#the wording may be a bit funny at the end. my focus was disrupted

[mysterious-corpse]

In the movie Wicked I think it would’ve been cool to feature Idina Menzel as one of the side characters. My preference for her part would be Madame Morrible, even though she’s a bit young for the part. Having the previous Elphaba cast as the woman tutoring our new Elphaba into this role of power and evil would be incredible.

[dukeofonions]

The Problem With Asides

Before I get into anything I want to clarify that this is not going to be a criticism of the two Asides episodes we’ve gotten so far. This is a critique of the concept of Sanders Asides as a separate series from the original Sanders Sides. A second note I want to make is that this is, just as all my other posts are, a personal opinion. This is not meant to be an attack on anyone, just a general criticism from a confused writer and viewer of the show. 

And final disclaimer: A lot of what I’m going to say is based on information that I no longer have available. It’ll mostly be me recalling things I heard and if I at any point get something wrong please feel free to let me know. 

That being said, let’s get into this, shall we? 

(Fair warning this post is very long hence why I’ve divided it into parts so feel free to read then come back as you wish)

Part One: The Concept of Asides

Some time ago last year, I believe shortly after Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts came out, was when the idea for Sanders Asides was first announced. The basic concept of it being shorter, more lighthearted videos focusing on the Sides outside of the main storyline. This format would allow them to give us more Sides content in between the long waits for the main series since those episodes were beginning to take more time to produce. 

Of course, everyone was eager for more Sides, so the majority of people were excited. Not only that but due to the main series tackling heavier themes, the episodes were becoming more angsty with less time for the characters to just relax and goof off with each other. The idea of having episodes reminiscent of the low stakes, sillier, happier content of season one was a welcome break from the more complex episodes and would be a nice return to form for the series. 

We were also informed that these episodes would be much simpler than their main series counterparts and wouldn’t disrupt the work being done on Sanders Sides, which meant we didn’t have to worry about long gaps between the main story episodes, right? 

(Another disclaimer: I am perfectly aware of the main reason why we were not given as much content last year and am not blaming Thomas or the team for doing what was necessary to keep themselves safe and hope they continue to do so as this continues into the new year)

Jump to November 22, 2019, where we got our first official episode of Sanders Asides, roughly five months after DWIT came out. Which, for this fandom, was record time to get more content and I was pleasantly surprised by how quickly they were able to get this out. Though at the same time, I wondered why it took five months to make what was meant to be a short, simple episode. 

So imagine my surprise when I went to watch the episode and saw it was nearly 20 minutes long. Which, okay, isn’t that bad when you compare it to the lengths of the more recent Sanders Sides episodes. But at the time, I was under the impression that the Asides would be, well, much shorter. The longest I expected would be maybe 15 minutes, but you know what? It’s the first episode and it has been a while since we’ve had Sides content, so maybe they wanted to give us a little extra due to the long wait. 

I started the episode and at first, I was overjoyed when I saw the first shot of all the Sides sitting in the living room in their onesies about to have a movie night. This was exactly what I’d been hoping to see from this series! It’s pretty much a staple thing in the fandom for the Sides to have movie nights together, and now it was happening in canon! 

At the moment, I had high hopes for this series and was filled with joy. 

Then that hope and joy were immediately crushed when I realized this was yet just another Virgil-centric angst episode. In fact, this entire episode was, well, exactly like a regular Sanders Sides episode. Sure, there were some jokes here and there, but the tone of the episode was no lighter than the last Sanders Sides episode. If anything DWIT felt lighter in comparison to this one. 

Which leads me to ask, what the heck happened? 

Part Two: Literally the Same Show

At this point in time, we’ve only had two episodes of Asides. Usually, I try to hold off my judgment of a series until I’ve had at least one other episode to see if my original criticisms still stand. 

To be fair, I did think Flirting With Social Anxiety was a step in the right direction. More comedy, a lighter tone, yes. Perfect. But again, just like with Are There Healthy Distractions? This episode quickly dove right back into the angst pool, and just like ATHD it was a pretty long episode, clocking in at almost 25 minutes. 

Not only that but again, both FWSA and ATHD don’t feel any different from the episodes we’ve been getting in Sanders Sides. 

1. They’re just as angsty.

2. Roughly the same length as Sanders Sides episodes.

3. Take about just as long to produce.

4. Contain a lesson to be learned. 

Which, okay, you can have lessons in lighter shows too, but we’re already getting that in Sanders Sides and Sanders Asides was described as, well, being less plot heavy. Yet so far both episodes are still tied in with the main plot. 

ATHD deals with the aftermath of DWIT, not directly but it’s pretty obvious that the whole thing with Virgil’s reveal at the end of that episode is being addressed in the background. Which, kind of takes away the impact of that ending, but I’ll get to that later. 

Then FWSA takes place after Putting Others First and again, is dealing with things from that episode in the background. Again though, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It makes sense to see the characters dealing with things from past events.

So why is it a problem here? Because, again, Sanders Asides is meant to be a separate series, and all the subtext brought on from the episodes in Sanders Sides makes the plots in these two episodes confusing. 

For example, I was perplexed during my first watch of FWSA because I couldn’t understand why the focus of the conflict was lying. I didn’t understand why Virgil and Roman came to the conclusion that Thomas’ reason for being unable to approach Nico was because he was lying to himself, when both the title of the episode and what we were shown points more to, well, social anxiety being the problem. 

(Quick note: One could argue that this was done purposefully to have Virgil putting the blame on Janus since he doesn’t like him and wouldn’t want to admit that he was the one responsible, but this series has had a bad habit of favoring Virgil in the past so until we get more answers I’m gonna leave this on the backburner) 

It didn’t help that I had no idea when this episode was meant to take place in the timeline, and I originally thought it could take place a bit after season two since Roman and Virgil seemed to be doing better, but more on them later.

All of this bugged me until I found out that FWSA takes place after POF, and after watching the live stream that followed and getting some more context, the lying thing made a bit more sense, but the fact that I was as confused as I was just caused more frustration to build up. And I wasn’t the only one who got thrown off by the “Lying is wrong” message of FWSA so I had to ask again, why was this episode a Sanders Asides when apparently, you need information from the last Sanders Sides episode in order to understand it?

So you’re telling me, that the second episode in what is supposed to be a separate series that isn’t meant to be a part of the main plot, is now integral to the plot of the main story you’re telling in what is, as you have said, a separate show? How does that make any sense? 

Okay, one could argue that Thomas getting a love interest doesn’t really fit with the current storyline that’s going on in Sanders Sides, and that is a fair point. The problem with that is, FWSA takes place right after Putting Others First. 

You all remember what happened at the end of that episode, right?

Part Three: Intrusive Plots

At this point we’ve all become rather accustomed to the long waits in between videos, it’s nothing new to us, and for the most part they haven’t done anything to harm the current plot of Sanders Sides. Sure, the length of time between videos can cause people to lose interest, but for the most part the tone of the last three episodes of Sanders Sides hasn’t differed much and the story flow is still going along smoothly. 

Let’s start with Selfishness vs Selflessness, which is the episode that sets up the big climax for season two. It’s still got its jokes and funny moments, but the overall tone is far more serious than previous episodes have been. This carries on into DWIT where Thomas has been so stressed out lately that he’s begun to have trouble with his intrusive thoughts. 

Virgil even gives a pretty good summary of Thomas’ current mental state: “He recently realized he’s a bigger liar than he thought he was, he doesn’t understand himself, he’s committed to skipping a big callback, and he’s sleep-deprived. So yeah, he feels like a piece of dirt who has no control over his life.”

And all that was a direct result of the ending of SVS, despite DWIT not being the direct follow up to that episode the two are still intertwined. Remember that for later.

DWIT ends with the long awaited reveal of Virgil having been a “Dark Side.” Even though the majority of the fandom had figured it out by as early as Can Lying Be Good? That didn’t take away from the emotional gut punch that this scene was and it’s one of my favorite moments from the series. I may have to make a whole post breaking that scene down but what matters is that this scene was a turning point for Virgil’s character.

We’ve seen him trying to hide the truth from Thomas ever since Janus and Remus started popping up, and there were close calls with both of them nearly revealing it themselves and continuously dropping hints to Thomas. Only for Virgil to admit it to Thomas himself, and leave before Thomas can even say a word. 

We don’t know for sure how Thomas is feeling in this moment, but it’s clear he’s been shaken by this. He doesn’t really have a lot of time to process it before he remembers to acknowledge the audience and close out the video. 

This comes up again once we finally get to the monster of an episode that is POF, the follow up to SVS that everyone had been waiting over a year for. Right away we see that Patton and Roman will be at the forefront of this discussion with Logan popping up every now and then, but who doesn’t show up in this episode despite having played a role in SVS? 

Virgil. 

He’s nowhere to be seen and his absence is definitely felt. Why wouldn’t he be part of this discussion? He was there in SVS and had a lot to say on the matter, he was even part of the decision to choose the wedding over the callback! So why wasn’t he there? 

Well, just look at the ending of DWIT and there’s your answer. Of course he isn’t about to show his face after that. Not when Thomas is already under so much stress already and he isn’t sure how Thomas will react to seeing him-

*insert random voice whispering off to the side*

 Wait, Virgil has seen Thomas since DWIT? When? 

*whispers continue*

Oh, right, they interacted in Sanders Asides. How did that go again? 

*whispers explain*

Huh? Thomas said he’s cool with Virgil despite revealing that he’s been hiding something from him this whole time? That “something” being the fact that Virgil was once considered part of the others that were currently making Thomas’ life miserable?

*whispers confirm*

Really? They’re both okay with each other now? Well, good for them. 

So wait, then why didn’t Virgil show up in POF? He was there during the first discussion and honestly he’d have more of a reason to show up than Logan who wasn’t really present at all in SVS. 

*whispers explain* 

He just wasn’t need there? Hm, alright. Guess that makes sense… 

Well okay, Virgil and Thomas are on good terms once POF rolls around, Virgil isn’t present during the conversation because he isn’t needed and I suppose his presence would make things worse. Especially once Janus revealed himself, he wouldn’t allow him to get a word in. Even though Janus could probably silence him but I digress. 

Fast forward towards the ending of POF, remember when I said to remember how SVS and DWIT were connected? Well DWIT is just as important to POF, acting as a bit of bridge between to the two episodes. 

Janus brings up Remus (both directly and indirectly) twice in this episode.

First here:

 Notice how Roman’s breakdown is already being foreshadowed here, the camera focusing on him while “Logan” says this isn’t an accident. 

The second time Remus is brought up is at the very end after Janus has revealed his name:

“Oh, Roman thank God you don’t have a mustache. Otherwise between you and Remus, I wouldn’t know who the evil twin is.” 

(No I am not posting screenshots of this scene I already got emotional over the last one)

As we saw at the end of DWIT, Roman does not have a good relationship with is brother. So much so that when Thomas refers to Remus as such, Roman creates a different analogy that compares Remus to a mirror, reflecting everything Roman doesn’t want to be. 

Roman desperately wants to distance himself from Remus, not wanting anything to do with him. We’ve only gotten a glimpse of just how far this loathing goes, and part of that comes from Roman finally breaking down after being told by Janus that if it wasn’t for a mustache there’d be no difference between him and Remus.

This shook Roman more than anything else in the show has so far, moreso than him being the one to decide that Thomas should give up the callback. He was the one that pushed Thomas to make that decision, believing it was the noble thing to do, only for it to only make Thomas feel worse and then be told by Janus that his “noble sacrifice” was all for nothing. 

Janus, the one who had been supporting Roman throughout SVS, buttering him up and encouraging him to go after his dream, told him that his sacrifice was worthless. Then to top it all off Janus admits what he did and brushes it off as a joke. He doesn’t apologize to Roman, leaving him in the dust, then when Roman responds by laughing at his name he’s shot down even lower. 

And when he looks to Thomas and Patton for help, for answers, anything.

They stay silent.

Patton tries to reassure him, telling Roman that they love him, but he doesn’t believe it. He sinks out, and that’s the last we see of him.

Selfishness vs Selflessness, Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts, and Putting Others First are three of the biggest (and dare I say most important) episodes in the series. The three almost act like a trilogy, with POF leading to something bigger, the season finale. Which will be culmination of all three of these episodes. 

We’ll be seeing Virgil’s reaction to Janus having been accepted by Patton and facing his own past as a “Dark Side.” Then we’ll find out what has become of Roman after he disappeared at the end of POF, and how it now affects his relationship with Thomas.

*whispers return and begin to whisper*

I’m sorry what?

*whispers repeat*

Virgil already knows about Janus getting somewhat accepted? Well okay I guess he would, wish we could have seen his reaction to that but oh well, no big deal. At least we got the Roman and Thomas confrontation to look forward to. 

*whispers whisper*

Roman has already interacted with Thomas since POF? When?!

*whisper* 

In FWSA? Oh yeah, how did that go again? It was super awkward right? Since Roman doesn’t really trust that Thomas loves or values him?

*whisperly whisper*

They get along just fine as if nothing happened? 

*whispersty*

It looks like he might still be upset with him since he’s being a bit passive aggressive? 

*whisper* 

Can’t really tell because the three are too busy trying to talk to a cute guy at the mall? 

Okay, I guess that all makes sense… 

Looks like Roman and Virgil still aren’t on the best terms with Thomas but are able to push that aside to help him talk to this handsome stranger, and hey, it worked! Thomas now has a boyfriend! Just look at Roman and Virgil at the end, they’re both so happy with Thomas! 

Looks like now they can focus on this new chapter in their life and leave the events of POF behind them. I mean, now that Roman and Virgil seem pretty cool with Thomas it would just feel weird to suddenly have them angry with him again, wouldn’t it?

Part Four: The Problem

Sanders Asides was originally described as being a series separate from the main storyline of Sanders Sides. Promising us shorter, less complicated episodes to give us a little something in between the longer, heavier episodes in Sanders Sides. This was a great idea that ended up falling apart the moment it began. 

