#the more i think about it the angier i get

[jusalle]

★ Kylian Mbappe Imagine ★

• reporters •

(Also suggtions or request are open so I'll gladly do them!💙)

"Go Mon Amour, I'll be fine" you said softly to Kylian.

Currently, Kylian had to do a interview. It wasn't a big one, it was almost as if a press conference.

Kylian simply didn't want to go cause he wanted just to go home and be with you.

Although Kylian dosn't want to go, if you tell him to go, he goes for you.

So in end, he ends up going.

" Good luck Ky" you smiled at your fiance and went to go chance in the lockerooms as your fiance goes into the press conference room.

You had to change since you finished practice with Kylian. Since the both of you played for PSG.

And yes, you were in the mens division, sadly to say.

You loved to be on the same team as your Fiance. It was wonderful, but it had its cons to it to but there was of course PSG fans that didn't support a women being in a men's division.

You understood why but you were a good player and you benefited the team.

Kylian has seen the things people have said about you and it simply bugs him. Even though it shouldn't and you've told him it dosnt matter, still it still annoys him.

☆☆☆☆

As Kylian walked in the room. He saw flashing lights and more people there than usual

He walked to his seat and saw people raise there hands up immediately.

As he picked people to ask him questions, most of the questions were just either about his stats or somthing that's been happening with team members.

As time went on he noticed that the reporters were asking questions about you now and then, but they were all about how your stats in a mens division.

He didn't mind the questions atfirst but they were getting more hateful towards you and he started to get annoyed. He just wanted to go home.

As he took his last question, he was happy it was his last question but it caught him off guard.

" As we know Y/n is your fiance and all but simply I don't think she should be allowed to be on the men's division and I think many people agree and her stats haven't been the best-.. she's simply dreadful"

Simply by that Kylian was furious. You were the best player he knew, if you were good enough to get on the men's division, that simply shows something.He already hated how people talked to you on social media. Then now he has to deal with this stupid idiot.

" At least her stats are better than some other people's. You cannot talk down on somebody when you don't even simply fucking know them. Your talking as if you can do any better" Kylian said as he scoffed

" You people act, as if your simply better than her. She's a women in a mens division and that shows somthing." Kylian said as his voice was even more angier than before.

The reporter was simply shocked at Kylians outrage, he didn't expect it to say the least.

Kylian knew this was going to be everywhere but he didn't care, he had to get it off his chest sooner or later.

Kylian got up from his chair and he was so angry he didn't even want to talk no more or even look at the reporter.

He walked out the room and saw his teamates with worried faces which indicated they saw what happened.

Kylian simply ignored them, he didnt do it to be rude, he simply was irritated and didn't want to take his anger out on his friends.

He walked to the lockerooms and saw you getting your bags.

You heard footsteps so you turned and saw Kylian but he looked irritated.

"Mon Amour, what happend?" you said softly as you walked up to Kylian and pressed your hand on his right cheek.

He just stared into your eyes, not awnsering your question.

" Kylian? What's wrong?" You said softly once again.

You saw in his eyes, that he was conflicted to tell you but he decided in the end to tell.

" They kept talking shit about you Mon Amour, how your somehow dreadful? And you shouldn't be on a men's team, it's all bullshit Y/n, then even on social media they talk about you Amour. You know I hate when people do that, I just got mad at the reporter and blew up on him" Kylian said with soft eyes

You simply signed to Kylian and looked at him.

" Mon Amour, you didn't need to do that, you know. They all talk Ky, you should know that by now." you said as Kylian frowned.

" You don't deserve the hate or comments you get Mon Amour, I simply just was completely done with the hate and I had to say something" He said as he stared into your eyes.

At that point, you understand how your fiance felt and you weren't mad, you just felt like you didn't deserve him.

He's simply to good for you.

You didn't say anything as you pulled Kylian closer into a gentle kiss as saying 'thank you'.

" I really don't deserve you Ky. I really dont" You said softly

Kylian simply chuckles at your comment

" I think it's the other way around Mon Amour. I think you simply to good for me Amour, I love you so much" Kylian said as he put his lips next to your ear as your body felt weak.

" I love you to Ky" as you smiled at Kylian

Both of you stopped looking at eachother when both of your phones went off like crazy at the same time.

The both of you confused, looking at your phones.

As you looked at your phone the first thing you saw made you smile and chuckle.

"Kylian Mbappe has an outrage against an reporter for the reporter talking bad about his fiance Y/n L/n. What a lovely couple" you said repeating what you were seeing to Kylian as you chuckled.

As you read that Kylian face flushed and looked away from you.

" it was expected sooner or later Ky, the media is fast especially in the sports area" you said as you look at Kylian with a small smile.

" Ky my love don't worry, people have to understand why you did it. I'll even say somthing if I have to Ky"

That got Kylians attention and now he was facing you.

" it's fine Mon Amour, well work past it, the both of us" Kylian said with a smile

That made you knees go weak and you didn't know why but it just did.

" I love you Kylian, I don't think you understand how much I do" you said grinning at Kylian.

" I love you more Y/n"

" that's impossible Kylian"

☆☆☆☆

Hello my lovlies ik this one is eh but I havnt posted in awhile, but I just hadn't had any ideas or anything 😞 but I'll probably try to post everyday! I hope you lovlies enjoy this short one and I apologize if it isn't the best.💙🤍

[iamnmbr3]

Isn't it funny that Cormac makes Harry angier than Draco ever does? Cormac got on Harry's nerves for ONE YEAR (6th year) but Draco did it for FIVE YEARS and the things Draco did were much meaner than Cormac , the worst things he does are interfering in how Harry manages quidditch team and/or sometimes appearing suddenly behind him to just talk to him or sth. But harry behaves him so aggressively like he just comments and harry's like: shut up i myself know how to do it i'm the captain! Or i will cast a spell i know nothing about on him if he appears once again behind me(although he ended up casting it on draco, that was the first spell came in his mind and it wasn't actually his intention while it was read as "for enemies" and you know that harry considered him as his enemy, now that he's gonna try some new spell on someone, he's not?!!!😏)

some people say it's because harry doesn't care about draco at all cuz everyone like cormac or snape can irritate harry more. I wanted to know your opinion about the whole topic

Yeah absolutely wild that he uses HBP spells on Filch and Crabbe and intends to use one one Cormac...but never Draco. Even though he and Draco have not gotten along for over 5 years by this point and Draco broke his nose and he suspects Draco of being a Death Eater on an evil mission.

I think the way that Harry interacts with Cormac or Zacharias Smith really highlights how different his relationship with Draco is. His feelings for Cormac or Zacharias are uncomplicated dislike. He doesn't like them.

He doesn't care about them. If they're around him he might be hostile to them or if they do something to annoy him he might think about getting even. But otherwise he doesn't care. He doesn't know the names of their grandparents or if they have a pet or what kind of packages they get from home or notice their mood or have the ability to gauge their thoughts and feelings from a glance.

With Draco it's so much more complicated. Their fates are deeply intertwined. And yes there's rivalry and enmity. But there's so much more. Harry cares about what Draco is thinking and feeling. And he can never bring himself to feel quite as much aggression towards him as he should given the context. Because there's something in Draco that he's drawn to, some connection, some spark of chemistry and deep understanding that connects them. They watch each other and they dance around each other and they know and understand each other in a really unique way.

[chongoblog]

FUCK IT IM GOING TO TALK ABOUT THE PRESTIGE (2006) WHICH IS MY FAVORITE MOVIE EVER

Okay this was originally just gonna be a silly addition to a shitpost but I'm dedicating a whole ass post so I can gush about The Prestige (2006), which is my favorite movie of all time.

Before I go into it, here's what it's about. Some of you may be familiar with the plot of The Prestige, but for those of you who aren't, do not be alarmed, the summary that you're about to read is considered safe. And any spoilers are after the read more.

The Prestige is a movie directed by Christopher Nolan, who also did Memento, Inception, and Dark Knight, which are all also incredible, but I'll save rambles on those for a later day or for a white guy who makes film-based video essays on Youtube. The story revolves around two rival magicians played by Hugh Jackman and Christian Bale, leading to it being called "Batman vs. Wolverine: Magic Edition ft. David Bowie". Oh yeah also David Bowie is in this as Nikola Tesla. The movie opens with a magic show that ends with the death of Wolverine, with Batman being the primary suspect. The story is framed as Batman reading through Wolverine's diary in jail as they attempt to learn one another's tricks.

Just like any magic show, learning the secret to the tricks reframes parts of the movie, so I'm putting the actual analysis behind this spoiler cut. If you haven't seen The Prestige yourself, PLEASE find a way to watch it. I can't recommend it enough.

Okay, now that the noobs are gone, I'm gonna refer to them by Angier and Borden instead of Wolverine and Batman. And now that you know the twist because you TOTALLY didn't open the read more without watching it, we'll call the surviving Borden twin "Fallon", since the difference between the two twins is a very big part of the movie.

Before I go into anything I'm gonna say this miscellaneous thing because I literally just realized it after loving this movie for YEARS. This story contains the feud of two visionaries who constantly sabotaged and stole from one another while they tried to do amazing things in their field, and such a feud led to some significant violence. But anyway, enough talking about Tesla and Edison, let's get onto the actual story of Angier and Borden. (As snarky as that comparison was, it really adds to the speeches Tesla gives Angier, along with the parallel between cats and birds but thats a whole other rant)

One thing I adore about the movie is that it addresses a theme of sacrifice in exchange for spectacle. Sacrifices had to be made in order to put on a show. Borden obviously knew this perfectly well, since he was actively playing out that sacrifice. But Angier was obsessed with discovering a way to bypass that sacrifice. You can see this with how Borden's far less bothered by killing birds while Angier has Cutter create contraptions to save the birds. Angier begins to understand the sacrifice while using a double, but even the sacrifice of being under the stage while the audience applauds is too much for him. In the end, Angier DOES sacrifice, but also doesn't. His sacrifice isn't half of his life in the way Borden/Fallon's is (with each one living half of a life), but living half of the life by way of Russian Roulette (with entering the machine either killing him or letting him live his full life). Ironically the "die or live a full life" thing comes back for the Borden/Fallon combo in the end.

