, I heard voices. Unable to recognize any of them. My head was a mess, I felt dizzy and the stench of semen felt so strong down my nostrils.

I made an effort to open my eyes and woke up.

"Beast?" A familiar voice said, "are you all right?" what seemed to be a lycanthrope with blue fur was now embracing me with a fresh, clean blanket. Next to me was a tall ebony gentleman, beside him a shorter caucasian with blonde hair. Both with worry looks on their faces, probably concerned about... me?

"I... " my voice was trembling, unsuited to speaking another word I felt short of breath. I fainted.

"He's not well, Kimahri," Barret said, "what happened?"

"I don't know," Kimahri said, "I sensed something, like a presence, then woke up and saw Beast struggling in his dreams, he was naked already. I thought I noticed some kind of shadow traversing the walls..."

Kimahri wasn't sure of what he saw. We were both asleep, during the night, how could he be sure of what he saw if darkness was engulfing the power of that bastard of Hezmush? Not even I noticed him, the moment I did it was already too late.

If any of us were alert, this could've never happened, yet here we were, me wearing my every memory of Kimahri while he suffered silently and helplessly.

Kimahri touched my body, his medicinal experience trying to figure out if this was a medical condition. While searching my naked genitals he saw a brand, "this wasn't there before" he said in concern, "do any of you recognize this?"

Cid and Baret both leaned to look a bit closer at me, the burnt shape of a geometrical glyph was imprinted on my skin. It looked fresh and felt still warm to the touch. Barret gave a soft shaking of his head, while Cid stood thinking and looking on it for a bit longer. Lastly, turning his head and nodding towards Kimahri, Cid tried to explain.

"On one of my trips, a long time ago now, I encountered a couple of Galka knights, they came from Ivalice. One particular night we chatted until late hours, after a couple of drinks they showed off a particular collection made out of engraved crystals. They said these contained the essence of Espers, back then I thought they were making it all up..." gently caressing my crotch area, Cid gently brushed the tip of his fingers on the glyph, "somehow this brand resembles a lot the structure of those seals."

A silence formed between them. Barret was surprised to hear a new story he didn't know about, and Kimahri trying to understand if the magic involved in this enchantment would be with bad intentions.

"I have a friend," continued Cid, "Amarant Coral, long friendship bond between us. He lives at the shores of the Moonflow. I'm sure he'll know what's occurring to Beast."

"Is it safe to take him in this state?" Kimahri asked.

"The sooner the better," replied Cid, "this is no common condition, something obscure and mysterious is surrounding this situation. You two provide Beast," continued Cid, pointing at both Barret and Kimahri, "clean him up and lie him down. I'll make sure we get there before sunrise."

It was quiet all over again when I woke up. Probably what I needed was some rest, just like lovers do after an intense fuck, my body was tired of getting so much action.

I noticed my fundoshi was on again, this time wet, while the cotton rubbed the tip of my leaking penis. I tried not to make any noise, the glow of a finishing candle let me see that the ebony man was sleeping on a couch next to me, wearing only his mesh tank top and a comfortable jockstrap, the blue lycanthrope was fast asleep in the bed beside me; covered only by some silky-sheer fundoshi.

I aroused and stared at him in confusion, why was he making me feel emotional, yet I didn't know who he was? I was scared to be somewhere where I didn't know anyone, yet I felt safe.

"Beast?" said the blue lycanthrope in a low whisper, waking up from his nap and drawing a smile while he saw me awoke.

BAM!

A blast, followed by a shaking of the ship, interrupted the loose connection seconds we held. The candle finished burning and in a couple of flashes, glowing red lights appeared on the floor. The ebony man woke up alarmed, trying to figure out if the intruder was back again.

"Kimahri? Beast? Are you alright?" He said.

"I don't know Barret, a blast, then lights turned red," answered the lycanthrope... whose name I now knew was Kimahri.

"We must be having a malfunction."

At this moment my head started to ache, even more, after the pitch of a siren drilled my ears after being activated. Barret instructed us both to get up and start moving into the dock, if anything happened, the safest place in the airship would be that.

Somehow being around Barret and walking through the halls of this airship seemed familiar, Kimahri helped me walk down to the docks, I admit being surprised by how strong he was, compared to both our proportions... in the back of my mind his guarding behavior towards me was incorrect as if I should be rejecting his aid or even his touch. I started sensing a sort of aversion towards him, somehow his name echoed like a bad deja vu previously endured.