When I was going through SVS, DWIT, and POF I mentioned that the three of them felt like a trilogy. All three of them link together to tell one bigger story, and on their own they get the job done. They set up the season finale perfectly to the point where you have an idea of what to expect and what to look forward to. 

The main things being the aftermath of Virgil’s reveal and Roman’s breakdown, which would most likely cultivate in them teaming up against Janus. This would also involve Virgil coming to terms with his past and Roman having to face Remus. 

Of course, none of this has been officially confirmed, but given everything we’ve seen up to this point it just makes sense. 

The story for season two is nearly complete, all we’re missing is the conclusion. 

Then Sanders Asides showed up and threw everything off course. What was supposed to be its own thing crept into a story that was already (for all we knew) set up and being put into place. 

We were told that the Asides wouldn’t do anything to disrupt the flow of Sanders Sides, yet it’s been confirmed that there will be one or two more episodes of Asides before we get the season finale. 

Why? Why are these episodes necessary when everything was set to move forward after POF? If these episodes are that important that they absolutely have to be made before the finale then why are they simply not part of the main series? 

You could say “Well they’re not directly tied to the main plot, that’s why.” But need I remind you that Asides as a concept was just intriduced after DWIT came out? These episodes were written specifcally for Asides, which unless I’m wrong means that they were just added into the main story with no planning whatsoever. 

FWSA honestly feels like it should have been the start of season three, something that should have waited to be introduced after season two wrapped up because it’s just too much. 

We already have so much to unpack from SVS, DWIT, and POF now we also have a new love interest on top of that? 

Virgil and Thomas’ resolution doesn’t even feel all that special because it wasn’t talked about directly between them. Thomas was indirectly letting Virgil know they were still okay, so what does that leave for us? All that build up about Virgil being a “Dark Side” only for it to be brushed over like it was nothing, and this happened in an Asides episode, not even in the main series. 

It also makes Virgil’s absence in POF confusing when they had already set up the perfect reason for him to be absent in DWIT, but according to the first episode of ATHD Virgil and Thomas are okay with each other. Sure, Virgil being there might have made things worse but at that point everyone was making things worse. 

We no longer have a confrontation between Thomas and Roman to look forward to because in FWSA we see them interacting as normal. Even the passive agressiveness isn’t anything new to Roman and really, it all just sounds super petty which he had been known to behave like that even when nothing is seriously wrong. Not only that Roman is overjoyed at the end, having finally gotten something he desperately wanted, the happy ending he deserved.

All that’s left for him is to fave his feelings towards Remus, but what would even happen there?

The problem with Asides isn’t the quality of the episodes, FWSA is actually one of my favorite episodes. The problem with Asides is that the team is taking what should have been something small and turning it into a far too elaborate for what its original purpose was: To give us more lighthearted content to enjoy in between the waits for the heavier episodes.

Instead it just feels like they’re adding onto something that really didn’t need adding on to, creating more work for themselves when it just isn’t necessary, and that worries me.

Final Thoughts

Honestly, it’s hard for me to make all these judgments when no one has any idea what the finale is going to be like. And usually, the team is able to excede my expectations and create something amazing. 

But with all these new Asides episodes that feel like they’re just being crammed in at the last second, it makes me wonder how the rest of the series will go if they continue down this road. 

Season two started September 1st, 2017, it is now January 3rd, 2021. Throughout season two the production of episodes became more elaborate, and there have been complications that arose from trying to make these videos as a result that sent production screeching to a halt. And on top of that, these Sanders Asides have been added to create even more work for Thomas and the team.

I don’t understand why they’d do this to themselves when it’s already become more difficult than ever to make videos in general, not just Sanders Sides. 

We were offered something simple that would have satisfied everyone during the difficult times, only to be given something that honestly, wasn’t even needed. I do appreciate Thomas trying to get us more content, but I don’t think he or the team realizes just how content we’d all be with just a five minute video of the characters we love just doing something as simple as hanging out and having fun, especially with how dark things have become all around us. 

We don’t always have to be watching these characters struggle, sometimes we just need to see them be genuinely happy.

(Thanks to everyone who took time to read this monster of a post, I did not mean for it to get this long but it’s been dwelling on my mind for a while and I wanted to make sure I got out everything I wanted to say. Again, this is all just a personal opinions and you are not obligated to agree with me. If you have an objecting opinion I would not mind hearing it but please keep any discussions civil.)

[writebycandlelight]

Bread Rolls

Prompt: Reader’s attempted act of kindness goes awry. 

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Erwin x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluffy, Mild

A/N: It’s been a whole year I think but I’m back for today after seeing some BEAUTIFUL art by @ thisuserisalive on Instagram. I heard people have been thirsting for some Erwin fic so I hope you enjoy this little cute fic.

By the Walls, there was nothing more demoralizing than having the scouts return in their terrible conditions time and time again. As you shoved past an unruly crowd, gathered to shout insults as the scouts returned in single file, you clutched your covered basket filled with warm bread rolls to your chest. Times were tough but you were sure the scouts were in need of something to lift their spirits. Bread was the most common military food but surely freshly baked would bring some comfort. Freshly baked bread was always something people liked. In your humble opinion, there was nothing better.

 You scanned for a good spot to approach, unsure of whether you might cause too much of a disruption to the scouts. Your eyes fell on their commander, blonde and blue eyed, you were certain he’d look handsomer with his head held high. Perhaps a bread roll might make him smile a little. Determined to put a smile on at least one scout, you slowly pushed to the front of the crowds. You were just in range to approach when you tipped forward, jostled harshly into the incoming scouts. Your startle cry was interrupted by your face slamming into something hard and metallic. Your head throbbed with pain as your vision began to cloud. A startled voice came and went. Blue eyes stared at you. Two pairs, no, just one pair. So shimmery, they danced as the edges of your vision turned black.

--

Sunlight peeked through your lashes as you blinked awake. Groggily, you looked around. Nothing was remotely familiar. Where were you? What happened? Weren’t you just at the city gates? Blinking in recognition you looked around frantically. Your bread! You were supposed to give the Scouts some bread rolls! 

“Bread rolls-” you said aloud. Startled, your hand reached for your throat. How was your voice so dry and hoarse? Looking around, you spotted a table to your left, and lo and behold, a pitcher of water!

You glanced around the room, taking in its neat and pristine appearance as you slowly made yourself stand. For a moment you felt your body sway, but reaching out you took a few unsteady steps to the table and steadied yourself upon it.

Your hands grabbed greedily at the cup and poured, downing the water in moments.

“You should have called for someone to assist you,” a deep voice said from the door. 

You nearly dropped the cup as the man you knew to be commander entered the room. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently. “Are you feeling better?”

You raised the glass with a small smile, “A bit yes. The water helped.”

“Good, good. Please, sit. You should be resting,” the commander urged and motioned to the bed. You glanced at it and then back at him. He made the motion again and you slipped back onto the bed, cup in hand. 

“I am Commander Erwin Smith,” he smiled, and then with a sheepish chuckle added, “I feel I owe you an apology. It was my ODM gear that you hit.”

You felt your face flush, he may not be able to see it, but your face felt as hot as the furnace you baked those rolls in!

“O-oh! Oh no, no! You don’t have to. If anything the idiot that shoved me owes me an apology. Not you...sir-” you stuttered, feebly tacking on ‘sir’ at the end. Despite using the word every day with customers and garrison soldiers, it felt strange to use it on such a man. His whole demeanor commanded a level of authority and respect that made your heart thud. Nerves? Most probably.  

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be able to find them,” Erwin said with a sort of frown, or perhaps you thought, a rather neutral expression for his face. 

“Either way, I hope that it is alright that we brought you here. The Scouts headquarters,” Erwin continued, “We have a fine doctor that said you should feel alright within a few days.”

“I guess I hit my head pretty hard,” you murmured, touching your forehead. Your fingers flinched when they touched the bandage around your head. 

“Thank you for all this,” you murmured bringing your hand back to the cup, “I’m so sorry for all the trouble. I was just trying to bring out some hot bread rolls to your soldiers. I thought it might help boost morale a little. I hate when those crowds go out and bother you all. They have no idea what you all go through no doubt. I mean, you’re all so brave!”

Your eyes shone in a way that made Erwin pause, he hadn’t seen such a look in ages. Not since he first became commander.

His staring at you, with a look you couldn’t quite place, made you realize you were staring right back. You felt the heat to your face return and you glanced down at your cup.

“Thank you. That is very kind of you to say. However, have your bread,” Erwin said, “Captain Levi saw it fall from your arms and we brought it here. It is untouched-” “Untouched!” you exclaimed in exasperation. “Well I hope they like cold bread rolls. By the Walls! All that work to ensure they were warm and oh so lightly buttered and I still only get you cold rolls.”

Erwin chuckled at your sudden change of mood, “They may still be warm. You’ve only been here for about an hour. You did a wonderful job in wrapping them in that basket. I do believe only one fell out.”

“Only one. I guess I’ll take that one,” you joked awkwardly and felt your face flush again. What were you doing?! What kind of dumb joke was that? By the Walls, why were you telling them to the commander of the Scouts!?

Erwin laughed, deeply, he would have taken more time to be surprised if he hadn’t found your demeanor so endearing. For the briefest of moments, he felt wildly afraid by the sound he made, laughter. How long had it been since he’d laughed?

Your eyes widened as his features broke into laughter, the complete opposite of how it had looked like not so long ago. He really was handsome when he smiled like that.

It was gone in a moment though and he looked at you calmly. The silence was short and you stared at one another, but it was enough for you to want to stop it. You’d die if those water blue eyes stared at you like that for another second!

“If you would like to, you can tell the soldiers. To eat the rolls I mean, not that I’ll eat that one roll. The bread rolls, they’re for them of course. And for you! As you know..” you bumbled and had to actively force yourself to smile as your body fought to hunch over and bury your face in your hands in sheer embarrassment. You couldn’t even speak right anymore. Walls you hoped he thought it was because of your head injury.

Erwin felt himself smile, she was surprisingly shy and outspoken at the same time. It was refreshing and charming. He shook his head to focus for a moment and then stood.

“I’ll go tell them, if that’s what you’d like. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat and more water,” he said. 

You nodded and watched him go. His shoulders were so much wider now that you saw them from behind. You watched mesmerized until he turned around. You almost squeaked, averting your eyes. You could NOT be caught staring.

“I’m going to apologize again. I didn’t ask your name,” Erwin said shaking his head, a disappointment to himself really.

“Oh, that. I’m (Y/N), it was nice to meet you Commander Smith” you replied, your heart beating a mile a minute from the startle he’d given you seconds ago.

“(Y/N),” Erwin said with a furrowed brow, “Stay resting,” then turned and left.

You sank into the bed and threw an arm over your face. You’d made a fool of yourself hadn’t you? Of all the people you could have talked to, it had to be the commander of the Scouts himself. Well it’s not like you knew meeting him would make you a whole fool, you thought bitterly. You settled into the bed at last and closed your eyes. Better not to think about it.

---

When you awoke the sun had set considerably. You rubbed your eyes and with a glance remembered where you were. You sighed and turned your head to the table. Your brows lifted in surprise and you sat up. Swinging your legs over the bed, you shuffled toward the table that now had water, soup, and a bread roll on a tray. 

Taking a seat at the chair Erwin had used, you lifted the bread roll. It was one of yours. You had a distinct pan mark on your bread that made it easy to recognize. You pinched the bread and it tore softly, with an ever so slight shimmer to your fingers as the drop of butter at it’s top. It wasn’t warm but you were surprised at how soft they still were. Good on you. You were about to give yourself a pat on the back when you noticed a folded paper just beside the bread roll. You flicked the white note open and blinked at it dumbly before laughing aloud. 

From the room next door, Erwin sat at his desk and lifted his head at the sound of your laughter. He looked to the far wall and smiled. You’d found the note. He felt rather proud and yet silly for having left it. He felt like he had as a young scout. Writing the note has been a very strange thing for him to do but he found himself writing it anyway. He didn’t think the note was particularly funny, but your laugh was worth it.

In your room you moved the note to stay unfolded on the tray, glancing at it as you ate. The neat block letters made you smile as you reread it out loud, “I can promise this is not the fallen bread roll.” Unaware, you and Erwin shared the same smile at the same silly note, and somewhere, a little pang of joy beat in both of you.

[hollandorks]

It’s me coming in hot with another essay. My brain may be frazzled but let’s begin.

I hate when I’m trying to focus on something and people are talking it’s rude. I can picture her trying to focus over this paperwork and trying with everything in her not to get annoyed at the disruption but also trying to tune them out because she wants to know what’s going on so bad. I love how she’s so flabbergasted at how the killer knew he would figure that out. Honestly the riddler would be super bummed if Batman was an idiot. I mean, he is but he isn’t.

I love the way he kissed her after she helped him get dressed. Chefs kiss! I also love how the mention of Gordon being there didn’t make her feel much better. That makes sense. As much as she trusts Gordon she’d feel better if she was there too. I like the mention of how much Bruce was enjoying it. He was obviously upset that someone had died, but yeah, throughout the movie he had a weird penpal. That should’ve been a sign to Bruce to go out and make some friends. Excited about a killer’s creepy riddles? You spend too much time inside. Touch some grass.

I love that her idea for trouble is a safe word, something quick and easy, and Bruce makes a joke “how about oh shit, it’s a trap.” Chefs kiss! I would love to hear him say that with his Batman voice. It would be so funny. I’m a big fan of how both her and Alfred know this is worse. This is the first time he’s been addressed directly. The first time someone has actively sought out Batman’s attention.

So soft for Bruce agreeing to come back as a ghost for her. Mush for Alfred’s “I’m just reminded what a blessing to our lives you’ve been, is all.” CHEFS KISS BABY. So soft. Alfred loves her so much, he loves that she saw good in Bruce, and she’s helped Bruce see good in himself. Her scoffing at emotion? Same.

I love that she got Bruce to get a new chair. I imagine him with some clanky metal chair that is slightly lopsided on one side with a book underneath.