And you could be forgiven for thinking that perhaps since Angier is attempting to find a way to create spectacle without harm, he's in the right here. After all, in the end, the only thing he's truly sacrificing is himself. While Borden/Fallon's lifelong sacrifice had a dramatic impact on Sally and Olivia (the two main characters who truly did nothing wrong and did not deserve this), if Angier just did this trick and called it a day, it wouldn't hurt anyone except his own clones, which seemed to accept the coin flip. But the other aspect of Angier (and to a somewhat lesser extent Borden, and to an WAY LESSER extent Fallon) is obsession with being the best. And in terms of that particular theme, I think that the film says all it needs to about that.

I'm sure I could go on, but I've spent the last few days adding more and more to this draft so I figure I should just let it go into the world. I love this movie so so much you guys.....

[ride-thedragon]

NETTLES' IMPORTANCE TO DAEMON'S STORY

So I've been seeing this come up often enough now, so I'll talk about it. Discrediting Nettles' impact on Daemon ruins his character arc.

Nettles comes into his life around the same time Rhaenyra is distressed and grieving. He meets her, if not a bit before, when they are both in King’s Landing, where Rhaenyra is executing people and is described, when the news of Jace’s death comes up, as 'hardened'.

Nettles also notably has a reaction to Jace’s death. She is seen with tears leaving streaks through the soot on her face after fighting with and losing him during the battle.

Then Daemon comes back, with the death of two sons apparently on his conscious, to a hardened Rhae Rhae, and they fly to Kings Landing.

After that, they shortly leave for Maidenpool, where all the rumours and their story come from. The baths, flying and sleeping together, eating, teaching, and doting with Nettles all come up.

Before this, we had the attack on Harrenhall and Blood and Cheese.

A lot of Daemon's worst qualities and moments happen at Rhaenyra's side in the books and on the show. His best is with Laena, who he loves in the books and is away from court in the show and Nettles, who he cares for and protects in the books.

It's a bit strange to reduce her to just an innocent child or a Mentee when we read their relationship described in the books.

A lot of people also reduce his decisions in the end to come to the strange conclusion that it was all for Rhaenyra. Let's start there

1. He threatens a maester at his home

This maesters walks in on him talking softly to Nettles and gives him the declaration for Nettles to die and for him to return. He holds Dark sister to him and asks if there's anyone outside, not explaining why he's doing it yet to Nettles.

2. How their last night is spent.

This is a point in the books that the maester didn't record how they spent their last night together, only that they do.

3. She leaves in tears.

She leaves Daemon in tears while Caraxes screeches near Daemon loud enough to shatter Jon Quil's tower

4. The house they are at then changes to team green.

Maidenpool is loyal until Rhaenyra’s decree that would break guests right in Westeros. They also said that no matter Nettles' crimes (treason, sleeping with Daemon), they can't kill her under their roof. They also understand that Daemon won't come back to enforce the consequences of their treason.

5. Daemon defies Rhaenyra

This is a part many people get confused with. Daemon defies Rhaenyra.

Nettles is sent there with Daemon because he understands he doesn't survive without her in the fight. Vhagar is huge and a massive threat. If Daemon goes solo, he dies

Then Rhae Rhae sends her decree to kill Nettles and has Daemon return at her side. Neither of those things happened.

He sends Nettles away and goes to fight Vhagar alone. Dying most likely afterward. That's defience and sends the message that he did not want to return to her side.

6. He's lived long enough. that's something they can agree on.

Those are the last things Daemon and Aemond say to each other allegedly.

That's where his story ends. He fights and dies. He's grown, matured, avenged, and found peace by the end of his life. Nettles is the reason he's read as morally grey.

I don't care about the nature of their relationship, mostly because I think a clear reading allows for the fact that it managed to dip its toes in everything we are told it could be.

But it's safe to say Nettles wouldn't be in the best place after her first battle. She loses her leader, a friend it seems, and kills a lot of people like herself from Driftmark.

Then, when the queen gets angier and more isolated, without the promises being made and given to the other dragonseeds, Nettles is sent with a strange man to fight the world's largest war machine.

But by the time we see her again, her and Daemon have a routine, find comfort in each other, she's cared for by him, and she cries as she leaves him. Not when Daemon makes his cute little remarks, a Queen’s words a whore's work line, not she's accused of Treason and sentenced to death, but when she leaves the person who was a literal stranger 4 months before.

That's a good light to leave Daemon in. She doesn't think he'd kill her, for Rhaenyra even though we can assume she may knew about Blood and Cheese or at least have an understanding for what Targaryens do for the people they love being around, Jace, Baela and later Rhaenyra and literally fighting a battle for it.

She doesn't hesitate to ask him what's wrong when he's literally holding a sword to someone and after reading it doesn't feel the need to run or leave or plea for her life. Something uncharacteristically strange for Daemon to create an environment for, especially when it comes to Rhaenyra’s words.

He killed a man in front of the king and the court when she shook her head, telling him to do it. And actively protects her and her kids from the 'obvious' bastard thing.

All this to say if Nettles isn't a bit concerned that Daemon will kill her when Rhaenyra commands it, leaves Daemon in tears, and Daemon defies Rhaenyra, getting himself killed instead of returning to her side. I'd call their relationship the reason for his moral grayness or at least character developement.

I also see alot of people saying the show pushing Daemyra so hard for giving them lines like they were meant to burn together means that most likely Nettles won't be a love interest for Daemon.

I disagree with that for two reasons.

1. Marketing:

Right now, it makes sense to push them, like pushing Tyrion and Shae or Dany and Jon at the time. It kind of distracts from the narrative and gives anticipation when it comes to future character decisions. To see Tyrion and Jon switch so dramatically was a shock to the audience because they were so in love. It's also Matt and Emma's job to push the idea right now for their characters and the audiences benefit.

2. We were meant to burn together.

I think this line is going to be used for irony in the end. They don't, and that's the sad thing. They both change from the people who agreed to that in a heartbeat to people who couldn't stand the change in the other person by the end of their relationship. Rhaenyra wanting Nettles' death immediately leads to Daemon's. They don't die together, but they do give a big hand in each other's deaths.

All this to say, I think that if you don't like Nettles in the book, you'd prefer the show's current version of Daemon. Loving to his family, although abusive and dismissive to Laena, Baela, Rhaena, and Rhaenyra, respectively.

With their relationship comes his biggest growth as a character, one who wouldn't return to Rhaenyra’s side and to discredit that for a ship is underwhelming for the story and disingenuous to him.

[turbo-systems]

damn i never noticed that, poor dude is depressed having a breakdown in the rain and then going to church to pray the heartache away will his suffering ever end 💔 he finally went indoors tho

please do yap about it i'm very interested :)

i think when he's not locked in he just doesn't give a shit he'll say anything like in ienomi where he made dirty jokes about his ex wife and his gf at the time

okkie so MAKES REVOLUTION technically doesn't have a theme since its his debut album but it was meant to be just a provocative eyecatcher. Restoration Level 3 was meant to be the 3rd Level TMR has reached, being that MAKES REVOLUTION was first level and the summer tours at the time was the 2nd level. This ties into LEVEL 4 since it was meant to extend the project further down the line. Then there's the Joker tours, okay for clarification, Joker '97 (or Jorker if u wanna go by the official trading card name) Triple Joker, King of Joker and Joker Type 2 are all different things. Joker '97 is the name of the live tours TMR did right after Restoration Level 3. Triple Joker is the name of the album, KING OF JOKER was the main concert for 98 while Joker Type 2 was the tours that were happening right before the FORCE era. Notably, the main theme song for that time, Joker, refers to the theme of the album which was TMR going crazy somehow. KING of JOKER is more complicated because there's like 4 costumes but the main two (both on the left) are the ones used for the concert. From looking at the concert itself, I guess it represents a transformation to a beast I think.

Joker Type 2 is just military themed. The Force on the other hand is more sillier and vibrant. The Force was made to represent both the Force from Star Wars and the force of nature referencing off of the album cover. For this one, I guess the apparent theme is just death and life from what u can see, also this is the first album to show two TMRs interacting with each other, kinda like Seventh Heaven but more older.

Now for TMR-E, this is a doozy because this is the most apparent time in the project where there was a storyline actually in the making. So right after LIVE REVOLUTION '99 THE FORCE, both Takanori and DA sealed up TMR and started to work on TMR-E together which was meant to be like a continuation sort of thing. The storyline for this was that they died and had to find their way back to unseal TMR. Storywise, the MV of Kageroh shows the both of them covered in blood and beaten up, representing the death of them emotionally and physically. Gekkoh was the point where they were ascending up to the moon but started to break free from their emotionless prison, seeing that Takanori at some point starts to visibly show anger towards the viewer. Winter Dust is the last of the MV and shows them attempting to unseal the project within the moon. Despite this being the last TMR-E MV, the project actually didn't get unsealed until the LIVE ARENA '2000 concert (aka my favorite concert). The concert was amazing because it depicts the unsealing in the most awesome and TMR way possible. Not only did TMR and DA change the concert's theme to orchestra to synth rock, they blew up the damn sealings in Winter Dust and started playing bangers. Now, it might be obvious that BLACK or WHITE vers 3 is ofc included in the story but HEAT CAPACITY also plays a part in this. (also to mention that the star motif used in TMR-E is also used in the MV for Heat Capacity) The thing with Heat Capacity was that it was meant to be an angier parody of the already popular TMR songs HIGH PRESSURE and HOT LIMIT with the recording crew being in the background and being about summer. Instead of this song being like 'Im freaky and I wanna be with you!' the song takes a more dreaded approach as the song is about TMR feeling intense anxiety/frustration and dealing with them incorrectly through power. And I guess how Progress fits here is that the album represents a Progress forward for TMR. The main theme of the album is TMR trying to find his way within the subways of London, maybe being an indirect sequel to the Der Freischutz/LOVE SAVER storyline. The album is way more somber compared to the FORCE but switches up as it goes from hopeless to hopeful, sorta like a realization that you can't be in despair all the time. Anyways, thats it for now, I would love to get into coordinate, seventh heaven and esp vertical infinity but those are way more complicated than the first few albums, hope u enjoy this yap session

ALSO PLEASE TELL ME WTF TMR SAYS IN HIS IEMOMI SESSIONS IM BEGGING

[upper-sixth-fanclub]

!? (random headcanon)

Howdy anon, thank you for dropping by.