"Hold on to something!" Cid yelled to us, "this is going to be a rough landing!"

And rough it was indeed, so hard we hit the sands that I fell into the platform, hitting hard the iron plates of the place I stood. Kimahri tried to lift me, reaching his hand to hug me up, but I rejected his help. Confused, he tried to assist me again.

"You are still weak," he said trembling, "let me help you-"

But I was sick of him.

Somehow I had this urge to run apart from him, far as I could, and never see him again. Barret and Cid were diverted trying to figure out the data displayed by a screen that popped out from their board. While doing so the gates to the outside opened behind me, making me roll backward into the beach.

I was wet with salty water, quickly examined my surroundings, only to notice a large dim shore, cold and with a thunderstorm in its vicinity. I was weak for certain, wished for help or someone to reach into my rescue, but not Kimahri.

Anyone but him.

"Beast!" Kimahri shouted, "Beast, wait!"

Without hesitation, I stood up and rushed. Fled away from him, his voice or his presence. Kimahri and Barret went after me, shouting my name and ordering me to stop, that it was unsafe to wander alone in this area; but I was desperate to get away from him. Somehow I felt safe while getting away from him, making me believe anyplace was better.

The shore finished and rough gravel felt under my paws. I was following a path towards a narrow complex of rock formations. I wanted to get them lost... but somehow the lost one was me. I was now facing a dead-end in the dark, seeing how gliding lights surrounded my feet. While leaning against a wall I felt how it moved.

In no time I was facing what looked like a corpse stuck on petrified sediment formations as if the wall itself were alive because of the skeletal figure trapped in it.

The headaches came back, my breath was short, perhaps I pushed myself too much trying to run away from Kimahri. A faint spell fell upon me, blinding my sight and making me weaker enough to stumble hard on the soil.

An odd sensation overran my body and the warm touch of something good ran into it. The call of someone I perfectly knew sounded through the cave walls, serious, as if attempting to explain something to me.

"You've been a naughty boy," he said "you are lucky I've been following you two for a while. I'm impressed by how my curse made you feel sick enough of Kimahri... that you chose to better flee from him."

"Who are you?" I asked.

"I'm your one and only master," he replied. "Your lover: the only being you ever loved and always will."

The next thing I remember was someone holding my hand. It was warm and the touch of it was so familiar that it made me feel happy, just as the latest feeling I tasted in the caves. I opened my eyes and saw a gorgeous man with soft skin, smooth hair, and a manly beard covering his chin.

"Hello gorgeous," said the stranger, "finally waking up from your nap?"

I remained quiet, was so blushed already and I had no idea why. Kimahri saw my expression and, as if reading my thoughts, spoke my mind.

"Maybe we should let him rest," he said, "it's been quite an eventful date, I assume you must be exhausted."

And just like that, all the guys in the room went, granting me the space I yearned so great. Outside the party maintained a serious talk, even after my tiredness, curiosity was big enough to make me overhear their conversation.

"This is no ordinary memory loss," said the one who woke me up, called Hezmush. "I think he might be under the influence of some dark magic."

"We both think the same," replied Barret, probably referring to Cid as well, "Beast was a shiny self the moment we met him, something in him denotes change. We were thinking of bringing him to the Moonflow, but our generator has been damaged."

"Well, I can steer you if you want," said Hezmush in a humble voice, "I was about to head across to reach Bevelle, I can always take a small detour. Maybe I can join your party if you want."

"That would be such a good idea," replied Kimahri, "I would be grateful for your aid Hez, always so generous."

"Nah, don't worry, I want to help. You both looked so happy back at Kilika, you need it."

'Happy back at Kilika?' I asked myself in a whisper, I guess... I remembered Kilika port and then someone slapping hard at my ass. This last memory left me with a shy sensation. Still... all of the things I lived there, and even those before, I only had the picture of myself: alone.

Hezmush was talking about me and Kimahri as if both were a couple to...

"... get married," ended Hezmush. My thoughts and his speech matched right at the moment he completed that sentence.

"Tonight we rest," ordered Cid, captain of the airship, "tomorrow morning we, Hezmush and Beast navigate to the Moonflow, Barret can stay and manage the fixings alone, don't ya baby?"

"You know I can, you son of a bitch."

End of Act 3

#BCXVI #Bestica Caeruleus XVI #Act III #Beast #Kimahri Ronso

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