Skipping ahead a bit because I’ve gotta head to bed soon, I loved the riddlers funny bits in the movie. The thumb drive thing? Absolutely hysterical.

My last few thoughts are gonna be bulleted

-Big fan of the return of Bruce’s pov. I love that rage consumed him when the iceberg lounge and the penguin was mentioned. I bet it still takes everything in him not to beat the shit out of that man. He’s caused many nightmares for the both of them. He wants to give him some nightmares of his own.

- I love the interaction between the two of them. Bruce was waiting for the chance to beat the shit out of him. Even when they were talking semi-civilly it took everything within Bruce not to beat the fuck out of him.

- Of course Bruce thinks Selina is the other vigilante and not his fiancé. He’s in for a shock. Poor little bat.

Predictions? Let’s see—Bruce is going to tell Selina that she’s the other vigilante and she’s gonna be like “I’m a vigilante but not the other one.” Meanwhile she’s gonna be watching from the Batcave like “oh shit.” I really hope she doesn’t get jealous of Selina. Personally, I think the two of them would get along over how stupid Bruce is. Also they’d get along because they don’t come from rich backgrounds.

Shelby chapter 4 was amazing, and I can’t wait to explore the rest of this story. If I can’t do long essays I’ll just pop by with a list of thoughts. Much love!

🦇

also the second job has been good so far. I’m only there Saturday-Monday, so I’m hoping I’ll adjust to how tired I’ll be in the beginning of the week.

also also sorry for the family drama at the end of your vacation.

Yay another essay!! Hi bestie! My brain is frazzled too post-vacation so we're in the same boat (too much extroverting for this introvert)

Yeah the reader is like "how'd he know you'd be smart enough??" which is a valid question 😂 I imagine she's only pretending to work, to try and be productive while the people with the brains for riddles work, but she's trying to keep up with what's going on too

We love a good domestic moment! But yeah she 100% would rather be his backup. She's invested in keeping him alive--probably more so than he is in keeping himself alive! Bruce does need to touch some grass. I definitely felt like in the movie he was having a good time solving shit even as it got more dangerous and complicated tbh!

These two really share one working brain cell and I really enjoy writing moments with them tossing it back and forth, like the safe word part 😂 But yes she and Alfred are on the same page here! They're more wary than Bruce is! And I can't help but include some soft moments with Alfred. Poor man needs some love in between all of Bruce's "you're not my real dad" moments in the film yikes

The reader is quietly changing things in Bruce's life to make them better without him realizing! I love throwing in little details like that with the chair so I'm glad you noticed!

I can't help but do Bruce's POV. I love this emo man. I had to make him have angsty motn-plot-related thoughts with the Iceberg Lounge. I was excited for it!

Poor little bat is right! I too think Selina and the reader would bond over how stupid Bruce is tbh!

Yay the job is going good! Rest up and keep caffeinated!

Also yeah the family drama was over something dumb but thankfully everyone apologized etc!

[enderbot-magic]

Welp I have gotten a general “yes post the brawl stars fanfic” so here it is. Forgive me for the gaps I am on mobile.

Description, I guess: A criminal wakes up in a very, very unfamiliar place. He’s not sure of many things, he doesn’t know many things, but he feels like he shouldn’t be caught. And that he should stay awake.

Warnings for touching on unreality.

Colt panted, holding the bag as close to himself as he could, as if he could drop it at my second. He didn’t know why, but he was sure he was going to be caught. Or maybe this was just his paranoia? They hadn’t seen him yet, which was probably good – he was still on foot and trying not to look suspiciously like some run down vagrant.

A red jumper, a mask, gloves, boots. It looked like he was dressed in a costume, which made sense considering all of that stuff was in there too. Money sticking out of the bag, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t cram it in so nobody would see. His hand was hurting from gripping so tight, and he kept glancing over his shoulder, making sure they wouldn’t catch him when he ran.

He heard footsteps behind him then, but ignored them for now and kept running. If these guys were the police or something, he should just try to get away as fast as possible. Maybe he could lose them and then find shelter somewhere. Where could he go though? He didn’t want to get caught, something inside of him screamed that would be the worst case scenario right now and he didn’t even know what he was doing here! But… but he was here, wasn’t he? And he had to have done it somehow right? He wasn’t sure how he got here or even when, but if he thought about that too hard, it felt like he might throw up or pass out again.

Again. He had done something like this before, right? But he didn’t-

He rounded another bend – his head was spinning again – his vision blurring. The only thing in front of him was a wall. It was too far away. He could almost feel his fingers touching the bricks, himself attempting to scale the wall to no avail. It wasn’t enough.

He turned around and threw himself flat against the wall, putting his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes closed and hoping he would wake up back in his room, safe under his blankets with an alarm waking him up any second now. Anything to keep from getting sick.

“If you are experiencing awakenings, don’t.” A speaker he didn’t notice was there crackled suddenly. “The experience is not pleasurable, but if your body rejects the awakening or has other physiological effects it is not worth pursuing. You will be forced back into the waking world eventually. Until then, stay put and rest until we are able to contact you.”

“What?”

There was a click and silence followed. A chill ran through him as he realized that voice sounded familiar. Was that what he said? Who was he talking to? Why did he sound familiar? What had happened?

His mind raced, trying desperately to remember anything – anything! - that might give him clues on what to do next.

“What are awakenings-“ He mumbled to himself, holding the bag closer. This felt real, more solid than anything else he knew, even if it wasn’t much. “Is this an awakening-“

“Do you find yourself questioning your station in life? Having flashes of another plane of existence? Experiencing occasional bouts of sudden realness?” The speaker spoke again, whining slightly as a new voice rung out. “If you’re suffering from these things or more, you may be experiencing a rare but serious condition called ‘Awakenings’.”

Colt opened one eye. Wait, did the speakers say ‘awakenings’? That didn’t make any sense… did it? There wasn’t much time to think about that though. He needed to move. Now. He scrambled away from the wall.

“These temporal existential interferences disrupt your permitted activities, and threaten your permanence. But now there’s help.” The voice sounded like it was from a commercial, advertising a medicine. He saw those - he heard those - before, but when? “Introducing: Please Stop. Please Stop is the only hourly pill perfectly engineered to quell awakenings. Just one pill an hour keeps all these disruptions where they belong; elsewhere. Awaken no more with Please Stop. Please, just Stop.”

Was that supposed to be comforting? How was it supposed to be helping him, help anyone? Colt groaned, putting a hand to his head – his whole body ached and throbbed. He didn’t know what to do. Where to go. How to get away.

“Ask your doctor today if Please Stop is right for you.” Colt could swear he could hear a smile in the speaker’s voice. “We already know; they’ll say yes.”

Then the speaker hung up and was silent again.

Colt took a deep breath, letting it slowly out. He had gotten out okay, that was true. For now. As long as he hid and stayed put, everything would be fine.

But, what about his mom? Was she okay? Had she woken up yet? Wait, mom, why was he concerned about her? He didn’t even remember her, at least not to his knowledge. But he knew he was concerned about her.

“I want…” He clung to the bag, trying to take deep breaths. “…my mom.”

God, he sounded pathetic. A grown man wanting his mom, like some kid. Like he was scared.

Okay. No. He wasn’t afraid. He was terrified. But he wasn’t going to let that show. So he took another breath and tried again to calm his racing heart. Calm his breathing. Calm the tremors wracking his small frame and shaking his arms from their hold on the bag. Calm his racing thoughts. Calm himself. He took another deep breath and tried to breathe calmly again. Okay. Okay.

He was just going to get out, that was all. Get out of… whatever this place was. He didn’t know. But he was going to leave, so he wasn’t going to stay here longer than necessary, no matter how scared he was.

So, so scared.

He pulled the bag towards himself, wrapping it tightly around his chest. The material muffling his own sounds to some degree but not entirely, especially since it kept him warm. Was the park always this cold, or was it just him?

The park.

He was in a park. A park with alleys, buildings, sidewalks… He tried to think of a park like that. Maybe that would give him a clue of how to get out of here. Maybe. He couldn’t think of a park like that though, parks had grass and trees and maybe a playground. Sidewalks, maybe a few buildings, but nothing like a city or a town.

…unless that was the playground.

Theme park. He was in a theme park. With rides and food and games, and… people. People who talked and acted funny and wore weird clothes, people who played pretend. And kids and families and dogs and… he could be someone like that. He didn’t know who he could be though. A character?

A character.

…was Colt even his name? He hadn’t put much thought in it before, but part of him responded to the name even though it felt… off. Like he was conditioned to it, not like he grew up with it. Like it wasn’t his name by birth but rather something that belonged to a character. Something made up. It didn’t fit him at all, but, what was his name?

His head hurt. It was pounding. Everything felt so strange, so unreal – but it all seemed so real at the same time. It was all so wrong, but how? How could he explain it? There didn’t seem to be a single way he could describe how he could feel this way.

“Colt’s not real.” He spoke to himself, trying to ground himself, trying to focus only on what mattered – that was easy enough – to understand. His name didn’t fit him – it was his character. There was no point dwelling on it. “He’s not.”

It wasn’t his name though and it definitely wouldn’t be using it, even if he didn’t remember any other. It probably didn’t matter. What mattered as that Colt, whoever or whatever he was, wasn’t real.

“I’m real. I’m awake.” He could hear his own voice. Could hear the words coming out of his mouth. “I’m in an alley in a theme park, holding a bag.”

He was in a park – not like one in a town, but somewhere new. Not sure exactly where but somewhere. He wasn’t sure how he got here. But he was. He really was. Whether he liked it or not, it was real.

“I’m not Colt, I’m in an alleyway in a theme park, and I’m holding a bag.” He eased slightly, opening his eyes. “I’m wearing a red jumpsuit and - and a mask?”

He moved the hand on his head, feeling a cheaply made mask, and pulling it off. He flipped it around - a cutout of a man with red hair and a scar on his chin - he felt like he should recognize him. It seemed familiar. Like something important…

But he still wasn’t sure. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t right.

That connected the mask to him though, in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Something he couldn’t see. But he couldn’t shake off a creeping fear.

“I’m holding a bag,” He said, finally deciding on saying it, “And a mask.”

Okay. He felt better now. He felt more awake now, even if tired. A little bit less alone, and a little bit less confused. Still, the fear remained.

How did he end up in this situation?

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 19

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 Part 2: 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / ... HOME

It’s complete on AO3 here.

Notes: Check the tags if you’re concerned about the pairings ;)

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr!

Chapter 19 Earlier

They may have been technically in an armistice, but it did not escape Xichen’s notice that the scouts still patrolled, and groups of Ikarahu soldiers still rode out in the evenings. Trust, Xichen thought, but not without contingency.

Still, it meant that Xichen had less to do during his days. He still spent mornings with the healers and time working with Mingjue, but there were fewer injuries to heal and fewer decisions to make. It had been too cold to sword fight, sometimes even too cold to ride. It hadn’t taken long for him to grow bored with so many idle afternoons.

Fortunately, Guangyao had expressed interest in deepening his knowledge of the guqin, and it became a welcome distraction in Xichen’s day. Xichen had been uncertain of the wisdom of befriending him at first, but Guangyao made no demands of him and kept a respectful distance, letting Xichen guide their conversations, and eventually, Xichen found that he liked the man’s quiet, thoughtful company.

Sometimes they spoke of poetry, as they had discovered a mutual appreciation for the poetry of Mu Bai, one of the greatest pastoral poets in their country’s history. Sometimes they shared tea and talked about the strange world they had found themselves in and the peculiarities of living in an army camp.

And sometimes, they spoke of home.

Obliquely, of course. Xichen preferred not to share details of his family, and Guangyao was, if anything, more reticent about his life in Jinlin Tai. But they could speak of their cities, the infrastructure, the people, their day-to-day tasks. As much as Xichen valued Qingyang and Huaisang, it wasn’t the same as having a friend who understood the position and life he’d left. Guangyao could laugh with Xichen about the famously disastrous contract between the Wen and the Zhao two decades ago that ended with the dissolution of two marriages, the return of the silk dowry that had already been made into dresses, and a vow that the Wen would never drink Zhao tea again. He sympathized with the failed compact between Xichen’s uncle and Yunmeng, although in the end, that alliance had been made stronger through a triad of exchanges that cost the Cloud Recesses fewer concessions. He told funny stories of bickering merchants in Jinlin Tai and Xichen told stories of escaped goats. It made him miss his home both less and more to talk about it, and he thought he saw the same wistfulness in Guangyao.

Today, however, at the time they usually sat to play, he was surprised to find Guangyao’s tent occupied with other people.

Mingjue was sitting in a chair, leaning over a map on the table. Qingyang was holding a brush over a map she seemed to be guarding, never fond of anyone touching her maps, and especially not fond of Guangyao around them. He had, only once, debated the placement of a territory border, and she clearly had not forgiven him. Guangyao and Huaisang were having an animated discussion about...something Xichen didn’t catch because as soon as Mingjue saw him, he grinned, mouth tipping up at one corner, eyes crinkling at the corners, and Xichen’s focus narrowed to the beloved shape of his face.

“Aitapaho, come. Sit,” Mingjue beckoned.

Xichen set down his guqin and sat in the chair next to Mingjue, which Mingjue moved closer, cupping the nape of Xichen’s neck to kiss his forehead and nose, the warmth of his mouth spreading slowly across Xichen’s skin. Always so demonstrative, Xichen thought, but he couldn’t help smiling.

“Are you finished?” Huaisang asked, with a disgruntled huff. “Guangyao was just explaining the route the Jin supply chain takes from Ganyu, and I would very much like to discuss how we can remove it.”

“No no, please continue. I am taking note of the different shades of red Huaisang has turned for mixing colors later,” Qingyang interrupted, laughing when Huaisang flicked a map weight in her direction.

Xichen folded his hands in his lap serenely. “I would not interrupt your work. I can not speak for your brother.”

Mingjue’s hands closed around Xichen’s, and he pulled them to his mouth, blowing hot air on Xichen’s chilled fingers, grazing the knuckles with his lips and looking at Xichen in a way that made his stomach flop agreeably. “I do not interrupt you either,” he said, and Huaisang snorted.