Send ⁉️ for a headcanon about my character that you probably wouldn’t expect.

We don't see enough of the siblings going at each other. That's classic siblinghood right there.

Daki does harbor some resentment for Gyutaro's physical appearance-- it's less that his body is a point of shame for her, and more that her ethos of beauty giving purpose contradicts with how much she values him. She feels bad about having those misgivings but it manifests itself as a severe case of inferiority complex. He's stronger and smarter than her and she kinda hates it, and wants to be equal to him-- because since she's automatically prettier than him, it would give her a higher sense of self-value.

Their beheadment scene isn't the first time they've had an explosive argument, or that Daki has thrown his ugliness in his face. Gyutaro getting progressively Angier lives in my head forever, and I like to think he developed a pattern of just bailing on fights or walking out on her to get some space when he gets like that-- he would rather 'cool down' or redirect his rage than lash out on her. But this dismisses both their feelings, and he tends to shrug it off by reinforcing his misogynistic worldview that she's just over-emotional and not particularly bright.

Daki is the one who apologizes the best, but mostly because she's got lots of practice with fake apologies. Otherwise, they tend to avoid outright forgiving one another. Time heals most wounds between them, but then again, that clearly hit a breaking point at their time of death.

[gumballavocadoharry]

Harry and River; Teen years:

There's something about....:

I couldn't put my finger on it, but I didn't like about Quinn, the girl that River had fallen head over heels with. He described her as redheaded goddess, with lucrious red shiny locks, piercing jade eyes and smile that flashed her movie star teeth. I'll admit she was very exotic...but her personality was far from attractive.

She was vicious in her words to her 'friends', calling them fat, ugly, saying their taste was off and always made backhanded comments about them and even revealed personal secrets behind their backs. And to top it all off, she was sporadically nice to River. I couldn't believe River was just accepting of himself and other people being treated this way. But more so, I couldn't believe River actually fell for someone like her.

Tonight, once River came back from his friend's house, I planned to talk to him about Quinn. I didn't want him to be angry with me and think that I didn't support his relationship with girls, but it was Quinn I didn't like.

I had made myself a pot of coffee as I waited and waited for River to walk through that front door. It was half past eleven; way past River's curfew and he still wasn't home. Fear bubbled inside me the more time ticked away and a hollow bitter feeling grew inside me as I pondered what could be keeping River away at this impious hour.

Before my worries grew beyond control, River finally came through the door. He had smeared lipstick on his lips and neck. Solicitude buried me along with anger. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

River came off his lovesick high once his eyes met with my serious ones. "I-I....Quinn needed my help so I was just being a good boyfriend and helped her."

My throat became dry from hearing this. I knew Quinn's intentions weren't good, but I didn't know what to say to River to help him understand he was being used. "What did she ask you to do?" I choked out miserably, "She asked me to take her to the mall and to mow her lawn,"

"Did you tell her about your curfew?" River nodded. "She said it wouldn't take long and that boyfriends always help their girlfriends." I became even angier at hearing this, but not at River....at Quinn. I ushered for River to sit down. He did with a puzzled look plastered on his face.

"River....it's not you. I know you're a good boy and this has nothing to do with you. But I don't really care for Quinn. And no, it doesn't have anything to do with you missing your curfew....but it's the way she treats you and her friends that I have a strong problem with."

I expected River to get defensive, but instead he just listened patiently. He looked down almost in shame about the realization about what I said. "I'm sorry dad....I know Quinn is horrible person. I was just so in love with her outside beauty....that I didn't even realize what I was allowing to happen to myself."

River wiped his face with his finger and just stared at the pink lipstick that stained it. He gave a slight chuckle. "You know, my friends thought I was so cool for Quinn kissing me....and for a moment I thought they were right. But now I just feel stupid." I sat next to River and hugged him. "You're not stupid. You're just a sweet young man who is still learning about the world." I squeezed him tighter.

Tomorrow was a set date that River was going to dump Quinn and I knew he would have the courage to do it.

The next morning when I sent River away to school, I held my breath hoping he would be able to do this. But when it was time to pick him up, I saw River walking to the car with a big smile on his face. "Well?" I asked, desperate to know about the relationship status of Quinn.

"We will never see her again." River announced. I hugged River as we walked back to the car with deep relief.

[superbfics]

EMMY. I HAD THINGS TO DO TODAY. HOW DARE YOU.

BUT IT'S RAINING HERE AND SO I READ ONE CHAPTER AND NOW THE COFFEE POT IS STAYING ON ALL DAY AND I'M BINGING THE WHOLE THING I'M SORRY FOR SPAMMING YOU BUT IT'S JUST SO SO SO SO GOOD

The boy let out a breath, like he was readying himself and you’d turned at the noise, a question on your lips you never got to say because Steve leaned over the console, just a little, hand outstretched. His fingers were surprisingly warm when they grazed over your cheekbone, just underneath the line of your lashes. You’d blinked, almost gasped, and then Steve was pulling back and whispering “eyelash.” 

The world was still waking up, birds barely calling out, the low buzz of insects seeming too far away and the heat in the air still felt fresh. Steve’s shoulder brushed yours and together you took a big breath in, held it and let it out on another huff of laughter. He let you lean into him, tears brimming at your lash line because it was all so pretty and it had been ten days since you’d left Hawkins. Ten days since you left the place that was supposed to be home and suddenly it hit you that you didn’t really miss it.  

The drive out of town made your body buzz, that same feeling of anticipation you felt when you had travelled towards The Ozarks. It happened the same way, with the skylines and brick buildings falling away from you as you ventured further away from the city. The road led you back into canyons, made you both feel like ants in a toy car and it was brand new, it was different, it was a little bit magic. 

He was sunset yellow, gold and peach and tangerine, coral coloured cheeks with hair that suddenly seemed caramel. He was sunkissed, freckled, stubble on his jaw that had grown since the last motel stop, his hair a little more curled at the ends from being outside. 

I just....I just don't think I'll ever get over the imagery you paint. The details, the poetic way you describe things. God it just fills me with this warm happy about to burst bubbling feeling when I read it. Makes me wanna read all day. Makes me want to be a better writer. Makes the story unable to put down 💙

The world was asleep, letting you do what you wanted, what you pleased. It shut its eyes and gave you the moon, a long open road and only a hint at where you were driving to. Steve said ‘thanks, sweetheart,’ as you passed each other in front of the headlights, swapping places and sleepy smiles. 

“Yeah, s’real pretty.”

He was still looking at you.  

Maybe you were. Maybe this Steve was yours. 

It was quiet when you let the camera fall to your side, memories already locked inside of it, both of your smiling faces, surrounded by a world that looked a little alien to you.

...and the lake looked angier than when you’d both arrived, like it was tired of waiting for something to happen.

Something. Anything. 

It was lovely the way he said it, like you’d both earned the title. Like travelling through four states had been enough time for him to be able to look at you and realise you were no longer a stranger. Steve knew your favourite colour, your favourite animal, your favourite movie. He knew how you liked your coffee and that you preferred the right side of the bed. 

It warmed you to realise that you knew the same. You knew that his hair was a wonderful riot in the morning, that he hated apple juice, that he always mumbled to himself when he was trying to figure out a problem.

Your noses were pressed to each other's cheeks, teeth dragging over swollen bottom lips, panting into open mouths, hands pressed to dips and valleys, lines of muscles, the pretty slope of each other's jaw. The rain didn’t matter, not anymore, or the cold. Nothing really did.

Because Steve tasted the same way he looked, like he’d swallowed summer and held the sun inside of him.

We Tried The World CH4.

THE MASTERLIST THUNDER LAKE, COLORADO.  1227 MILES FROM HOME. 

The world around you changed as Steve drove you both out of Kansas. You packed up the car and drove through the night, bikini still on underneath a sundress, hair damp and skin smelling like chlorine. 

Steve sat next to you, tired, happy, sipping coffee and looking like he’d just leaped off of a cliff. His eyes were bright for the late hour, his hair wild from a day spent mostly underwater. 

He seemed lighter since he’d told you his secret, whispered it into the reflections off the pool, letting the silence and the sinking sun soak it up. You’d dressed on the edges of the water, both smiling, both blushing, avoiding too much eye contact as you dragged towels over bare skin. 

He’d opened the car door for you after you both scaled the fence and you wondered if his secret had sunk to the bottom of the pool, if it was supposed to stay there, never to be spoken of again. But by the time you’d driven out of Wichita and hit the back roads, the sun was gone, the moon was high and Steve stopped at some traffic lights and they lit you both up in scarlet light. 

The boy let out a breath, like he was readying himself and you’d turned at the noise, a question on your lips you never got to say because Steve leaned over the console, just a little, hand outstretched. His fingers were surprisingly warm when they grazed over your cheekbone, just underneath the line of your lashes. You’d blinked, almost gasped, and then Steve was pulling back and whispering “eyelash.” 

You slept for a while, tried your best to stay awake to keep the boy company as he drove but after the second stop for gas and another coffee, Steve was pulling one of his sweaters from his bag, coaxing it over your like a makeshift blanket and you couldn’t help it. 

It smelled like him, like the forest, like sunscreen and faded cologne. You closed your eyes without meaning to, lashes fanning over sunburnt cheeks and Steve turned the music down low, until whoever was singing was whispering to you, lulling you to sleep under Steve’s sweater. 

When you woke up, it was still dark, the land outside looking a little rockier, a little more up and down than before. The moon was high, a pale yellow that cast some light into the front seats of the BMW. Steve had pulled over, into a dirt parking lot off the side of the road and he slept upright, arms crossed, lips slack, head nodding off in every direction. 