Xichen tilted a smile in his direction, and Mingjue sat back, pleased with himself, still holding Xichen’s hands. “Go on, Guangyao,” he encouraged magnanimously. “We are all here.”

Guangyao appeared as annoyed by the interruption as Huaisang, but he only let out a small, aggravated sigh and began pointing to spots on the map again. Qingyang marked the path he indicated with swift, light touches. Xichen could see that they were marking a route leading north from Jinlin Tai and skirting the coast to a tiny harbor on the sea.

“Will destroying it not violate the armistice, anati?” Xichen asked Huaisang.

He reached out to Kitingi, standing on the padded leather perch Guangyao had made for her, feathers fluffed around her. She closed her eyes in avian rapture as Xichen scratched the back of her neck, and Xichen peeked at Guangyao out of the corner of his eye.

His face was perfectly relaxed, and he seemed entirely unconcerned that he was giving the enemy of his father valuable military intelligence. Was it genuine? A dangerous ruse? Xichen couldn’t read the small expressions of his face easily. Or rather, he didn’t always understand what he saw on Guangyao’s face. They sometimes twinged against the back of his mind like an untuned guqin string, and he couldn’t be sure if what he saw was true or calculated.

It was Guangyao who answered. “No, not if the disruption is a natural disaster. There is allowance in the agreement for the inherent unpredictability of nature. The caravan travels over this bridge.” He pointed to a river on the map. “It is guarded well, but if there was a sudden flood and the river overran its banks, who would be to blame? The next time it rains, the bridge could very well be washed away, and it would be an insurmountable setback. If the timing was right, someone enterprising might even find the supplies from the next caravan washed downstream.”

Qingyang turned what looked like the start of a laugh into a grimace, and Huaisang’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Guangyao, do you think the Ikarahu can create rain?"

It wasn’t quite fair to say they could create rain, nor could they stop it, as Xichen had found. But they could make the air fill with water from one part of the river and move it to another, and it would, Xichen thought, look a lot like rain. Especially to the Jin.

Guangyao flushed and shrugged, and Huaisang laughed, a quick chuckle. “That clever bit of advice comes very close to admitting you know more about our magic than you have previously acknowledged.”

To Xichen, he sounded admiring, but Guangyao dipped his head and hunched his shoulders away from Huaisang as though he expected a reprimand. “You cannot fault me for being observant.”

Huaisang bumped his arm against Guangyao’s, and the man looked up in surprise. “It wasn’t an insult, it was a compliment. I’ll be more clear in the future. This has...you have been a great help.”

The expression on Guangyao’s face was, for a moment, so unguarded, so stunned, Xichen wondered if it was the first compliment he’d ever received.

“Yes, Yao-ti, thank you,” Mingjue agreed, and he leaned forward, catching Guangyao’s attention and waiting until he nodded acknowledgement with a tentative smile before sitting back and folding his arms thoughtfully.

“Whatever magic you use, if it is possible, aim for subtlety, Oringa’anhu Ikira,” Guangyao added. “My father is not an idiot.”

“Are you sure?” Huaisang asked, and Qingyang looked away, eyes dancing with mirth. “But I find subtlety so overrated.”

“I am.” Guangyao‘s words were tight and clipped. “You would be an idiot if you underestimate him.”

“Ah, Yao-ti,” Mingjue smiled indulgently. “Aurakat is often an idiot, but he is not a fool. Da ati eko anha, Aurakat? Roka et kindio di amau daku?” he asked, glancing back at Guangyao. “Heti pia amau daku.”

Huaisang clicked his tongue and grumbled, “Em ekos auha kindio eta iraminga, anakau.”

He didn’t seem truly offended by Mingjue’s question, and Xichen glanced at Guangyao to see if understood Mingjue’s meaning. Guangyao’s face seemed relaxed, but for one fleeting moment, his fingers flexed and his jaw tightened, long enough for Xichen to be certain. He did realize that Mingjue was including him as one of their people to protect. Strangely, though, he did not seem pleased and Xichen wondered why.

“Is this a good idea?” he asked, and Huaisang tipped his head curiously.

“Why wouldn’t it be, Xichen? It’s such minor magic, anakau could do it himself, but if it makes you feel better, I will order him to take a squad.” He grinned impishly and Mingjue shook his head.

“He teases. We will be careful, aitapaho.” He looked smug, and Xichen sighed but didn’t argue. They were a formidable team, and he trusted that they knew what they were doing. And yet, he couldn’t help thinking they were taking such a risk based on the word of a man they barely knew.

A few days later, though, Xichen had a different reason to be displeased.

He should not have intruded. It was ill-bred of him to enter Guangyao’s tent without permission, but he thought of him as a friend he could share worry with, and Mingjue had been gone for several days, longer than he had expected.

Evidently, he had returned.

Mingjue was sprawled on the wood floor of the tent in only his tunic and pants, his armor in a heap next to him. Huaisang was perched on a pillow, back to the door, but he turned to acknowledge Xichen with a brisk nod. Guangyao was standing barefoot on Mingjue’s back, as graceful as a dancer, walking in tiny, careful steps next to his spine. He stopped and shifted, bending at the knees to press his weight down, and Mingjue let out a heartfelt groan that pierced Xichen with an icy dagger.

Guangyao looked up and tipped his head, noticing Xichen watching.

“You will have to teach this…” Mingjue groaned again and Xichen’s lips tightened. “...massage to our healers, Yao-ti.”

Without looking away, Guangyao smiled, toothy and inviting, his dimples like punctures in his cheeks. “I am yours to command, Ipira’orhew Ikira.”

Xichen’s eyes widened, unable to comprehend why Guangyao was looking at him like that, and yet speaking to Mingjue the way he was. It was unsettling, and he let his glance slide away, down at Huaisang, who was looking up at Guangyao, eyebrows drawn together in a pensive frown.

Mingjue chuckled, a flat and pained sound. “I command you...to teach…this...” he said between grunts as Guangyao dug his toes into the muscle on Mingjue’s lower back.

“Then I will do whatever you want,” Guangyao answered, lifting on the balls of his feet at the curve of Mingjue’s buttocks, like he was about to jump, before settling back on his heels. He lightly stepped back to the floor and Mingjue rolled over, twisting his neck and back on the floor like a wriggling puppy.

“What do you think I want, Yao-ti?” he asked softly, stretching his head to the side and raising his eyebrows.

Huaisang stood so quickly he knocked the pillow across the room. “I want dinner,” he huffed and stormed out.

Perhaps “storm” was too dramatic of a word. He walked the way he always did, with a lilting step and a smirk at Xichen, but there was something tight in his jaw Xichen did not like. He felt the same tension on his own face. Guangyao didn’t look at Huaisang, not even when he slapped open the tent flap, instead, fixing his gaze on the ground just beyond Mingjue’s shoulder. Mingjue met Xichen’s eyes, though, like he had just noticed him, like he wanted to ask something, like he would say something that mattered. Xichen didn’t wait for him to collect the words.

“My apologies for interrupting, Ipira’orhew Ikira, Jin-gongzi.”

Xichen found it depressingly simple to hide the chill in his voice and the hurt in his eyes behind the half smile of ingrained civility that had always protected him. The ingrained civility also thought he should explain himself. It told him he should offer plausible excuses for leaving. But he didn’t. He just followed Huaisang out into the cold.

Notes: Da ati eko anha, Aurakat? Roka et kindio di amau daku. Heti pia amau daku? = Can you do it, Aurakat? Without endangering our people? Any of our people? Em ekos auha kindio eta iraminga, anakau. = I would not endanger the armistice, elder brother.

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, here is continuation of our angsty fic rec list. If you’re looking for bottom Louis fics with some painful angst, you’ve come to the right place. If you missed the first angsty fic rec list we did, you can find it here.

Happy reading!

1) Just Stop Your Crying (It’s a Sign of the Times) | Explicit | 5864 words

My own imagining of the inspiration for Sign of the Times.  Featuring boys in love, even after all this time.

2) Give Me Things To Stay Awake | Explicit | 10261 words

AU. It's been a year since Louis broke up with Harry.

3) This Glorious Mess | Mature | 14260 words

His head lolls to the side, and his eyes float open to focus on what used to be his bedside table.

It’s empty now, devoid of the framed photo of the two of them. And Louis knows that he has no right to feel hurt, but somehow, this only confirms what this really is.

“This is the last time,” he cries, his voice breaking both from pleasure and pain.

“I know, baby,” Harry breathes, burying his face in Louis neck.

4) Baby Honey | Explicit | 14744 words

When the next great war strikes, all alphas have to ship out. Alex leaves a little more behind than some of the others.

5) Wait For Me (To Come Home) | Explicit | 16066 words

"i’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. you could come knocking on my door five years from now and i would open my arms wider and say, ‘come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.’"

6) Maps Can Be Poems When You’re On Your Way | Not Rated | 18974 words

Harry falls in love with the guy his best friend is fooling around with.

7) Monsters At Home | Explicit | 21566 words

High School!AU. Everyone's eyes are on Harry, the beautiful, charming new student. Harry's only got eyes for the school golden boy: football captain Louis Tomlinson, whose homophobic father complicates matters a bit.

8) England Has My Bones | Explicit | 24087 words

The next time Harry thinks about calling, it’s 4.14 in the morning on a Parisian hotel balcony.

9) Etched In Salt (Is A Cathedral Of The World) | Explicit | 24416 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Louis asks for very few things in life, and they are: to solve cases, to keep bad people from doing their bad things, to get good coffee, to go home to a spacious apartment with nobody else in it, and to manage his stupid telempathy powers with minimal interference. And now he's stuck in a tiny cabin in a snowstorm in the middle of god-awful-nowhere with Harry Styles. Because of course he is.

10) The Things I’d Do To Wake Up Next To You | Mature | 36109 words

AU. Harry wakes up to a pregnant Louis Tomlinson and a wedding band on his finger.

11) Brooklyn Saw Me | Explicit | 38537 words

In the cold and unforgiving city of New York, Louis doesn't have a home and Harry wants to give him one. But as their heartstrings become increasingly intertwined, and the snow continues to fall, home is getting harder and harder to find.

12) Bloodsport | Explicit | 40283 words

“You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”

Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.

He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’s still about football.”

13) Ever Fixed | Mature | 41521 words

Three years ago, Harry was happily married, successfully heading the largest technology company in the world, and raising his young daughter. After he loses nearly everything in the aftermath of his daughter’s lost battle with a rare brain tumor, it may take three strange and yet very familiar visitors – and a man from the therapy group Harry keeps refusing to go to – to get him back on track.

14) We’re What’s Right In This World | Explicit | 48809 words

The World War II AU where Harry goes off to fight and all Louis wants to do is be the boy who brings him home.

15) Why Can’t It Be Like That | Explicit | 63567 words

A fashion AU with a royal twist, where Louis doesn't need a stylist, Harry's thrilled to have a real life Barbie doll, and they're both very wrong about each other.

16) Like Real People Do | Explicit | 64175 words

Louis didn’t ask for a lot of things. He didn’t ask for his entire family to die in a car crash that may or may not have been his fault. He didn’t ask to get powers out of that accident, either, powers that eventually led him into a two-year relationship with a man who was far more than met the eye. But one night, he chose to ask for a replacement to a broken camera from someone he hadn’t spoken to in a year and a half. He did ask for that. And that kind of led to everything else.

17) Consequences | Explicit | 78655 words

Two years ago Harry let his powerful family come between him and the love of his life, something he deeply regrets. Louis has tried to move on from their devastating break up. Sometimes, he even thinks he has. It only takes one moment to freeze them back in time.

18) For Reasons Wretched and Divine | Explicit | 94655 words

Ten years ago, Harry Styles was just a nerdy kid with one friend and a debilitating crush on the captain of his school’s football team. He thought the stars were smiling down on him the day he and Louis Tomlinson were paired for their end-of-term Literature project. But because Harry’s life is decidedly not a fairytale, the budding friendship quickly leads to the least happy ending of all time.

Now, Harry Styles is a household name. Barely twenty-seven with two Grammy nominations to his name, the singer-songwriter is poised to take the music industry by storm with his highly anticipated third album. So, what happens when the best producer in the business is also the only person Harry’s vowed never to speak to again?

19) A Taste Of Desire | Explicit | 104414 words

Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

20) Saving Symphony Hall | Mature | 124766 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic.

“I think I have an idea,” Louis said. Slowly, and reluctantly, but with a growing sense of the inevitable. “God damnit, I think I have a really good idea.”

“Oh christ, that's the problem-solving face,” Babs said. “Last time we saw that face, he sold a company.”

“Wait, what?” Zayn asked.

“Right place, right time,” Louis said. “Also, fuck my life,”

“What?” Zayn repeated. Niall patted his hand.

“I usually just roll with whatever Louis is about to do,” he said. “It’s better for us all.”

“That’s the attitude,” said Louis, “I’ll tell you tomorrow. Tonight, I need to do some research. Zayn, give me your number. I’m gonna save our symphony.”

21) Run Like the Devil | Explicit | 138095 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Harry stops pouting, but his frown is still fixed in place. “Are you sure?” he asks. “You know it’s your soul you’re signing away.” He sounds…sad? No, that’s not right, but there’s  something.

Christ. This is the most incompetent demon Louis’ ever met. If he hadn’t seen the red of his eyes he wouldn’t believe he was a demon at all. How’d he get this job if he isn’t trying to convince Louis to deal? Or is it just another trick? A ploy for sympathy?

“I’m sure,” Louis says. “Come over here and kiss me.”

22) Collision | Not Rated | 207413 words

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[incorrectsilverboys]

Be Your Boy

pairing: junkyu/yedam; past: noa/junkyu

type: fluff

warning: bad jokes, possible swearing (i can’t remember)

length: 1679 words

Junkyu moaned lightly in his sleep and wiggled around, dislodging Yedam’s head from his lap.  He sat up and let Junkyu get comfortable again before laying back down into his lap.  Without waking up, he laid his hand on Yedam’s head and brushed his hair with his fingers.

Yedam tried not to blush.  There was no one around to see it, but it would still be embarrassing.  He couldn’t own up to his crush in front of others when he could barely own up to it with himself.

“Dammie?” Junkyu whispered, starting to wake up.  “Dammie, are you still here?”

His fingers tightened in Yedam’s hair and he whimpered from the slight pain.  Junkyu released him and tilted his head down.  “Sorry, Yedam-ah.  I forgot you were there.”

That was a very obvious lie, but Yedam didn’t call him out.  He was still kinda sleepy, and he was very cute when he was sleepy, so Yedam didn’t want to disrupt that.

“I was taking a nap too, hyung.  Sorry if I woke you up.”  Yedam bit his lip and looked up at Junkyu, making his eyes as big as he could.  He may be embarrassed by his crush, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try and get Junkyu to notice him.

Junkyu chuckled and lifted him from his lap.  “You still look tired, Yedam.  Maybe you should go back to sleep.”

And with that, he stood up and walked away.  Yedam groaned and flopped onto the couch, frustrated that Junkyu kept missing his advances.  No matter what he did, he was ignored.

Maybe Junkyu had a better offer somewhere else.  Or maybe he liked another member.  If so, who would it be?  Hyunsuk?  Haruto?  Mashiho?

Junkyu stuck his head back into the living room after sorting some things in his room.  He had heard Yedam groan and he sounded upset about something, so he wanted to check up on him.

He and Yedam were very close, probably the closest of all of them.  They had been through so much together, from training to the Silver Boys project and all the way through the YG Treasure Box fiasco.

But now, Yedam was acting weird.  He was avoiding serious topics and acting extra clingy.  He would stay all over Junkyu and then disappear as soon as something happened.  And now, he was flopped over onto the couch, grumbling to himself.  Junkyu heard his own name.  So he quickly dismissed himself, walking away.

Hyunsuk was leaning on a counter in the kitchen, staring at his phone.  Junkyu wandered over to him and laid his head on his shoulder.  It took a little maneuvering, but it was comfortable when Hyunsuk put his arm around him, not even having to look up to know that Junkyu needed some comfort.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he cooed, holding Junkyu tightly to him.

“Yedam’s been acting weird lately.  I think I might have done something.”

Hyunsuk laughed and then coughed to try and cover it up.  Junkyu pulled away to glare at him.

He smiled softly and wrinkled his nose to tease him.  “Trust me, Yedam isn’t upset with anything you did.  Just, maybe try and get him to talk about it.”

Junkyu grumbled, but he was probably right.  He probably should just talk to Yedam about it and they’d get over whatever tension there was.

Hyunsuk let Junkyu fall back into his arms, nuzzling into his chest.  He whispered something about how he wasn’t a stuffed animal, but Junkyu didn’t care.  Hyunsuk was willing to hold him and make him feel better, so that was all he cared about.  End of story.

Yedam finally gets up and goes to get a glass of water, only to find Hyunsuk and Junkyu cuddling in the kitchen.  He turns away and walks to Junkyu’s room, seething.

Hyunsuk knows about his crush.  He’s the only person who knows, and Yedam is pissed that Hyunsuk is so cavelier with his feelings like that, holding Junkyu so closely when he knows what Yedam would think, what he is thinking.

Haruto is lounging in his own bed, and he doesn’t even look up when Yedam falls into Junkyu’s bed.  He sits there for a while, his head buried in Junkyu’s pillow, trying not to cry.  It’s only 2 pm and Yedam’s already had a long day.

He wanted nothing more than to lay here with Junkyu, wrapped in each other’s arms and whispering sweet words.  Yedam would be allowed to kiss him whenever he wanted and Junkyu would tell him how he loves him.

Yedam wallowed in his own self-pity for a moment, trying not to think about Junkyu and Hyunsuk cuddling in the kitchen.  But then, Haruto sat next to him and patted him on the back.

“You know, Junkyu would probably find this creepy.  You wanna move over to my bed to act all love-struck?”

Yedam jumped up, confused.  “What are you talking about?!”

Haruto laughed.  His voice was deep and clear and very comforting, so Yedam couldn’t find it in himself to be mad.

“Please, Damie-hyung.  Everyone can tell how much you like him.  I think the only one who doesn’t know is Junkyu.”

Yedam let Haruto lead him over to his bed instead and then flopped back down, groaning loudly.  “This is so stupid!” he exclaimed, burying his head under one of Haruto’s pillows.  “Why doesn’t he ever look at me?”

Haruto hummed and removed the pillow from Yedam’s head.  He started running his fingers through his hair to calm him down, but it just reminded him of Junkyu doing this earlier today.

“I don’t know, Dammie-hyung.  You’re smart, funny, sexy, everything anyone could ever ask for.  Maybe he’s just not gay.”

There was a moment of silence before both of them burst out laughing.  Yedam made a note in his head to come to Haruto next time he got upset about Junkyu.

But for now, maybe they could watch a movie or play a video game.  Haruto looked excited when Yedam mentioned this.

Junkyu leaned against the door to his room and tried not to think about who they could be talking about.  From his point of view, it sounded like Haruto had a thing for Yedam, but he knew that couldn’t be true.  If anyone, Haruto was going to like Jeongwoo, but everyone knew that was never going to happen.  They were just friends and would always be just friends.

Once they started playing Around Us, Junkyu moved away, going to find his phone he had left somewhere.  He wanted to call Noa and ask him how he was doing.  It had been a couple months since they had last talked and a lot of things had happened between the two of them.

Since they broke up, Junkyu had been avoiding talking to him about serious stuff, but then the boy had debuted first and his frustration had won over, with him spilling everything he had kept bottled up since they had gone their separate ways.

The phone was ringing when it was knocked out of his hand.  He stumbled to catch it, but was hit off his feet and onto the couch.

He flipped over and found that Yedam was in his lap, looking over his shoulder equally confused.

Junkyu could see the moment that Yedam realized the position that they were in.  He was straddling Junkyu’s thighs, their chests almost pressed together, and their breathing mixing between them.

Yedam blushed heavily and sat up, but he didn’t move.  Junkyu followed him up.  They could hear Noa’s voice through the phone, but neither of them moved to pick it up.  Eventually, he hung up, shouting something about not being appreciated.

Yedam carefully put his arms around Junkyu’s neck and relaxed against him.  “Were you talking to Noa-hyung?  Sorry I interrupted, Haruto kicked me out of your room.”

Junkyu shook his head.  “It wasn’t anything important,” he sighed, his focus caught on Yedam’s lips.

He’d never really thought about it before, but Yedam was very attractive.  He was funny and sexy and Junkyu had always just thought they were very close friends.  But now that they were physically very close, he wanted to hold him down and kiss him until his lips bled.

But he wasn’t allowed.  Yedam liked someone else.  And it definitely wasn’t the boy between his legs right now.

Yedam nodded.  “Thanks for catching me.  It’s almost like I fell for you.”

It was a bad joke, but Junkyu laughed anyway.

And then he did something completely stupid.  He kissed him.

Yedam kissed back eagerly, so enthusiastic that Junkyu fell backwards and Yedam landed on top of him.  Their lips didn’t part for more than a second, back to tasting each other and trying to get their hands on the other’s waists or in their hair.  Yedam groaned into his and slipped his hands under Junkyu’s shirt.  In return, Junkyu ran his teeth across his bottom lip and elicited a softer moan.

“Excuse me!”  Hyunsuk interrupted them and Yedam threw himself backwards, scrambling to get out of his lap.  Junkyu stood up in kind and stepped away from the couch.

Yedam glared at the collected gathering.  9 of the members, excluding Junghwan, who was sick and probably still in bed, were standing around the couch, smiling creepily.  “Were you all just watching us?”

Hyunsuk stepped forward.  “No.  We just found you a second ago.”

“All nine of you?” Junkyu grumbled.

They all seemed to realize that they were being creepy and dispersed, leaving only Hyunsuk to stare them down.

“This isn’t going to get in the way of promotions, rights?”  They both shook their head and he smiled again.  “Good!  Then have at it!”

Five minutes later found them kissing again, this time in Yedam’s room so that they could have some privacy.  It was going well until someone started playing their debut song very loudly from the other side of the door.  (Probably Doyoung, he was a twerp.)

They giggled and shared kisses between their lines.

I just wanna be your boy.

[thesteadydietofeverything]

Top 10 Games of 2019

This was an extremely good year for games. I don’t know if I played as many that will stick with me as I did last year, but the ones on the bottom half of this list in particular constitute some of my favorite games of the decade, and probably all-time. If I’ve got a gaming-related resolution for next year, it’s to put my playtime into supporting even smaller indie devs. My absolute favorite experiences in games this year came from seemingly out of nowhere games from teams I’ve previously never heard of before. That said, there are some big games coming up in spring I doubt I’ll be able to keep myself away from. Some quick notes/shoutouts before I get started:

-The game I put maybe the most time into this year was Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn. I finally made the plunge into neverending FF MMO content, and I’m as happy as I am overwhelmed. This was a big year for the game, between the release of the Shadowbringers expansion and the Nier: Automata raid, and it very well may have made it onto my list if I had managed to actually get to any of it. At the time of this writing, though, I’ve only just finished 2015’s Heavensward, so I’ve got...a long way to go. 

-One quick shoutout to the Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Trilogy that came out on Switch this year, a remaster of some DS classics I never played. An absolutely delightful visual novel series that I fell in love with throughout this year.

-I originally included a couple games currently in early access that I’ve enjoyed immensely. I removed them not because of arbitrary rules about what technically “came out” this year, but just to make room for some other games I liked, out of the assumption that I’ll still love these games in their 1.0 formats when they’re released next year to include them on my 2020 list. So shoutout to Hades, probably the best rogue-like/lite/whatever I’ve ever played, and Spin Rhythm XD, which reignited my love for rhythm games.

-Disco Elysium isn’t on this list, because I’ve played about an hour of it and haven’t yet been hooked by it. But I’ve heard enough about it to be convinced that it is 1000% a game for me and something I need to get to immediately. They shouted out Marx and Engels at the Game Awards! They look so cool! I want to be their friend! And hopefully, a few weeks from now, I’ll desperately want to redact this list to squeeze this game somewhere in here.

Alright, he’s the actual list:

10. Amid Evil

The 90’s FPS renaissance continues! As opposed to last year’s Dusk, a game I adored, this one takes its cues less from Quake and more from Heretic/Hexen, placing a greater emphasis on melee combat and magic-fuelled projectiles than more traditional weapons. Also, rather than that game’s intentionally ugly aesthetic, this one opts for graphics that at times feel lush, detailed, and pretty, while still probably mostly fitting the description of lo-fi. In fact, they just added RTX to the game, something I’m extremely curious to check out. This game continued to fuel my excitement about the possibilities of embracing out-of-style gameplay mechanics to discover new and fresh possibilities from a genre I’ve never been able to stop yearning for more of.

9. Ape Out

If this were a “coolest games” list, Ape Out would win it, easily. It’s a simple game whose mechanics don’t particularly evolve throughout the course of its handful of hours, but it leaves a hell of an impression with its minimalist cut-out graphics, stylish title cards, and percussive soundtrack. Smashing guards into each other and walls and causing them to shoot each other in a mad-dash for the exit is a fun as hell take on Hotline Miami-esque top down hyper violence, even if it’s a thin enough concept that it starts to feel a bit old before the end of the game.

8. Fire Emblem: Three Houses

I had a lot of problems with this game, probably most stemming from just how damn long it is - I still haven’t finished my first, and likely only, playthrough. This length seems to have motivated the developers to make battles more simple and easy, and to be fair, I would get frustrated if I were getting stuck on individual battles if I couldn’t stop thinking about how much longer I have to go, but as it is, I’ve just found them to be mostly boring. This is particularly problematic for a game that seems to require you to play through it at least...three times to really get the full picture? I couldn’t help but admire everything this game got right, though, and that mostly comes down to building a massive cast of extremely well realized and likable characters whose complex relationships with each other and with the structures they pledge loyalty to fuels harrowing drama once the plot really sets into motion. There’s a reason no other game inspired such a deluge of memes and fan fiction and art into my Twitter feed this year. It’s an impressive feat to convince every player they’ve unquestionably picked the right house and defend their problem children till the bitter end. After the success of this game, I’d love to see what this team can do next with a narrower focus and a bigger budget.

7. Resident Evil 2

It’s been a long time since I played the original Resident Evil 2, but I still consider it to be one of my favorite games of all time. I was highly skeptical of this remake at first, holding my stubborn ground that changing the fixed camera to a RE4-style behind the back perspective would turn this game more into an action game and less of a survival horror game where feeling a lack of control is part of the experience. I was pleasantly surprised to find how much they were able to modernize this game while maintaining its original feel and atmosphere. The fumbly, drifting aim-down sights effectively sell the feeling of being a rookie scared out of your wits. Being chased by Mr. X is wildly anxiety-inducing. But even more surprisingly, perhaps the greatest upgrade this game received was its map, which does you the generous service of actually marking down automatically where puzzles and items are, which rooms you’ve yet to enter, which ones you’ve searched entirely, and which ones still have more to discover. Arguably, this disrupts the feeling of being lost in a labyrinthine space that the original inspired, but in practice, it’s a remarkably satisfying and addicting video game system to engage with.

6. Judgment

No big surprise here - Ryu ga Gotoku put out another Yakuza-style game set in Kamurocho, and once again, it’s sitting somewhere on my top 10. This time, they finally put Kazuma Kiryu’s story to bed and focused on a new protagonist, down on his luck lawyer-turned-detective Takayuki Yagami. The new direction doesn’t always pay off - the added mechanics of following and chasing suspects gets a bit tedious. The game makes up for it, though, by absolutely nailing a fun, engrossing J-Drama of a plot entirely divorced from the Yakuza lore. The narrative takes several head-spinning turns through its several dozen hours, and they all feel earned, with a fresh sense of focus. The side stories in this one do even more to make you feel connected to the community of Kamurocho by befriending people from across the neighborhood. I’d love to see this team take even bigger swings in the future - and from what I’ve seen from Yakuza 7, that seems exactly like what they’re doing - but even if this game shares maybe a bit too much DNA with its predecessors, it’s hard to complain when the writing and acting are this enjoyable.