 So you woke him up with your hand pressed to his forearm, squeezing softly to him to stir. He looked at you, bleary eyed and sleep mussed, leaning into your touch like he needed it to wake up. Steve didn’t fuss too much about handing over his keys, all previous arguments about you taking turns to drive out the window. 

Sure you knew how to drive, even a stick shift. You just didn’t have your licence. But that didn’t seem to matter all that much at three in the morning, in the dark and in the quiet of nowhere, Colorado. 

The world was asleep, letting you do what you wanted, what you pleased. It shut its eyes and gave you the moon, a long open road and only a hint at where you were driving to. Steve said ‘thanks, sweetheart,’ as you passed each other in front of the headlights, swapping places and sleepy smiles. 

If you reacted to the term of affection, you didn’t show it. And if Steve grinned when you slipped his sweater over your dress before settling behind the wheel, he hid it well. He fell back asleep quickly, an almost undeserving amount of trust given to you as he shuffled into the corner of the seat and the window, the keys to his most beloved possession in your hands. 

So you drove until the sun started to come up, a whole new picture in your windscreen. Mountains, canyons, valleys. The land turned rusty, oranges and reds and patches of green and wildflowers. The road went up, up, up and you climbed with the sun. Peachy skies greeted you, made Steve stir and wake up with a smile because the warmth of a new day was creeping into the car and you had the sleeves of his too big sweater curled around your hands as you held onto the wheel. 

Your ears popped and so did Steve’s, a quick sting that told you both you were higher than before, the roads still climbing, twisting and turning between mountains, overlooking lakes that seemed to appear from nowhere. Everything was pink when the sun came out, the sky, the rocks, the land, the water. 

Even Steve, who was looking at you with the softest smile, his hair mussed from where he’d tan his hands through it, the crease of his seat belt cutting across cheek. The bruise around his eye was completely gone now, skin unmarked except from the evidence of a good sleep. 

He watched you change gear, tongue peeking out from between your lips as you concentrated and the boy was laughing, turning the radio up as the new day started, a new song, a new state, a new kind of buzz between you both. 

Synths, drums, building, rising, getting faster and faster, and then you rounded a corner on the quiet road, burst out from between the tall trees that grew on either side of the tarmac and then and then and then—

A picture perfect view, a rolling mountain, rose coloured in the rising sun, dusted with greenery, with trees that looked like matchsticks. It led down to a lake, almost too blue to be real holding a mirror image of the scene above it. 

The sky was like silk, washes of pastels, clouds coming in from the horizon that promised a bright and warm day. And then you were laughing and so was Steve, a burst of noise that said ‘holy shit, can you believe this?’

The boy was grinning back, leaning forward on his seat, hands on the dashboard, eyes fucking shining and he looked at you like he knew, like he agreed, like he was telling you, ‘I’m so fucking happy I’m here. With you.’

I’m so happy it’s you. 

You pulled off the road, tires kicking up clouds of orange dust and you were still laughing, eyes a little glassy, overwhelmed. Steve seemed to understand because he didn’t question you, he just got out of the car too, walked around the front of the bumper and joined you at the metal barrier that separated you both from the drop below. 

The world was still waking up, birds barely calling out, the low buzz of insects seeming too far away and the heat in the air still felt fresh. Steve’s shoulder brushed yours and together you took a big breath in, held it and let it out on another huff of laughter. He let you lean into him, tears brimming at your lash line because it was all so pretty and it had been ten days since you’d left Hawkins. Ten days since you left the place that was supposed to be home and suddenly it hit you that you didn’t really miss it.  

Not your aunt's house, or your bed, or even the way the neighbours cat sat on your windowsill each morning.  

Because it had only been ten days but suddenly Steve Harrington was the closest thing you had to a best friend, the closest thing to a home, something that made you ache with warm familiarity. 

You sniffed, sighed, scrubbed the back of your hand over your watery eyes and then Steve was there, laughing softly, not unkindly, just amused. His hands curled around your shoulders, squeezed at you and tugged you back a little, just enough that your back bumped his chest and he let you stay there, leaning, supported. 

His chin hooked over your shoulder and it felt a little like a hug. 

“Y’okay?” He whispered.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a little silly at your outburst of emotion. You felt entirely vulnerable, more exposed than you ever had, feeling more naked than the times you stood before the boy, wet and in a bikini. 

“Yeah,” you tried to whisper back, but it came out in a little gasp. “M’fine, shit, it’s just— it’s just pretty, y’know?”

Steve’s gaze flickered from the view to your face, lips twisted in conflict as if he was trying to decide what he wanted to look at more. But your eyes were shining, unshed tears clinging to your lashes like glitter, lips parted in awe. He could see the summer in your skin, in the glow that wasn’t there when he first picked you up that morning, just outside your house. 

His stare settled on you, close and steady, your back still pressed to his chest and for a second, he wondered if he’d be allowed to reach out and hold your hand, I’d you’d let him, if it would make you smile. But he didn’t feel as brave as he wanted to, not yet. So he cleared his throat and nodded, his cheek brushing your hair and said:

“Yeah, s’real pretty.”

He was still looking at you.  

—————

Steve took back over driving duties. It went like it always did, windows down, music up, his sunglasses over his eyes and his hair a little wild. Seeing him like that made your stomach flip, like you were the only one that got to see this version of him. 

Maybe you were. Maybe this Steve was yours. 

You sang to him, he sang back, voices louder and crazier as the wind whipped through the car and the sun made everything so much warmer than you’d ever felt before. 

It made your cheeks hurt, smiling at it all. It made you feel like a teenager again, the way Steve looked at you. Tongues pressed to cheeks to stop yourselves from grinning too much, eyes dancing over the other, gazed hidden behind Ray Bans and tangled hair. 

Steve drove you both into a town, cheeks burning as you passed signs that said “Loveland” and it seemed like easy to follow each other around the streets. The place was a big city, but it had a small town feel that felt a little like home and it eased you both as you walked around parks and lakes, trying to find a store. 

It was easier to touch each other more too, ten days in and a few nights tangled together, legs twisted, ankles hooked around calves and cheeks pressed to chests. So you didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t think too much of it when Steve pointed to a supermarket across the road and grabbed your hand. 

He held it as you navigated through the traffic, jogging a little to keep up with him and as you walked through the doors he didn’t let go. It was hardly a thing, palms barely touching just fingers twisted together like you were scared to lose the other. 

He only let go when he grabbed a cart and the boy rolled his eyes and grinned when you hopped inside of it. So it went like that, Steve pushing you around the store, your sundress and his sweater riding up your thighs as you let your dust covered shoes hang out over the side. 

He passed you snacks, bottles of water, some cans of soda and even a new blanket as you read out loud from the little book you’d bought way back in Illinois, telling Steve all about the Rocky Mountains and the Continental divide. He even threw a disposable camera on your lap as you neared the checkout, a roll of film loaded and ready to go. So it was settled, because you asked and Steve said yes, and suddenly you were planning for a few days in the wild, with creeks and lakes and canyons and the chance to see stars in the sky again. 

You could feel Steve’s eyes on you as you loaded up the car, his sweater still swamping your frame, the hem of your dress peeking out from underneath. He hadn’t asked for it back and although the day was getting warmer, the temperature creeping upwards, the soft material smelled like him, like mint and boy and summer and Steve, and you didn’t want to take it off. 

Not yet. 

The drive out of town made your body buzz, that same feeling of anticipation you felt when you had travelled towards The Ozarks. It happened the same way, with the skylines and brick buildings falling away from you as you ventured further away from the city. The road led you back into canyons, made you both feel like ants in a toy car and it was brand new, it was different, it was a little bit magic. 

The road started winding, the land around you growing and when the sun reached its peak in the sky, what little clouds had been there slipped away and you were left with blue, blue, blue. Everything around you got taller, jagged rocks lifting up from the ground until they became cliff faces and mountains grew in the distance, breaking up the skyline with peaks of snow that seemed so far away. 

You passed campsites, cabins and people walking with backpacks heading towards trails, cars with canoes on their roofs, signs warning you about mountain lions. It was a new world, something else entirely, and Steve seemed as mesmerised as you were. So you stopped at a little information centre, took turns in the tiny toilet and grabbed a map of the trailheads and some chips from a vending machine that needed a shove from Steve’s shoulder to rattle loose.

The parking lot cleared as you walked back to the BMW, kicking up dust as you stared up at the mountains in the distance, the canyons that closed you in from both sides. Trees littered the cliff faces, patches of green that broke up the rock, the roads, the wooden cabins that were selling hiking equipment and camping gear. 

You turned to Steve as you reached the car, sundress skimming your thighs, Steve’s sweater trailing past your fingertips, your hair a little wild from the way the wind had whipped through it during the ride here. You found the boy a few feet behind you, sleeves rolled up, all tanned skin and hair messier than yours. He held the little camera he’d bought up to his face, eyes squinting as he looked through the lens at you.

“What’re you doing?” you laughed, embarrassed at his blatant attention.

“M’takin’ a photo of the mountains,” Steve grinned, pressing the button until the camera clicked and whirred. He was still pointing it at you. “You can draw me, but I can’t snap some pictures? Rude.”

He was still grinning when he brought the camera away from his face, rolling his eyes and passing it to you when you wiggled your fingers at it. The boy hopped up onto the closed trunk, knees on his elbows and squinting into the sun but you clicked the camera, capturing Steve and the mountains, the burgundy of the car, the glare of the sun.

It was quiet when you let the camera fall to your side, memories already locked inside of it, both of your smiling faces, surrounded by a world that looked a little alien to you. Steve nodded towards the hills and valleys in the difference, the road that wound around a bend and disappeared into the wild.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Always,” you replied.

So you both drove out towards the mountains, climbing higher and higher again, cars becoming less frequent the further into the national park you ventured. You passed campgrounds, signs for cabins and tent pitches and Steve turned off onto a smaller trail, dirt road kicking up dust as you turned the music up a little louder, smiling as you sang. 