5. Control

Control feels like the kind of game that almost never gets made anymore. It’s a AAA game that isn’t connected to any larger franchises and doesn’t demand your attention for longer than a dozen hours. It doesn’t shoehorn needless RPG or MMO mechanics into its third-person action game formula to hold your attention. It introduces a wildly clever idea, tells a concise story with it, and then its over. And there’s something so refreshing about all of that. The setting of The Oldest House has a lot to do with it. I think it stands toe-to-toe with Rapture or Black Mesa as an instantly iconic game world. Its aesthetic blend of paranormal horror and banal government bureaucracy gripped my inner X-Files fan instantly, and kept him satisfied not only with its central characters and mystery but with a generous bounty of redacted documents full of worldbuilding both spine-tingling and hilarious. More will undoubtedly come from this game, in the form of DLC and possibly even more, with the way it ties itself into other Remedy universes, and as much as I expect I will love it, the refreshing experience this base game offered me likely can’t be beat.

4. Anodyne 2

I awaited Sean Han Tani and Marina Kittaka’s new game more anxiously than almost any game that came out this year, despite never having played the first one, exclusively on my love for last year’s singular All Our Asias and the promise that this game would greatly expand on that one’s Saturn/PS1-esque early 3D graphics and personal, heartfelt storytelling. Not only was I not disappointed, I was regularly pleasantly surprised by the depth of narrative and themes the game navigates. This game takes the ‘legendary hero’ tropes of a Zelda game and flips them to tell a story about the importance of community and taking care of loved ones over duty to governments or organizations. The dungeons that similarly reflect a Link to the Past-era Zelda game reduce the maps to bite-sized, funny, clever designs that ask you to internalize unique mechanics that result in affecting conclusions. Plus, it’s gorgeously idiosyncratic in its blend of 3D and 2D environments and its pretty but off-kilter score. It’s hard to believe something this full and well realized came from two people. 

3. Eliza

Eliza is a work of dystopian fiction so closely resembling the state of the world in 2019 it’s hard to even want to call it sci-fi. As a proxy for the Eliza app, you speak the words of an AI therapist that offers meager, generic suggestions as a catch-all for desperate people facing any number of the nightmares of our time. The first session you get is a man reckoning with the state the world is in - we’ve only got a few more years left to save ourselves from impending climate crisis, destructive development is rendering cities unlivable for anyone but the super-rich, and the people who hold all the power are just making it all worse. The only thing you offer to him is to use a meditation app and take some medication. It doesn’t take long for you to realize that this whole structure is much less about helping struggling people and more about mining personal data.

There’s much more to this story than the grim state of mental health under late capitalism, though. It’s revealed that Evelyn, the character you play as, has a much closer history with Eliza than initially evident. Throughout the game, she’ll reacquaint herself with old coworkers, including her two former bosses who have recently split and run different companies over their differing frightening visions for the future. The game offers a biting critique of the kind of tech company optimism that brings rich, eccentric men to believe they can solve the world’s problems within the hyper-capitalist structure they’ve thrived under, and how quickly this mindset gives way to techno-fascism. There’s also Evelyn’s former team member, Nora, who has quit the tech world in favor of being a DJ “activist,” and her current lead Rae, a compassionate person who genuinely believes in the power of Eliza to better people’s lives. The writing does an excellent job of justifying everyone’s points of view and highlighting the limits of their ideology without simplifying their sense of morality.

Why this game works so well isn’t just its willingness to stare in the face of uncomfortably relevant subject matter, but its ultimately empathetic message. It offers no simple solutions to the world’s problems, but also avoids falling into utter despair. Instead, it places measured but inspiring faith in the power of making small, meaningful impacts on the people around you, and simply trying to put some good into your world. It’s a game both terrifying and comforting in its frank conclusions.

2. Death Stranding

For a game as willfully dumb as this one often is - that, for example, insists on giving all of its characters with self-explanatory names long monologues about how they got that name - Death Stranding was one of the most thought provoking games I’ve played in a while. Outside of its indulgent, awkwardly paced narrative, the game offers plenty of reflection on the impact the internet has had on our lives. As Sam Porter Bridges, you’re hiking across a post-apocalyptic America, reconnecting isolated cities by delivering supplies, building infrastructure, and, probably most importantly, connecting them to the Chiral Network, an internet of sorts constructed of supernatural material of nebulous origin. Through this structure, the game offers surprisingly insightful commentary about the necessity for communication, cooperation, and genuine love and care within a community.

The lonely world you’re tasked to explore, and the way you’re given blips of encouragement within the solitude through the structures and “likes” you give and receive through the game’s asynchronous multiplayer system, offers some striking parallels for those of us particularly “online” people who feel simultaneous desperation for human contact and aversion to social pressures. I’ve heard the themes of this game described as “incoherent” due to the way it seems to view the internet both as a powerful tool to connect people and a means by which people become isolated and alienated, but are both of these statements not completely true to reality? The game simplifies some of its conclusions - Kojima seems particularly ignorant of America’s deep structural inequities and abuses that lead to a culture of isolation and alienation. And yet, the questions it asks are provocative enough that they compelled me to keep thinking about them far longer than the answers it offers.

Beyond the surprisingly rich thematic content, this game is mostly just a joy to play. Death Stranding builds kinetic drama out of the typically rote parts of games. Moving from point A to point B has become an increasingly tedious chore in the majority of AAA open world games, but this is a game built almost entirely out of moving from point A to point B, and it makes it thrilling. The simple act of walking down a hill while trying to balance a heavy load on your back and avoiding rocks and other obstacles fulfills the promise of the term ‘walking simulator’ in a far more interesting way than most games given that descriptor. The game consistently doles out new ways to navigate terrain, which peaked for me about two thirds of the way through the game when, after spending hours setting up a network of zip lines, a delivery offered me the opportunity to utilize the entire thing in a wildly satisfying journey from one end of the map to another. It was the gaming moment of the year.

1. Outer Wilds

The first time the sun exploded in my Outer Wilds playthrough, I was probably about to die anyway. I had fallen through a black hole, and had yet to figure out how to recover from that, so I was drifting listlessly through space with diminishing oxygen as the synths started to pick up and I watched the sun fall in on itself and then expand throughout the solar system as my vision went went. The moment gave me chills, not because I wasn’t already doomed anyway, but because I couldn’t help but think about my neighbors that I had left behind to explore space. I hadn’t known that mere minutes after I left the atmosphere the solar system would be obliterated, but I was at least able to watch as it happened. They probably had no idea what happened. Suddenly their lives and their planet and everything they had known were just...gone. And then I woke up, with the campfire burning in front of me, and everyone looking just as I had left it. And I became obsessed with figuring out how to stop that from happening again. 

What surprised me is that every time the sun exploded, it never failed to produce those chills I felt the first time. This game is masterful in its art, sound, and music design that manages to produce feelings so intense from an aesthetic so quaint. Tracking down fellow explorers by following the sound of their harmonica or acoustic guitar. Exploring space in a rickety vessel held together by wood and tape. Translating logs of conversations of an ancient alien race and finding the subject matter of discussion to be about small interpersonal drama as often as it is revelatory secrets of the universe. All of the potentially twee aspects of the game are balanced out by an innate sense of danger and terror that comes from exploring space and strange worlds alone. At times, the game dips into pure horror, making other aspects of the presentation all the more charming by comparison. And then there’s the clockwork machinations of the 22-minute loop you explore within, rewarding exploration and experimentation with reveals that make you feel like a genius for figuring out the puzzle at the same time that you’re stunned by the divulgence of a new piece of information.

The last few hours of the game contained a couple puzzles so obfuscated that I had to consult a guide, which admittedly lessened the impact of those reveals, but it all led to one of the most equally devastating and satisfying endings I’ve experienced in a video game recently. I really can’t say enough good things about this game. It’s not only my favorite game this year, but easily one of my favorite games of the decade, and really, of all-time, when it comes down to it.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Ecologies of Rebuilding Your Life || Morgan & Frankie

Frankie tries out a college class. Morgan remembers her past.

@offrankies

“...And who is it that determines the definition of humanity? What kind of definitions do we see offered by Victor, or Henry Cleveral, or the Creature?” Morgan asked the class. The students, while not thrilled with some of Mary Shelley’s ‘big words’ had enough preparation to offer semi thoughtful ideas. Obviously, Victor thought he could define what human means. One of her try-hard students, eager to work his way into his advanced courses, posited that while Victor’s definition of humanity is the one that dominates the narrative, the intrusion of the creature’s perspective halfway through the book is meant to compel the reader into questioning its validity. “Yes!” Morgan tossed the kid a candy from her bowl. “The midpoint crisis here upends our expectations through thought, rather than action. It is, structurally, the center, the heart of the story, changing what we believe to be true. But, are we convinced by the Creature’s definition of his humanity? Why or why--”

Morgan’s timer, the theme song of The X-Files, went off.

“Shit. Alright, that’s time everybody! Do your homework, do your reading, and get ready for Fan-Fiction Friday! And you--” She pointed to the newcomer sandwiched at the corner of the seminar table. “Come see me for a minute. The rest of you, glad you love each other, but please get out.” As the room cleared out she began to gather up her things. “I don’t like to call out guests who are here to spectate, but you seem like you might be trying out the seminar for yourself. Can I ask what brings you by? I think you’ve got one more day to add this into your schedule if you’re thinking about it.”

Had it not been for Frankie’s good grades, and because her mother had moved the sky, the sea and the Earth to convince the principal to allow her to take her finals online, she would’ve ended a high school dropout. But Frankie had been lucky, and she knew she couldn’t pass the possibility of enrolling in the local college; which was why she was sitting in the back of a classroom, listening to a college lecture. It felt good learning again, the big “nerd” sign she had carried through school across her forehead as visible as always; but it was clear that she was struggling - not because of the subject, but because there were so many colors cramped together in the room it made it hard to focus. Except for the professor, who didn’t have any. There were, apparently, more vampires than she had initially guessed.

Being called out as she tried to quietly sneak out of the room made her freeze, a visible wince showing on her face. Were listeners not allowed? She had no idea, and as she followed the professor’s instructions and walked to her desk, Frankie’s heartbeat sped up, her mouth already open to justify herself, but being cut short by the woman’s voice. Her lips pressed together, hands playing with the strap of her backpack as she thought. “I’m sorry, Mrs…. Uhm, ma’am.” Shit. Frankie didn’t even know her name, less alone the name of her class. “I entered the wrong class and I realized too late and didn’t want to interrupt...” She started saying the monologue she had practiced, but then stopped herself. A sigh. “That’s- That’s not true. I’m, uhm, looking to enroll in this college, for a... teaching major...”

“Oh, Stars, please don’t ma’am me,” Morgan said wryly. “Professor Beck is good. And so is Professor Morgan. Or just Morgan. That is my name, after all.” She listened to the girl’s story, fighting back the urge to laugh as she outed herself at her own lie. There really was no shame and no harm in the story she’d lead with. And there was even less to be embarrassed about with the truth. “Hey,” she said, warmly as she could. She could force herself to be warm in spirit, in voice, even if she couldn’t be in her body, right? “Teachers--good teachers, are the badasses that spawn other badasses. Good teaching makes everything else in the world possible. Wanting to be one is the last thing you should be afraid to admit. Especially, you know, to a teacher.” Morgan shouldered her bag and gathered the homework papers from today’s session. “Let’s walk and talk, yeah? Maybe tell me your name, how far along you are in your application?”

A soft smile formed on Frankie’s face as the woman offered her name. “Professor Morgan.” She settled, nodding softly as she continued. Maybe there was nothing surrounding Morgan, but Frankie didn’t need to see the light blue flowing around her body to know that she was a good person willing to help. She wondered if bringing up the lack of aura was a good idea, but decided that she needed college answers before asking questions about the undead. “My name’s Frankie Calloway, I just moved to this town a little over a week ago. Uhm.” As they walked, she scrambled to grab her backpack that was hanging from her shoulder, taking from it a binder filled with papers. Searching through it, she took an essay and an application, showing it to her. “I originally was going to Pittsburgh, ‘cause I got a scholarship when I applied, but uh, I decided to come here instead.” As she let the other skim through them, she hugged the filled binder against her chest, biting her lips. “And I’m… very behind considering I haven’t started yet.”

Oh, she had a binder. This kid knew what was up. Started on some things, she at least had a paper form to work off of. But--not quite making the plunge yet. Morgan couldn’t help but be endeared by the drive and relate to her nerves. How often had she wanted to reach for something she desperately wanted and then forced herself to hold back over her stupid family curse? But what was Frankie’s reason? “It’s good to meet you, Frankie. I hope you’ll think about taking the class, in the fall if not over the summer.” She lead them out the building and onto the arts quad. The weather wasn’t exactly perfect, but there were still students milling in shorts and tanks, throwing frisbees, staring into their phones as if nothing ever had or would disrupt their peace again. “Can I ask--and you can say no--but, what happened with the change up? You seem to have a lot of spirit, you’re organized, you’ve got at least some of the basics, so I just wonder--and I only wonder because I may or may not have been there before--what’s been holding you back, Frankie?”

“I’ll definitely take your class, Professor. But I don’t, uhm, think I’ll make it this summer.” Frankie’s eyes looked around at the college life, and despite all the bright colors merging together in a sea of colors that threatened to make her go blind, she couldn’t help but smile once again, full of hope. It had been a dream of hers ever since sophomore year to go away to college with her girlfriend; and though the second half now seemed impossible, she could still try and make the first part come true. The questions made her shift uncomfortably, not quite prepared to answer them. It was easy to take the easy way off and say it was personal, but lying and keeping her mouth shut would be very un-Frankie of her. It took her several seconds for her to organize her thoughts before she continued. Both arms tightened around the binder and her body, and she looked down to the floor to ignore the auras as they got closer to the students hanging out. “I really thought I had... my whole life figured out back in Nashville. Like, I was graduating valedictorian, had the most amazing girlfriend in the world-- but then she was-- it was all gone. One second to another. And--” She bit her tongue to stop herself from spilling more information. “I don’t know. I guess I just needed a fresh start.”

Morgan watched Frankie closely. There was a lot more bubbling under her surface than she was letting on. It was almost funny--how could she be so surprised at seeing someone so lost and weighted down, holding onto so much hope. Hadn’t she been that way before she died? She’d had to set down her positivity torch now and then over the years, but never her hope. Even in her last human moments, looking into Deirdre’s eyes, she’d had the hope of one more breath, one more second looking at her, one more chance to make the words come. And then she’d died, and all that hope she’d clinged to seemed foolish and out of reach. She wondered how long Frankie would be able to hang onto hers, and whether it was better to warn her of how much strain there was to follow her or to let her do her best as she would, give her a reason to keep trying. It was disorienting, not to know for sure. Two months ago, she would have. “Come on, Frankie. Summer on campus isn’t complete without at least a run to the coffee shop. You should at least get a nice preview of the maybe-future.” She lead Frankie down one of the quiet side entrances and down the stairs to one of the student cafes. “It’s hard, when your life falls apart, and you lose everything you were leaning on. It takes a lot of strength, and a lot of hope to pick yourself up again after something like that. And it takes time, starting over. So maybe you’ll be here in the fall instead, or even the spring.” She guided them towards the line, shorter now than it was during normal school time. “How’s your fresh start been going for you anyway? You’re not at the traveler’s rest are you?”

Hope. It was definitely something Frankie seemed to be clutching onto lately. Even after almost a year had passed since her girlfriend had disappeared overnight, she never stopped believing that she was out there, somewhere, waiting for her. When she had moved to a tiny town a thousand miles away from home, she had hopes that things would be alright, and she ended up meeting a caring vampire that treated her like a daughter. And if she had been right about such a big things like that, how could she believe this time would be different? The teen followed the woman, silently listening to her as they made their way to the cafeteria, the arms around herself not loosening, and her sight still digging the floor beneath her feet. “I just... can’t sit idle and pretend everything is okay.” It felt weird opening up to a complete stranger, but it also felt good, in a way. If there was something like daddy issues but with mothers, then Frankie definitely had those, and every time an older woman showed the slightest compassion, it was like a faucet had been turned on. “I’ve always wanted to go to college and-- I know I can wait, I have all the time in the world and all that but-- I just need this one thing.” Frankie finally looked up, and the emotion on her face could only be described as tired. “Just one thing going for me, to remind myself that… I’m still me, you know? That despite everything that happened and is, uhm, happening, I’m still the same Frankie from seventh grade that wants to teach tiny humans what colors are.” A shaky breath made its way through her parted lips, and she looked at the menu, mostly to avert her sight since she already knew what she wanted. “It’s been alright, just a bit… bumpy I guess. I live with this guy who’s actually pretty nice.”

It hurt to hear words Morgan had clung to for so much of her sad mortal life coming out of this girl, practically a kid still. I need this, I just want this one thing, I don’t want much, I just need to make this one thing work and then it’ll be okay. “Hey,” she said, bending down and around to catch a better glimpse of Frankie’s face. “I do know, actually. A lot. I know how hard it is, and how tired you must be.” There was a sadness of understanding behind her warm expression and soft voice. The world was so cruel to children--had it always been this way? Was there any explanation good enough to explain why Frankie had to carry what she did? Morgan at least had her reason, even a partial one, and it didn’t feel worth shit. “You are still you, Frankie. There’s no disaster or suffering that can take that away unless you really let it. You’re still here. That’s not an easy thing to hold onto, but you are. And,” her smile turned kind and knowing, opening the door to let the details Frankie’s past stay untouched if she preferred to. “It sounds like you’re navigating town alright. So, know what you want?”

Frankie’s eyes began to sting, and she had to bite her tongue to push down the urge to just start wailing in front of the professor. It was in that moment that she decided she would do whatever it took to take her class “You’re right, professor.” Not having her grandmother and mother with her also took a toll. From one day to another she had been named captain of a ship sailing through the angry ocean, and there was no one to guide her. But Morgan was right - she had to hold on tight to the rudder and continue navigating. Eyes finally locked on the woman’s, a weak smile forming on her face, followed by the tiniest nod. The fact that there wasn’t aura around her only made her easier to approach, easier to feel comfortable around her. Graham’s words about not all vampires being nice ringed in her head, but so far every single undead she had met had been nothing but nice to her. “I guess it’s hard to… not lose perspective. I know I’m still me, but… I don’t always feel that way.” Especially when there were werewolves and vampires and who knew what else slowly taking over her life. “Vanilla latte.” Frankie scrambled to take her wallet. “Please let me pay for you. It’s the least I can do to thank you.”

“Okay, enough ‘professor’ talk,” Morgan said. “Morgan is good, at least for outside of class. And I know that feeling too. When you’re in the sad pit, it’s hard to see anything straight, even yourself. But that doesn’t mean you stop trying. You always have to try, Frankie. And as far as I know, you’ve got a whole lot of life ahead of you and a whole mess of good things to reach for.” She held the girl’s gaze a moment, smiling with all the warmth and bravery she had within her. She felt a bitter pull to straighten herself up, to be as good and as strong as people seemed to think she was. She grasped for whatever piece of that she really had. She didn’t want Frankie to know how she still found herself struck paralysed and numb by the nothing-feeling of the sun on her skin, even with Felix’s magic pills. Or how bitterly and pointlessly her mortal life had ended. That it hadn’t mattered what hope she placed into the universe or how many times she had pulled herself up. She wanted to signal some kind of validation for her hope. She seemed like a good kid, and maybe it was selfish, but Morgan wanted to believe that some girl would have it fairer, better. She reached out and squeezed Frankie’s shoulder, lightly in a way she had now practiced often. The student in front of them stepped aside to the pickup counter and Morgan gave the vanilla latte order.

“Anything else?” The cashier asked.

“Nope!” Morgan said, swiping her card. “Sorry,” she said, smirking at Frankie. “I hope you don’t mind the trick, but I can’t have anything here anyways. And you don’t seem the type to take a little gift easy.”

It felt nice having a grown up reassuring that, at least in theory, things would be okay. The cold hand on her shoulder only confirmed what she had already known: Morgan was definitely not human and almost definitely a vampire, but then again, they had just walked in broad daylight like nothing, so could there be different types of them? She lost herself in that thought for a moment, not realizing what Morgan had done until it was too late. Frankie just stared at the woman fool her, dumbfoundedly pointing at the cashier with one finger before turning it to the professor. And she just stared for a couple seconds until it clicked, before erupting in laughter, covering his mouth with the hand holding the wallet, tears quickly forming on the corner of her eyes as she continued laughing. It was such a small thing, and there was no way in heaven Morgan knew what she had just done, but her grandma used to do the same little trick on her when they were young and she tried to use her allowance money to buy both of them an ice cream. Without meaning to, Morgan had made her feel more Frankie than she had since she had arrived in town. “Thank you.” She just said as the laughter died in chipper resignation but determined to pay her back in the future, and then wiped the corner of her eyes before shoving all her stuff back in her backpack. If she was thanking her for the memories or for the coffee, even Frankie wasn’t sure. Perhaps both. “I’ll let it go if you tell me more about your class.” Coffee in hand, the teen motioned to an empty table, a smile on her face, before she started bombing her with questions.

[fanficnewbie]

“Fighting for Forever” - Chapter Five: Open Heart FanFic

This is my first story/series. The first 5 chapters are adaptations from the first 4 parts of “A Weekend with Dr. Ramsey” series with permission from @alwaysmychoices and then I continue my own original work in chapters 6-14.

I start this adapted storyline during Chapter 15 of the original OH series. There is a bit of AU, where I play around with the storyline a bit and insert two days between MC leaving the country club and returning to her apartment to find Landry packing. Some situations have been changed to keep with the original vision of @alwaysmychoices and make the story work in the direction I wanted it to go. However, I find my way back to the original in Chapters 6-8 and then move on past the ending of Book One during chapters 9-14.

My MC is female, Francesca Houseman, who has only had eyes for Ethan Ramsey from day one.

FULL SERIES

Chapter Five: “Afterglow” (adapted from “In the Morning Light”) 

4275 words

In this entry, from Chapter 15, we create the morning after Ethan and MC consummate their relationship - before she finds Landry packing boxes in her apartment.

(NSFW)

The sun dawned on Boston ray by ray and slowly brightened Ethan Ramsey’s apartment. It began with a stray beam of light breaking through the barriers of the master bedroom’s curtains, the first sign that night had transformed to morning, but soon, the bedroom was enveloped and illuminated the two stray souls who had found paradise under the cloak of the previous night’s moon.

Ethan woke first, unable to ignore the morning sunrise invading his bedroom.

A few months ago, the abundant natural light had been his primary attraction to this apartment. With only thin curtains to separate him from the Boston skyline, it was impossible for Ethan to sleep beyond his first alarm, and he lived much of his life under the shroud of twilight. By the time the rest of the world was waking up and making their first cup of coffee, Ethan was already in his office with piles of work to accomplish.

But after leaving Edenbrook, his purposeful manipulations were a constant reminder that life had changed. During his first post-Edenbrook hangover, he’d cursed everything – the sun, the curtains, the window, and himself – but never fixed it. He felt like upgrading his window dressings would be letting him off the hook, and Ethan Ramsey was always more than ready to punish himself for perceived misdoings.

This morning, however, as he watched Francesca bathed in the beaming sunlight, he didn’t feel like it would be so terrible to change his bedroom’s furnishings. Rather, it felt like a step in a new direction. It felt like he was on the cusp of a new world and different priorities. It felt like...fully letting her into his life.

Ethan’s chest constricted at the very thought. He was overwhelmed by how suddenly it was easy to imagine welcoming her into his world. Despite months of actively opposing her, she’d met the challenge and broken down all of his barriers to claim his heart. He always knew that, if he finally let her in, he could never go back. And now that she was here in his bed, he couldn’t fathom keeping her at arm’s length ever again.

The idea terrified him.

Until Francesca arrived, Ethan had been a god among men. Medicine was a game, and he always won. He tackled insurmountable obstacles like others approached a crossword puzzle. Personal relationships were insignificant in a life that revolved around his patients. Ethan Ramsey made a deal with the devil, winning success and prestige while losing a life outside of Edenbrook’s doors.

Then Francesca Houseman happened right as it all took a sharp turn. Life had quickly and inexplicably brought Ethan Ramsey to his knees; challenging his identity as a curer and rendering him useless to his loved one’s suffering. Yet, through it all, she was there. She was always there, even when he didn’t want her to be. She didn’t shy away from his ill temper or stony glares, and through it all, he was acutely aware of how he didn’t deserve her.

Ethan watched her sleep beside him in silent admiration. He had seen the tension she’d carried on her shoulders since Mrs. Martinez’s death, especially the permanent crinkle between her eyebrows that he recognized from his own reflection. But in slumber, her delicate features were soft now, she seemed at peace and Ethan almost felt as if he was witnessing something not meant for his eyes. He’d never felt the division between Francesca and Dr. Houseman so fiercely as he did this morning. Dr. Houseman was weighed down with the responsibility of saving lives and protecting patients, but Francesca was the woman who spent hours cuddling with his dog. It was a strange sensation as he acknowledged the contrast between her personal and professional personas while reconciling these differences into one figure.

Francesca stirred as the light attempted to disrupt her peaceful sleep. With eyebrows knit in frustration, she let out a sleepy “humph” as she tried to escape the sun in her half-asleep state, and inched closer to Ethan, burying her face in his chest to hide from the morning.

Ethan chuckled, his arms instinctively wrapping around her and gently smoothing her wild curls.

“Why the fuck is it so bright in here?” Francesca’s words were garbled and full of sleep.

“It’s morning,” Ethan whispered in return, and he could feel Francesca’s features twist in distaste against his chest.

“Hmph,” she mumbled again, discontent and hugging him closer as if it could bring back the night.

When Francesca fell asleep in Ethan Ramsey’s arms, she never wanted to wake up. She wanted to live in the precarious state of euphoria when she’d been so close to him. Even with his whispered promise to stay, she was burdened with the expectation that he would do what he always did and pull away. They’d crossed a line, and she was afraid to peek at what was on the other side.

“How is anyone supposed to sleep like this?” Francesca whined, earning another of Ethan’s chuckles. Her grip on the man beside her didn’t dare lessen. She held onto him – and their night together – like a raft in the middle of the ocean. Francesca knew what happened last night. She knew what they said, what they felt, and what they did. But this morning was a mystery, one that had the power to dash all of her hopes.

“If you can’t block the sun, you can’t ignore the alarm clock,” Ethan repeated his former philosophy for his former student and wondered if he would have taught her that if their relationship had not always hung on the balance of professional and passionate. When he campaigned for Francesca to join Edenbrook’s residency, he recognized the potential in her that he could mold into excellence. Without their intense feelings for one another, would he have been able to reform her lifestyle to emulate his, or was she always destined to change him?

Francesca carefully pulled away from his warm, muscular chest just enough to look up at him, confounded enough by his statement to break her hold by a few precious inches. 

“You designed your bedroom to make sure you’d make it to work early?” Francesca repeated, trying her best not to smile.

“I’m not sure I would phrase it like that, but I suppose I did,” Ethan confirmed, amused by her apparent interest.

Francesca bit on her lower lip, trying hard to hold it in before the giggle finally escaped, “That might be the most ‘Ethan Ramsey’ thing I’ve ever heard.”

“There are other ‘Ethan Ramsey’ things?” Ethan challenged her, pushing her hair behind her ear so he could see her sassy smile better. Without her saying a word, he already knew that she was about to be a smart-ass, and he found himself looking forward to it.

“Mmmhmm,” Francesca hummed.

“Like?” Ethan prompted.