“Maybe you wonder where you are, I don't care,” you were louder than ever, unashamed, eyes shining, windows down and Steve’s eyes flicking from the road to you. 

“Here is where time is on our side, take you there, take you there,” Steve finished, and god it all felt a little cosmic, like the world meant for you both to be there. 

You stabbed a finger to the map, declared your destination to be a blue spot on the paper called ‘Thunder Lake’ and Steve made a joke about you always leading them to water, like some sort of make believe creature, something from a fairytale. But he listened and obeyed when you pointed this way and that, yelling left and right through laughter and new songs. 

The road opened up for you both when the trees on either side of you cleared and a rocky beach led down to a crystal blue shoreline, mountains surrounding the water, closing you in. The lake felt like it belonged to you and Steve, it felt like a new secret to share. 

You stepped out together, wonder on your faces, smiles curling into grins and it was like the air glittered, like the sun got a little warmer when you stepped into its light. 

The car was left on the gravel, the air not as warm as it was back in town, so you kept Steve’s sweater on, ducked your head and bit your lip when he plucked at the material and grinned at you. You had lunch by the waters edge, the surface glassy and unspoiled, mountains for friends as you shared a packet of chips, broke apart sandwiches and took a half each. 

It was the nicest kind of quiet.

And when the run had passed its highest point in the sky and the world started to glow a little pink, a little more peach and orange as evening rolled in, you lay on your stomach on a grassy patch, sketchbook opened and a pencil sucked between your lips. Steve was a little away, balancing on one foot on a rock in the shallows, arms outstretched, an old flannel hanging over his t-shirt. 

You were finishing up drawing the rip in his jeans, just above his knee when he came wandering over. He’d caught you drawing him enough times now that you didn’t immediately hide your page, but the flush was still evident on your cheeks when he plopped down beside you. He was close, closer than he used to dare, thigh pressed to your ribs and his face hovering over your shoulder.

He smelled like the mountains, fresh and like pine needles, the last of the sunscreen and passionfruit iced tea. 

“Does my hair really look that bad?” he complained, but there was a smile on his lips, a shine in his eyes when you snorted and nudged at him.

“Shut up,” you told him, fonder than ever. 

“Can I?” he asked, nodding towards your book. 

You nodded, swallowing hard. Your hands felt empty without it, but Steve kept it close between you both. 

The cover was frayed, stained, the pages curling and dog eared, some ripped, some missing. The book held a little of everything, scenes from Hawkins, some self portraits, your aunt cooking soup at the stove. The most recent pages were filled with Steve.

Profiles of his face, strong jaw, full lips, furrowed brows. Steve lying in the sun, Steve driving the car, head tipped back, sunglasses hiding the way his eyes glittered. You’d drawn the car, muddy, dust covered and loved, the lake from the Ozarks, a bird's eye view of the winding roads that took you out of Kansas. You sketched the outside of the motel from Illinois, wrote the room number underneath the lines of ink like a signature, and drew two floating figures in a big, wide pool.

You were holding your breath. 

“I like these,” he murmured, trailing his touch over the lines, a finger pushed to the figure that was supposed to be you, floating on your back in water. “They’re really good.”

You ducked your head, tried not to smile and whispered a thank you and grinned anyway when he poked at your cheek. 

Then you were squealing, laughing, tugged clumsily onto your back as Steve fell back with you, his hands on your shoulders as you both dropped back into the long grass. The camera flashed above you, a click and whirl as Steve captured the scene. 

The pair of you, shoulder to shoulder, cheeks touching, lips split with wide smiles and eyes bright. Your hair mixed with the boys, with the blades of grass, skin painted apricot in the setting sun. 

“We were definitely only half in the frame,” you snorted, your hand pushing at Steve’s side as he scoffed in protest. 

“What d’you mean, I’m practically a professional.”

You laughed again, softer this time, because Steve was pushing himself up, turning to hover over you and he was grinning, backlit by the sunset and you were suddenly reminded of his favourite colour. 

He was sunset yellow, gold and peach and tangerine, coral coloured cheeks with hair that suddenly seemed caramel. He was sunkissed, freckled, stubble on his jaw that had grown since the last motel stop, his hair a little more curled at the ends from being outside. 

Clouds had started to roll in over the mountains, burnt orange and indigo, bringing in the threat of rain but you couldn’t find it in you to care when Steve was looking at you like that. 

Like the same he had on the Fourth of July, right before he kissed you. 

But then he was sitting back, clearing his throat and tugging at his hair like he needed to give his hands something else to do. In case he felt like he was going to do something stupid. 

Like touch you. 

So Steve handed you back your book instead, pages slipping free that you’d once torn out but decided to keep, half finished sketches, lists and a photo that was lined with peeling, old tape, yellowed and dog eared. 

“What’s that?” Steve picked up the photograph, gentle with a finger and a thumb, like he knew it was something special. 

You sat up and looked, heart skipping a beat. It was an image of a house, white wooden slats, a blue roof and matching shutters, a buttercup yellow door surrounded by hanging flowers. The house sat on a hill, sand covering the path leading up to it, long grass on its edges, like nature itself built it. The photo looked old, like the photo had seen some water damage, some wear and tear and a lot of love. 

“Uh,” you started, blinking back a sudden onslaught of tears that you didn’t want, didn’t expect. You sniffed, shrugged, feeling silly. “That’s my grandparents house.”

“Oh,” Steve looked at you, unsure whether to reach out and touch you or not. He placed the photo on the open pages of your book and nodded. “S’really lovely. The house- it’s pretty.”

You smiled and nodded too because it was. 

“Did you go there a lot?” The boy asked and he sounded so earnest, so sincere. “Is it in Virginia too?”

You shook your head, smile slipping into something sad and you picked up the photo, ran a thumb over its work edges and glanced back up at Steve. There were four of him, his pretty face split into fractures with the tears that made your eyes a little glassy. You blinked, felt stupid when wet hit your cheek and surprised you. 

“No, uh, I’ve never been,” you told him. “I met them once or twice, I think? I was young. They were so mad at my mom and they were really old when she left. They couldn’t travel a lot and by the time they got sick I knew my mom was never coming back and my aunt couldn’t afford to fly us out.”

You left the rest unsaid, the obvious outcome lingering in the air like the end of a movie that never got a happy ending. 

“Oh,” Steve whispered and you nodded again, like you agreed with him. 

“It’s silly,” you said because maybe it was. “I’ve never been but I look at this photo and it feels like the closest thing I maybe would’ve had to a home. I remember my grans baking; scones and the best meringues you could ever taste.”

Steve smiled when you did, your face lighting up with a memory and he watched your eyelashes flutter like you were trying your best to remember it all. 

“My aunt said my grandad called me ‘duck,’ said he loved quiz shows and toffee.” 

You sniffed again, rolled your eyes at yourself and leaned against Steve when he let himself fall into your space again. 

“I remember him bringing me a bag of it when he last came to Hawkins, told me to hide it and not tell my aunt,” you huffed out a laugh. “I still have the last piece of it.”

You thought of the chew, still twisted in its shiny gold wrapper, hidden in a little tin in the bottom of your bag, mixed with jewellery and loose coins. 

“That’s nice,” Steve said and he whispered your name, caught your attention and smiled all sweet, nodded encouragingly at you like he was saying it was okay that you told him. “S’really nice that you have those memories.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, watery, wiped the back of your hand roughly across your face and nudged your shoulder into Steve’s, a solid and warm comfort. “My aunt said I looked like my gran. Not my mom, she always said I looked when my gran when she was young.”

Steve let his knee knock against yours, smiled at you a little wistfully, glanced at you from the corners of his eyes. “Oh yeah?” He said, “your gran must’ve been real pretty then, huh?”

You scoffed, burned with embarrassment, but more than a little pleased with his words and you were quiet and insincere when you mumbled, “shut up.”

He knew you didn’t mean, Steve could see the pink on your cheeks and the shin in your eyes but you were hiding your smile and he decided it was a very pretty look on you. Pleased, maybe even a little overwhelmed by him. 

“Do you miss home?” You asked him, breaking the quiet that settled over you both for a minute or two. You were both staring out at the water, the reflections of the blue mountains in the lake. “Your friends?”

Steve shrugged, smiled a little sad like you had done and let his fingers run over the grass, searching for stones to skip across the shore. 

“I think,” Steve replied, “that if this trip has caught me anythin’, it’s that I don’t think I really had a home, y’know? A house, sure, a real nice house too.”

He found a stone, threw it into the lake and you both watched it splash and sink. The skies were darker, clouds rolling down the canyons, settling in the skies above you, dark and heavy.  

“But I miss my friends,” Steve nodded, staring at his hands. “Miss them a lot, yeah.”

“D’you wish they were here?” You asked, “Robin? Eddie, Dustin?”

“Sometimes?” Steve squinted at you, like he wasn’t really sure of his answer, like he felt guilty if he said otherwise. “We’re always with each other- and I love that, I love them. They’re my family, y’know?”  

“But we’ve been through a lot together and sometimes it’s too much, and I just… I just-”

You sighed, nodding as if he’d already said the word you were both thinking. “Need to breath?”

Steve laughed, a little humourless, a little relieved and he nodded, thankful for the way you seemed to know what he wanted to say, what he needed to hear. 

“Yeah, that,” the boy agreed. “But, hey, I’ve got you with me, right? And you’ve got me.”

You smiled at that, because the boy’s words lifted at the end, a little more lightness and warmth returning to him, despite the way the wind had picked up, pulling more of those dark clouds closer. You wrapped your arms around you, leaned closer into Steve’s side. 

You didn’t look at him when you next spoke, felt like you couldn’t because god, you felt painfully shy, like a teenager with her first crush, like you were talking to that boy next door who seemed too pretty to be real. 

“We’re friends?”  

Steve looked at you then, turning and holding in a little noise at the realisation of how close you both were, shoulder to shoulder, noses only inches apart. He was looking at you that way again, like he had in the kitchen, with fireworks in the sky. Maybe you were looking at him the same way too. 

His grin was achingly soft and he cleared his throat, nervous, nodded and tried his best not to look at your lips, the way the corner of them tilted upwards in a shy smile. You wondered if he’d crack a joke, if he’d say something stupid.

But he didn’t. Steve just gave a little half shrug, tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and tried to hide his blush. But he kept gazing at you, nodded and said, “yeah, sweetheart, yeah… we’re friends.”

It was lovely the way he said it, like you’d both earned the title. Like travelling through four states had been enough time for him to be able to look at you and realise you were no longer a stranger. Steve knew your favourite colour, your favourite animal, your favourite movie. He knew how you liked your coffee and that you preferred the right side of the bed. 

It warmed you to realise that you knew the same. You knew that his hair was a wonderful riot in the morning, that he hated apple juice, that he always mumbled to himself when he was trying to figure out a problem.

You hadn’t realised you’d been staring, or that Steve had been staring right back, still too close, his hair tickling your cheek when the wind lifted at it. 

And then, rain. 

A lot of it, loud and fat, huge droplets that hammered down with a dull roar, soaked you both to the skin almost immediately. You both jumped with a yelp, a few choice curse words and a shocked laugh that sounded more like a gasp. The sky had turned darker than ever, a moody violet that blended with the canyons, madee your little slice of the world turn into a glittering snow globe that held nothing but inky colours and the roll of thunder.

It was freezing, a stark contrast to the July weather that you’d experienced in every state; humid air, hot sun and cloudless skies. You couldn’t see one patch of blue above. But Steve was in front of you, grinning, laughing, grabbing at your cold hand and dragging you back to the car. You were sodden, the boy's sweater a water logged weight on your shoulders and it hung too low, dragged cold and wet at your knees and holy shit, it was comically heavy.

You tried to lift at it, yelped when it clung to your dress and brought that up your thighs with it and Steve tried not to look, tips of his ear tinged pink as he unlocked the car door and turned back to you, motioning to help.

His hands grabbed the hem, a sharp burst of laughter leaving his lips as you squeaked and together, you both tried to wrestle the sweater off of you. It came off with a slow drag, a heavy thud as it hit the roof of the car and you were unsteady on your feet, knocking into Steve so he had to catch you, hands gentle around your wrists so you didn’t fall into him.

The rain was so loud, you could hardly hear the way his laughter faded into purposeful breaths. The roar of it all matched your heartbeat, a constant thudthudthud that rattled your insides. 

Steve was really close. 

His hair was soaked, curling at the ends, dripping water down his cheeks, drops of it caught on his lashes, spilling over his cupid's bow. He looked unfairly pretty, like a painting, a watercolour that was all muted tones, trapped sunlight behind a glass frame. 

Steve was staring again, unabashed, unashamed, but fuck, so were you. You watched him lick the rain from his lips, tracked the movement with a gaze that felt too greedy, too wanton. 

You heard him say your name, a hardly there sound underneath a roll of thunder and suddenly it didn’t matter that you were both soaked to the bone, that you were freezing in a wet sundress. Steve’s t-shirt was almost translucent and the lake looked angier than when you’d both arrived, like it was tired of waiting for something to happen.

Something. Anything. 

Then, it was like a dam burst.

“Can- can I kiss you?” Steve called out, an almost yell to be heard over the din, his cheeks flushed, his eyes so unsure and god, fuck, shit-

You nodded, licked at your own lips, tasted rain water and leftover peach ice tea, watched Steve’s face light up like the sun had come back and then as he moved in, head bending down to yours, your hands shot out, grabbed at his shoulders and you shouted, “wait!”

Steve froze, eyes wide, panicked, rain still pouring over him and you shook your head, stumbled over your words until you got them right, and shit, you had to lean in close so he could hear you. Thunder rumbled above, echoed around the canyons and it felt like your chest vibrated with it.

You held onto the boy, felt the heat of him through his wet shirt, the soaked flannel that drooped open on either side of his chest. Steve wondered if you could feel his heart beat, if you could see the thumpthumpthump of it under his clothes.

You had to take a breath before you spoke, inhaling summer and rainstorms and Steve. 

“I wanna- shit, can I? Can I kiss you this time?” You were wide eyed and breathing too hard, fingers curling around his shoulders, pushing onto your toes like you were waiting for it. “I wanna kiss you this time.”

You sounded braver at the end. Resolute. Determined. 

Steve thought you’d never looked prettier. He laughed, a bright burst, his gaze trained down on yours and he nodded, so sure, his own hands finding your waist and his fingers dug into your sides, made 

fistfuls of your sundress and then and then and then-

When Steve first kissed you over a week ago, it was with confidence that only tequila could bring. 

This was different. It was sweet, it was lovely and then it was more.

Your lips slid over Steves easily, both of you wet with rain, tasting like a storm. It was easy to push yourself into him, to let him catch you and hold your weight. It was a pretty give and take, slow and soft presses of your mouth to his and then your tongue licked into his mouth and you felt his groan, a whisper under the roar of the world around you, but fucking christ, you felt him vibrate against your chest, a rumble that seemed too good to be true.

But Steve opened his mouth for you, let you lick in and slid your tongue over his and you couldn’t help the way you surged up, onto your tiptoes and into him, pushing the boy against the doors of the car and that was it.

His hands were everywhere, stuttering over your sides, over your wet sundress, scratching at wet skin, damp cotton, swallowing the little gasps that you gave him. And your hands were in his hair, pulling and tugging, almost a little mean but the boy kept moaning for you, whispering your name into your own mouth like he was telling you a whole other secret. 

Your noses were pressed to each other's cheeks, teeth dragging over swollen bottom lips, panting into open mouths, hands pressed to dips and valleys, lines of muscles, the pretty slope of each other's jaw. The rain didn’t matter, not anymore, or the cold. Nothing really did.

Because Steve tasted the same way he looked, like he’d swallowed summer and held the sun inside of him.

Neither of you stopped until lightning struck. 

[insidethemindofstoneja]

I had a moment of overwhelming emotions yesterday

I saw a woman on my way to work, extremely high. Which reminded me of my cousin for a few reasons. Overheard her conversation with the person she was with mentioning her daughter. Immediately I began to think about my cousin. It brought me to tears, I will never fully be at peace with Zhanea's death but I felt so bad for her. Some people are desperately in need of help and cannot do anything but feed the voice thats killing them. God bless her and her kids I hope that woman gets the help she needs.

Furthermore, these moments of grief I *HAVE* to let roll out instead of internalizing because the more I keep this inside the angier I become towards the world... and it's not everyones fault.

Waves of grief come and go, let it ride.

Why do I feel inferior for crying? I dont know.

[sprnklersplashes]

my mum posting something in the family chat about how some people lived through both world wars and saying “you lot think you have it bad with covid”.... fuck right off

[perfectpossumprincess]

"I never wanted anything from you." Says the person who sent me paragraphs and paragraphs of text about how in the 'give and take' of friendship she wasn't happy with what she could take from me and when I was able to do something nice for her it was never enough or wasn't 'genuine'. You sure wanted something out of me you walnut.

[1000feetunder]

Taking in the infomation, they visibly get angier and angier, hands clutching around their duffle bag.

Their shoulders are tense as they try not to go running back to the shop, either to check Lobby or put more bullets in Spencers head.

At Sebastions last question they attempt to seem more relaxed, but failed.

" I...am fine. I just wanted to get out of the shop. "

They hesitate, thinking about something.

With a sharp inhale, they hold their arms out for Sebastion offering a hug. They can tell he's had it rough recently.

" Are you okay, Seb? "

His heart thuds heavy in his chest hearing Cali say his name, a mild relief washing over him when they call him over. They weren't telling him to leave. Good.

As he rounds the corner the distress in him is obvious. His scarf is missing, something a darker blue staining his face, chest, and all three hands. The way it's smeared almost looks like it was at one point the same viscosity as blood. What down here has blue blood?

"Thank god... You're okay..."

In the dim light from his lure his eyes are obviously glossy as he approaches, trying to wipe a few tears that slip past his failed attempt at stoicism.

"Are you hurt? Did Spencer find you...? I-I have a med kit... If you need it."

[simplymurdock]

So You Need A Time Machine?

summary: after (y/n)’s laptop crashes a familiar doctor comes to her rescue.

pairing: eleventh doctor x reader

warnings: fluff/comfort, some cursing, it’s mostly fluff (that’s all i could think of but if i missed anything let me know and i’ll add it <3)

word count: 1148 words

authors note: When @heytherejulietx tells you your writing is amazing you write more immediately. This truly brought me so much joy to write and i loved the thought of the doctor with a companions that is an art history major. so don't be surprised if i write more things like this cause i already want to do something with river and this character type. (also my requests are open so please make sure you read the rules before making a request!)

(y/n)’s back slid down the cold bare eggshell colored wall of your college hallway. The fourth to last light flickered broke the dim fluorescent lighting. It always did that, it has since the first time she walked down the hall. Even the professor who had been there longest has said it did this, saying The Dean was sending someone. But someone never did.

Fully sitting on the floor letting out the frustration and anxiety, that she had been holding in for what felt like forever, sigh trembled out of her mouth.

This is hell.

She had diced on two things right now, either she died in her sleep and this was hell or this was limbo. Running her shaky hands through her hair trying to calm herself down, but failing. Everything seemed like it was going to hell and this was her final pity party that didn’t want to end.

“What happened?” He asked and she knew without even looking at him, she knew he already studied her expression. Granted most passerbys would think (y/n) was sad, but the doctor knew her better. He knew the anxious pissed look far too well

“My stupid fucking laptop crashed right in the middle of me putting the final touches on my final! It corrupted and easiered the entire project and now–” Her head moved from looking up at the ceiling tiling to the Time-Lord with glossy eyes. “--I have less then seven hours to redo two months worth of work!....I’m fucked,”

Her head lightly hit the back of the wall as the hot angier tears were fighting for their way through. But she wasn’t going to let them win.

Her plan, which was still being developed, was to spend between an hour or thirty minutes to cry over and feel sorry for herself before spending the remaining six hours cramming as much as she could into Google Slides. It wouldn’t get her the A she wanted, the A she worked her ass off for. But it would at least be passing. And that’s all she wanted at the end of the day is to pass.

“So what are you going to do?”

Her head snapped towards him. It was his tone, the same tone the two would use as a way to lead the other down the route towards a plan.

It was his look too. Of course it was the normal old eyes she grew to love so much, but it was different. It had care and kindness in them. Of course the Doctor was caring, especially this one, but it was the look he would give her that reassured her that everything was going to be okay. The type where once he gives it to you, you quickly realize how much you’ve missed it. Man she missed the look.

“You know what I really need right now?” She said as the corner of her mouth slowly curled as he hummed in response. “A time machine. And not to go back to save my file, that would be messing with the timeline. No, I want to go see the actual paintings, high quality photos and endless time to analyze them.”

The Doctor smiled in ‘aw’ at (y/n) loving when she would go on rambles. Rather it be seeing a famous artwork, or analyzing whatever art was around, her and River talking for hours about the beauty of architecture, he loved it. It made him happy to see someone ramble to the ends of the universe about something so passionately like he did. Not to mention the excitement and joy she expressed all made him fall for her more.

“So you want to go through the past and then someplace where time doesn’t matter so you can write your final?” He played along.

“Final project, it’s not some essay I can cram out in an hour.” She corrected playfully before continuing, “And it’s not like that, I want to get all my information I need and then leave. I don’t want to be anywhere near here, cause then I’ll be freaking out more about it. Besides you can only handle Earth for so long when you know a Time-Lord.”

He laughed, nodding his head, finally looking away from her. She had been going back and forth between him and the ceiling. “So, if I’m hearing you right, you want a time machine but also a spaceship.”

“Time And Relative Dimension in Space.” She laughed out as her smile grew even more. “I think it’s called a Tardis?”

“Is it a big blue box that says ‘POLICE’ on it? Cause I think I saw one coming in. But I think it needs a key.” He said in a poor defeated tone, not being able to cover his happiness.

She looked down at her chest, reaching her hand up pulling a thin chain from under her shirt. Holding it between the two, revealing a metal key and a small charm. A small telephone booth charm.

The Doctor gave her a key after their fourth adventure. He had asked (y/n) to go with him, travel with him, and she wanted to. But she couldn’t, knowing she couldn’t just up and leave college. Her parents wouldn’t understand, neither would the friends she had. And she knew all too well that she couldn’t make up a believable lie. So, she made him a deal. Everytime she needed a break from ‘normal life’ she would call him. And if he were ever lonely he could call her. He never did call her though, he would usually just show up in true doctor fashion.

“You mean this one?”

The two broke out into laughing fits. Afterwards, The Doctor sprung to his feet swiftly pulling (y/n) up with him, dropping the key and holding his hand. “Now I say we swing by your room, grab whatever you need, and then to the past we go!”

“Geronimo!” (y/n) shouted smiling widely as his expression matched hers before the two started running down the hallway.

[athyathye]

hi!! can I request a mitsuri reader with the twins and baji (^///^)

Mitsuri! Reader

(Smiley, Angry and Baji)

Warnings ⚠️: none that I know of

Smiley :

It was hard for you to not sneak glances towards Smiley’s form, watching him intensely as he beats other people up with a smile on his face.

“Nahoya-san, you’re as gang-like as ever! I truly love how pesky you are!” you thought, uncontrollably blushing which made Emma, the person next to you, wonder if you were about to faint.

Once they were back though, you wasted no time in complementing smiley, “Nahoya-san! You looked very scary and threatening earlier! How exceptionally attractive!” you shamelessly spoke to him, your hands in front of you, making it hide the lower half of your face.

“I don’t think that’s a compliment though” “Nobody asked you, chifuyu” Nahoya amusedly said, feeling himself blush a little from how cute you were acting.

Now he was getting elbowed by the others, his friends teasing him as he heard low whistles and someone clapping their hands.

“Oya~ Smiley you’re exceptionally attractive today!” Baji mocked, making his voice high pitched as he tried to recreate the face you were making, only to receive numerous disgusted expressions, even one from both girls, though you were only looking at him with a strained smile.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Draken shivered, shaking his head as he dragged both of the Sano siblings away.

“Anyways y/n-san-” Smiley started, wanting to ask you something before you cut him off with a “You’re the cutest person I’ve ever met.” It seemed real genuine seeing as you looked to be zoning out while speaking. Before realizing what you had just said, turning into a deep shade of red as you covered your mouth.

You heard the choked and muffled sounds of others as they tried not to laugh at your mishap, you truly were adorable, and of course Smiley had to say something about that.

“Eh? But you’re cuter” He commented, going as far as to swing a hand over your shoulders to which you blushed profusely once more.

“Eh!? No. You’re cuter!” You argued, those surrounding you both sighed, leaving the area before they found themselves getting annoyed by your unconscious flirts.

“Ha? Well in that case, let’s just say we’re both cute, real cute together that is” he glanced expectantly at you.

“*mumbling* But you’re cuter by yourself…” you pouted, earning a frustrated but extremely love-sick expression from Smiley “Y/n!”

“.....he’s so much cuter!” you agreed with yourself as you slapped your burning cheeks

Angry :

“Souya-san looks more angier than usual, How cool!” you thought as you watched the seemingly permanent tick mark on Angry’s face become more prominent.

“Is it just me or is Angry more .... angry today” Draken stated, glancing at the younger twin who was currently holding himself back from looking damn near close to slapping the life out of Takemitchy.

“Ah I wanted to say that” you looked at draken “Offer him my opinions” You flusteredly thought, looking down as you moved your restless legs.

“What do you mean? He looks fine to me” Mikey replied, sneakily eating the snacks you had in your opened backpack.

All 4 of you glanced at the snapping Angry, watching him tackle and try to beat Takemitchy while being held back by his older brother and Chifuyu.

“Y/n! Do something!” Smiley pleaded, having a hard time holding him back with even Chifuyu helping him.

“Eh? Me?” You curiously asked, tilting your head a bit. “He listens to you better!” Smiley continued, watching the way Draken and Mikey pushed you to them, small teasing grins on their faces.

“Alright! I’ll do my best!” You determinedly said, walking to where they were struggling.

You contemplated what to do, not paying attention to Takemitchy’s begs for mercy and inaudible screaming.

You grabbed Angry’s shoulder, but that didn’t make him budge as he just simply brushed it off, now able to land attacks on the coward Takemitchy.

That was when you forcefully ‘stopped’ him from behind, but to others it looked more like you were hugging him from behind.

They watched as you whispered something to Angry’s ear, which was as red as a tomato.

They assumed it was something sexual for the reason that Angry was looking like he was about to blow a fuse. Takemitchy laid there, undoubtedly knocked out so they couldn’t ask him either.

When in reality it went like this : “Souya-san? What are you doing? You’re soiling the ground!....But you were so cool! Ah- don’t tell them i told you that-”

While Angry was like : “Close- I can smell her strawberry shampoo- Is that (name) Bodywash? Doesn’t she think she’s too close--”

Mans was having a breakdown just from being near you.

“Souya-san?” You leaned into him more, that was when he felt some ehem…..some of your assets

“Angry!!” “Souya!!” shouts were heard as they watched Angry who fainted with blood dripping down from his nose.

“EHH!?”

Baji :

You giggled flusteredly to yourself, glancing at Baji who was too busy cussing and beating someone up simultaneously.

“U-uhh y/n-san? Y-your nose is bleeding” Hina said, watching as you stood there, a love sick expression on your face, “Ah, Is that so? That’s nice”

Emma deadpanned as she took the initiative to wipe your face “That’s not nice at all”

“What a fine boy! He’s so cool!” You flusteredly said, Making both Emma and Hina glance at you with a smile, such adorable thoughts for an adorable person.

“Hina-san, I might need some glue” You started with an aura of seriousness, though Emma could tell you were probably going to say something idiotic.

But before she could warn the other girl, she had already left, only providing a small “On it!” Running towards where she left her bag.

“To get my life together” You didn’t notice that she was gone as your senses were muffled, either by Emma’s handkerchief or just because you were too busy admiring Baji.

Emma sighed, wondering if that was what she looked like whenever she was admiring Draken as well, though she still looked at you with a soft and endearing smile.

“What happened to you girls?'' Mikey unbotheredly asked, glancing at your bodies sitting on the ground while huddled together.

“Y/n-san had a nosebleed from admiring Baji-san-” “Did not!” you gasped, feeling betrayed by the way she outed you like that.

“Heh, That butters up my ego” Baji boasted, looking at you with an expression that he knew would get you flustered.

Meanwhile the others deadpanned, wanting nothing more than to bash Baji’s head on a wall near them, his ego was definitely higher than his Iq.

“Say y/n-san wanna play truth or dare?” He asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes as the other collectively thought ‘this isn’t good’

Though you didn’t seem to notice, ecstatic by the thought of you gaining a chance to have some fun with him.

“Yes! Truth please!” You jovially said, not seeing anything wrong with the smug grin in his face.

“You wanna kiss me?” You choked, hearing the other let out loud sighs.

“I- i- i- dare.” You said, feeling too stumped to form words, your face becoming as pink as your hair.

“I dare you to kiss me.” Draken audibly ‘threw’ up, Mikey leaving the area with his hands raised, While Chifuyu took dramatic to the next level as he kneeled on the ground pretending to punch and kick it.

“N-never have I eve-” “That wasn’t even the game!” Baji shouted, enjoying the feeling of flustering someone like this.

“Y/n-san! I have the glue-” “Hina-san-”

[adamwatchesmovies]

The Prestige (2006)

Revenge and obsession make for great storytelling topics, as The Prestige demonstrates. Based on the novel by Christopher Priest, director Christopher Nolan - who co-writes the screenplay with his brother Jonathan - unites a powerhouse cast to offer us a true mind-bender. This film's ending is so unexpected I've heard several people say that it couldn't possibly work the way it's presented here and instead propose all kinds of increasingly unhinged fan theories.

In 1890s London, magician Alfred Borden (Christian Bale) is selling out shows thanks to his amazing “The Real Transported Man” trick. His rival, Robert Angier (Hugh Jackman), is obsessed with discovering how it’s done and copying the act to get the top spot in their long-running feud. Years of spying, imitating, theft and sabotage have left them ready to kill each other.

Some twists in The Prestige you'll figure out a little ahead of time – though I think you’re supposed to, as the film is told partially in flashback -, others you decipher seconds before they’re revealed. Some are so wild you'd need superpowers to predict them. None of these surprises are cheap. They’re all focused on the characters, whose rivalry is so intense you can’t understand its severity without seeing the film. In every cinematic sleigh of hand, you learn something new about them. These new bits of information shock, excite, terrify and depress you all at once.

Like in Miloš Forman’s magnificent Amadeus, this is a story of men who should’ve been friends, who - had they chosen to cooperate - could’ve, through their talents, ushered us into a new age of wonder. Instead, their passions only fuel animosity. While Borden and Angier's obsession makes them fascinating. The ones you’re worried about are the side characters, the ones most likely to become collateral damage: Borden’s wife Sarah (Rebecca Hall), Angier’s assistant and confidante (who is up to her own tricks) Olivia (Scarlett Johansson) and Michael Caine as John Cutter, a stage engineer who suffers from the magician’s rivalry in more ways than one.

As it explores this bitter rivalry of stage magicians, The Prestige becomes downright diabolical. It's so sinister you feel wrong for seeing it play out but can't look away. There’s another level of enjoyment as well. When you see an actor like Hugh Jackman on-screen performing magic tricks, it's not like seeing a live act. You know there’s trick photography at work, probably some special effects added after the shooting was done, all sorts of things to make the impossible happen. Because the film centers around an "impossible" trick, this artifice becomes an asset. You’re removed from the action taking place. You know it's all some kind of sleight of hand… just as Angier does. You feel the way he feels and desperately want to know the truth behind it.

Once the picture concludes, The Prestige offers you much to discuss thematically. The meaning of secrets, competition & sacrifice, the way certain actions mean one thing at first and then another once we know the ending, and more. Every aspect, combined with the fabulous cast and the performances they give make for a sophisticated picture that demands to be seen more than once. (On Blu-ray, March 3, 2018)

[yikesitskennawrites]

I’ll Be Good- Jaymes Young

Breaking Down Songs Masterlist 

Transitions Masterlist

I am breaking down songs and lyrics that I feel like they fit or reminds me of Transitions. This way, you guy’s would be able to understand the protagonist and the series a little deeper than before.

A/n: Today's breakdown song is: Jaymes Young- I’ll Be Good. This song appeared in my playlist before work one morning a couple weeks ago. It was a song I used to play on repeat at the peak of my Supernatural television show phase back in 2017. I don’t think I heard it since, until about two weeks ago when it shuffled on a random YouTube playlist. But, when I first heard it, my first thought was: “Holy-shit. This is Marc.” And so, I wrote it down to break down the song and scenes that appear in my head when I listen to it. I’ve been listening to it occasionally. 

To begin with:

“I thought I saw the devil this morning

Looking in the mirror”

Marc looks in the mirror every morning and believes that he is a terrible person/the devil because his own mother called him a monster for the death of his brother; and because of the amount of lives he took as a mercenary, marine, and Khonshus avatar. He wakes up angry at himself often, and even angier at the world. 

“drop of rum on my tongue

With the warning to help me see myself clearer”

Right after Marc loses the scarab and arrives in Cairo, we, the viewers, find him sitting half-naked and drinking a bottle of rum in his hotel room. Although we don’t know exactly what he’s feeling because it’s not written out for us word for word, we can still assume what he’s feeling. He is pissed, Khonshu just threatened to choose Layla as his next avatar and it’s not the first time that he’s done it. Knowing the bird god, it's not a threat any longer but a promise. He is angry at himself for slipping up and letting Steven be aware of this life and fuck up the mission. He is upset that he is a god's puppet, but through it all, he continues to be blindsided by the chance of freedom from this Egyptian god and the life that Steven could have.

He could be free, he is told that this is his last mission for Khonshu and all he wants is to get out of this mess so Steven could live a normal life and Marc could disappear for good. Simply, because he believes that he doesn’t deserve this life but Steven, who doesn’t eat meat because he feels bad for the animals, does. 

“I never meant to start a fire

I never meant to make you bleed

I'll be a better man today”

Marc never meant to hurt anybody. He went into that cave with his brother Randall because they wanted to explore and they didn’t think it would flood. They were excited to be adventurers like Dr. Steven Grant from their favorite movie. Marc wouldn’t have taken his brother into the cave if he knew the outcome of it. He really didn’t want Randall to die, but his mother didn’t believe him. He grew up hated by his mother and neglected by his father. If his father loved him, he would have stopped his mothers abuse, he wouldn’t have stood aside and pretended Marc's cries weren’t happening. Marcs father would have done so much more if he helped his son.

We see in episode five that Marc is celebrating his birthday with his father, but by the time that Marc is moving away and out of the house, probably going into the marines, the dad tries to stop him by saying “I can’t lose another son.” It's clear that teen-Marc was upset by hearing his father tell him this. Because the dad already lost Marc when he didn’t stop Wendys abuse.

Later on, when Marc is older, he drags himself into Khonshus temple. His torso was bloody and damaged, he was ready to die. He was going to put a bullet into his skull, he nearly pulled the trigger and moments before he lightly pressed down Khonshu says, “What a waste.” and because he didn’t want to completely die, he entertained the person or thing who spoke by answering back. After being told by his mother how much of a terrible, horrible human being Marc is, this god is telling him how much of a waste it is if Marc would take his own life. Why not become his avatar and protect the travelers of the night and be his fist of vengeance? Even with Marc on the brink of death, the god was manipulating him. He didn’t believe he was worthy to breathe another breath. He didn’t want to fight anymore, especially after being left for dead. 

So, this god that Marc probably has never heard of up until this point is choosing him to be his avatar? Obviously the god had to see something in him enough to propose the offer. So, Marc, who believes that he has nothing else to lose, accepts and becomes Khonshus Moon Knight. 

“I'll be good, I'll be good

And I'll love the world, like I should

Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good

For all of the times that I never could”

The repetitive promise of “I’ll be good,” that Marc must have told his mother throughout the abuse is so sad to think about. His promise to his mother that he’ll be good while getting hit with the belt. His creation of Steven who is supposed to represent his brother Randall and is the emotional protector of the system. Steven is meant to love the world, he’s supposed to see the good in everything. 

Marc doesn’t believe that he is a good person, but Steven is a much better person compared to him.

“My past has tasted bitter for years now

So I wield an iron fist”

Khonshus avatar, baby. Marc now has a purpose to live and it’s to serve a god and protect those who can’t protect themselves. Which is honestly fitting, because Marc grew up being unable to protect himself. 

“Grace is just weakness

Or so I've been told

I've been cold, I've been merciless”

Marc doesn’t show his emotion much. The one time we see him cry is when he reveals to Steven that their mother died and he blames himself for his brother's death. His mother probably told him that he doesn’t deserve to cry because “he killed his brother.” In episode five, we see young Marc walk down the stairs for Randalls funeral and his mother yells at him saying, “What are you doing here? You were supposed to keep him safe.” She blames him heavily from the moment they left their backyard to explore the cave.

“But the blood on my hands scares me to death

Maybe I'm waking up today”

Marc killed so many people in his time as a marine, mercenary, and as an avatar. Most of all, he believes that he killed his brother because he was blamed by his mother for his brother's death. Being told repeatedly and being beaten by his own mother for his brother's death has to do some damage. He believes that he killed Layla's father by bringing Paul Bushman to the archaeologist site Layla's father worked at. A raid gone wrong. 

“For all of the light that I shut out

For all of the innocent things that I doubt

For all of the bruises I've caused in the tears

For all of the things that I've done

All these years, no, yeah

For all the sparks that I stomped out

For all of the perfect things that I doubt”

Steven is the good that Marc never got or never became. Steven believes that his mother is alive because Marc went through the length of protecting Steven from the knowledge that she’s actually dead. He set up a voicemail for Steven to call, he had someone send postcards. He made it so Steven always believed that Wendy was kind and he was loved. Steven would not have become the Steven we see in the television show if it was not for Marc's kindness of making sure Steven wouldn’t be harmed in the way that he grew up. 

Marc doesn’t believe that he is kind, but rather selfish. He found Layla to tell her how he led Paul Bushman- the killer of Layla's father and atttepted murderer of Marc- to the site where Laylas father was doing his job of being a archologist. He wanted to tell her, but instead he fell in love with her and never got around to telling her because he knew that she would hate him. Marc isn’t the one who pulled the trigger on Layla's father but he blames himself for his death. 

Marc doesn’t believe that he is a good person. He doesn’t believe that he deserves to be loved.

Every single event, good or bad, big or small, has lead up to the Marc the reader knows of today: A man who went through something bad but has done his best to be better. To do good. 

“I'll be good, I'll be good

And I'll love the world, like I should

Yeah, I'll be good, I'll be good

For all of the times I never could”

Marc is still trying to be better. He’s black-mailing a teenager, the reader, to come over for dinner every night so they know they are safe. He’s making sure that the reader stays fed and isn’t hungry.  God knows how many times Marc found himself cooking dinner for himself and his mom when she was too drunk and sad or passed out to cook. Marc is making sure that the reader is comfortable and allows them to stay at his apartment when they are terrified of Khoshu. Marc tries to get to know the reader by taking them up to the roof to see the stars on a hot summer night. Marc is doing the best that he can because he cares for them despite seemingly not caring at all or as much as Steven. He’s going to be good, he’s going to try his best to be good. 

“Oh, oh-oh

Oh, oh

Oh, oh-oh

For all of the times I never could”

Although Marc fully believes that he is not worth being loved because of all the hurt that he thinks he caused, he has yet to accept that he is more than what his mother has told him that he was: a monster. A terrible son. A murderer. 

Marc Spector is worth loving, Layla showed him that, Steven Grant showed him that, and perhaps, if he lets the reader, they will too.