“Like reading a book about doctors on social media, when you’re a doctor with no presence on social media,” Francesca’s eyes sparkled with mischief, “Well that one is mine but if you want to hear the things I’ve heard about you, they’re much more interesting.”

Ethan took the bait, “And what have you heard about me?” 

“Let’s see…” Francesca pondered aloud, resting her chin on his chest, “During my first week, I was walking through the halls when a resident said, ‘I can’t decide if I should focus on his ass or the fact that he’s a total ass.’”

Ethan’s eyes visibly widened, though he attempted to maintain an air of disinterest, and it made Francesca laugh.

“Or the nurse who said that you were the world’s only living heart donor...”

“You found that funny?” his breath was hot against her skin, his stubble so close that it threatened to scratch her skin. Francesca sucked in her breath, suddenly overwhelmed by how close she held this man.

“No” she chided, “I found it hilarious.” She swallowed hard when she found the heat in his now narrowed gaze. She hadn’t given him the nickname of “Dr. McSexy” lightly, but holy shit, she never imagined how truly hot Dr. Ramsey could be.

“There’s one about your dick, I think…” Francesca teased him and quickly found the outrage she was hoping for.

“That’s completely inappropria –“ Ethan’s voice raised, he was prepared to talk about how unprofessional such talk would be in the workplace, but Francesca cut him off with a kiss.

“A joke,” Francesca finished for him, whispering against his lips before adding, “But I think you may be just past your prime to fully appreciate a dirty joke.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, “Are you calling me old, Francesca?”

Her body flushed; she never imagined that anyone could make her own name sound that indecent.

“If I was, what would you do about it?” Francesca’s words were breathless now. She didn’t just want to know what he would do. She needed to feel it, to feel him.

“I’d tell you that’s not a nice thing to say, and then I might have to show you why…” Ethan’s voice was so close to her as his hand released her waist and snaked up her back, his strong fingers tangling in her hair to hold her head steady as she looked back at him. Ethan felt intoxicated by the glint in her eyes and the obvious need in her heated stare.

Right then, he knew he’d been right all along. The second he let Francesca in, he could never let her go.

“Are you offering to punish me, Dr. Ramsey?” Francesca’s eyes lingered on his lips, and he smirked softly.

Ethan’s lips were so close that Francesca couldn’t think of anything but their proximity. Her arms looped around his neck, running her fingers through his bedhead. She could still smell the faint memory of his cologne, and heat pooled in her core as she spotted the tiny bruise on his neck – her mark.

Ethan tilted her head, his lips brushed across her neck. His stubble deliciously scratched at her skin, and she instantly craned her neck to give him more access. His kisses were soft and careful, just enough that she wanted more, but in fairness, Francesca always wanted more of him.

His hands, however, had the freedom to explore every inch of her body. Goosebumps followed his tender touch. His hand roamed her back, working their way to her ass and then down her inner thighs. When he found the moisture between her thighs, his touch became lighter and more purposeful, and Francesca wriggled with desire as she moved her hips closer to his hand.

“Impatient, are we?” Ethan chuckled into her neck, watching as her body flushed with the internal heat spreading through her limbs.

“For you, always,” Francesca admitted.

“Last night, I told you that patience is a virtue,” Ethan reminded her as he gently rolled her on her back. Propping himself up on his elbows, Ethan’s fingertips returning to her body, grazing her navel and then moving lower and lower and just so close. Francesca swallowed again as she moved her thighs back apart, and she insisted she could feel the experience in his strong hands.

“I guess you’ll have to remind me,” Francesca whimpered, biting on her lower lip as her yearning mounted.

Ethan felt his body respond to her invitation, suddenly so affected by this woman that he didn’t care if they ever left this bed at all. Still, that didn’t mean he stopped teasing her. He took his sweet time to reach her core before his thumb finally grazed the sweet spot. She gasped at the sensation, already sensitized to the feeling of being with him - already so attuned to him.

Watching her react was enough to give any man an ego, and Ethan felt powerful as he recognized the control his touch had over her. She nearly lost it when he finally applied more pressure, just enough as he circled her sensitive nub. Ethan then extended his index finger, slowly sliding it inside her, and her delicious little gasp against his lips made him groan. He watched as she finally did fall apart at his continued caresses, her whole body vibrating, lips parted and eyes closed as she whimpered and squirmed in euphoric bliss. Then Francesca looked up at him as she slung an arm around his neck, pulling him to her kiss.“Mmm, Ethan, please,” Francesca whimpered, “I need you.”

And Ethan could never imagine turning her down ever again.

“Is that a command?” Ethan whispered, gently biting on her lower lip as he moved his hand away from her.

“Yes,” Francesca affirmed, taking his hand licking her taste off his finger, and his expression morphed into that of shameless awe.

Ethan’s unapologetic grip on her hips made her skin pulse with desire as he placed her exactly where he wanted her. Moving between her, he kissed along her neck as his length slowly filled her. Francesca’s body seemed to melt into his at the sensation, murmuring “oh fuck” as the pleasure settled over her again. She was delirious with the feeling and clung onto him with desire.

Francesca was love drunk, and she enjoyed every moment.

Ethan was lost in this woman as he moved against her, and he was determined to claim her in every way. She relished the feeling of his stubble on her skin and silently prayed that he would never shave. With each thrust, heat and desire pooled in their cores, and they savored every second. Francesca’s spine arched as the pleasure surged in sync with her eagerness to be closer to him.

“Ethan…” On her lips, his name was a whisper, praise, and warning. She was so close that all she could think about was him… them, and how much she never wanted to leave this moment. “It’s so good, oh god, I’m going to…,” she gasped as her body tightened around him, her fingers wrapped in his hair as she neared the edge and Ethan buried himself in her touch as his pace increased.

And then it was just too much. They burned too bright, too fast, too perfect. Francesca fell into her climax, deeply submerged in satisfaction and relief. Ethan fell over with her, savoring her sounds of ecstasy.  

And for a minute, they stayed together as the all-consuming orgasms subsided. Francesca’s tug on Ethan’s hair went limp as she slowly pushed his hair out of his face, gazing up at him with a look he couldn’t quite identify, but somehow, he knew her expression mirrored his. Instead of letting her go, Ethan’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer as he settled back to the bed.

“Still want to call me old?” Ethan’s laugh was hoarse with the effort he’d just given, much to Francesca’s amusement.

“If that’s what happens, I’ll never stop calling you old,” Francesca laughed, nuzzling into his chest as he lazily drew patterns into her skin with his fingertips.

How could Ethan not kiss her after that?

In fact, Ethan’s list of scenarios worth kissing Francesca over had grown exponentially overnight, and it was increasingly difficult to think of when he shouldn’t hold her close. He felt like an addict to her affection, Ethan doubted that anyone other than Francesca could ever make him feel this way and he wondered if he’d even recognize the man in the mirror again.

Neither of them was sure how long they stayed in tangled in his sheets, whispering pillow talk and enjoying each other’s proximity, but eventually, they decided to leave the sanctuary of Ethan’s bed to freshen up and face the morning.

Still high with their post-orgasmic bliss, they took their time in the large space of his walk-in shower, testing out the temperature as they shared the hot water. It was almost strange how close they felt. Even being a few steps away felt foreign, and they elected to avoid it as much as possible. As they washed each other, they admired their handiwork with the various bruises and scratches on each other’s body.

Francesca’s fingertips ran along the scratches on Ethan’s back, somewhat embarrassed by how emphatic she’d been, “Does that hurt?”

Ethan raised an eyebrow, casting a casual glance at his shoulder as he shook his head, “I’ll survive a few scratches, Rookie.”

Francesca threw a relaxed glare his way and kissed his shoulder as if apologizing to the scratches.

“I enjoyed everything you did last night,” Ethan turned to face her, the water running down his body, and for a moment, Francesca couldn’t help but stare.

“Even throwing a pillow at you and telling you to go fuck yourself?” Francesca asked sarcastically. 

Even though she brought it up as a joke now, she’d meant every single word she’d said, and given the opportunity, she’d say them again. She cared deeply for Ethan but still feared the trap of being his plaything, something for him to pull close and then cast aside. She feared his intimacy and commitment issues, and she doubted either of those would magically disappear because they’d had mind-blowing sex. There was a reason she needed liquid courage to say all that she did. Under his gaze, she was more than vulnerable, she was exposed. She’d given him everything, reserving only three words, and was otherwise at his mercy.

“You were right,” Ethan conceded. He wanted to tell her everything he felt, but a barrier remained and the words refused to leave his mouth. So he kissed her forehead and offered acknowledgement instead, “I was being an asshole.”

Francesca smiled softly, leaning into him as she murmured, “When are you not being an asshole?”

If anyone else had said that he would have been irate, but it wasn’t just anybody, it was Francesca. 

And for her, he laughed.

That morning, she finally got her hands on the embarrassing t-shirt she’d been envisioning since the previous day. Ethan couldn’t understand her fascination with some branded, absurd t-shirt given to him to publicize a race he’d participated in years ago, but he acknowledged the apparent happiness in her eyes when she shimmied into it.

The words had nearly faded away, but Francesca could still make out the orange scribble of “Turkey Trot 10K 2015” as well as a cartoon turkey dancing on the breast pocket. It was soft from years of washes, despite spending ages forgotten in the back of Ethan’s closet. Had he even remembered its existence, he would have donated it years ago, but as he watched her parading around in it now, he was happy he’d almost forgotten about it.

Stifling his smirk, he started to make coffee and watched out of the corner of his eye as Francesca disappeared into his living room. When she returned, Jenner was in her arms, and he arguably looked more enamored than Francesca did.

“So, are you just a fan of ridiculous t-shirts, or do you specifically enjoy cartoon turkeys?” Ethan couldn’t help himself. He had to know why she’d been so eager to sport the holiday shirt, and as he turned back to look at her and wait for his response, he was reminded that, even in something as comical as a “Turkey Trot” t-shirt, she was still so beautiful.

Francesca laughed, rubbing behind Jenner’s ears as she considered the question.

It wasn’t that it was just a ridiculous shirt. It was his ridiculous shirt. It was a part of him that few had ever seen before. It was an element of his life beyond Edenbrook. It helped form the fabric of the man that existed outside of his career. It was so uniquely Ethan and so different from “Dr. Ramsey.” It was another peek at the kaleidoscope of the man she was enamored with.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, laughing softly to herself, “it’s just…”

She almost finished with, “you”. But instead, she played it nonchalantly, “I find them funny.”

Ethan knew there was something behind that casual smile, and he almost pressed her. But then the coffee was finished brewing and he decided to let her hold onto her secret.

The warm, familiar smell of coffee brought a smile to Francesca’s lips as he offered her a mug. They were talking about something unmemorable, but Ethan would never forget the way she laughed when he said something funny. It was true happiness but as their cups drained and the clock continued to tick, it was all slipping from their fingers.

Francesca wanted to hide away in this innocent Eden for the rest of her life. Free of external pressure, they existed in their true forms here. They were two people standing at the beginning of something real and exciting, and they were left alone to their skipped heartbeats and tender touches. They weren’t outcast doctors, they were just people. And as their professional lives went to hell, they’d found a new heaven with each other.

But the morning had started to recede and Francesca had to leave.

Ethan helped look for her jeans, finding them crumbled under the couch. They found her shoes nearby, and in his bedroom, her bra and panties had fallen under his bed. Her shirt that she had washed and discarded the previous morning was still in his guest room, but she continued to wear his t-shirt instead. Ethan had re-charged her cellphone, and she found a series of texts from her friends, wondering where the hell she was after she’d sent them a vague message the day before assuring them that she was fine and staying with a friend for a while. 

She was still scrolling through their group chat when she noticed that Sienna had sent a reminder about their early afternoon roomie brunch, and Francesca’s heart sunk with the realization that her departure from Ethan’s apartment was sooner than expected. She responded that she’d meet them there – knowing she’d have to stop by her apartment first and at the very least, change clothes.

“I’ll walk you home,” Ethan told Francesca as he collected Jenner’s leash, trying to hide the gesture under the guise of taking his dog for a walk. In truth, he just didn’t want to let her go yet.

Francesca raised an eyebrow at his statement because that’s what it was – a statement, not an offer. He was walking her home. Still, she felt the need to test him. 

“You don’t have to,” Francesca smiled, scratching Jenner under his chin as Ethan prepared him for the walk. Curious if he’d take the out she’d just given him.

“I know,” Ethan answered simply as he collected their keys, and with a kiss on the side of Francesca’s head, they were off.

Boston’s energy had lulled into a peaceful Sunday morning. Couples and families milled through the streets, passing them in favor of nearby farmers markets and parks, and a soft breeze carried them through the sunny day. Francesca and Ethan, both being workaholics, lived close to Edenbrook, and therefore each other. It was a pleasant walk that was far too short for either of their liking.

Feeling it all fade away, she gathered her resolve and asked tentatively, “Are you doing anything tonight?” Biting on her inner cheek, Francesca turned her eyes to Ethan. Despite everything, she was still terrified that she’d somehow misinterpreted their closeness and everything that had happened in the last two days. She held her breath as she anticipated another rejection.

“Francesca…” Ethan squeezed her hand, which had somehow found its way to his in their walk, “You should be preparing for your hearing.”

The Ethics Hearing. She closed her eyes against the reminder that her entire future was held in the balance of a rigged hearing, and she was doomed to anticipate it, teetering between naive hope and realistic fears.

Opening her eyes she stared straight ahead, trying to imagine how it would all go, then she muttered, “I don’t know how much I can prepare when Declan has already bought half the panel.” 

“Rookie,” Ethan stopped suddenly, his hand pulling Francesca to him. As much as she tried to avoid his bright blue eyes, he made her look at him, her cheek in his hand as he told her, “You did what you did for the good of a patient. No matter what happens, you’re a good doctor. What did I tell you last night? You owe it to yourself and your patients to give it your all. Fuck Declan.”

Francesca nodded as she absorbed his words, slightly surprised to hear him use the strong language that was so effortless for her, “You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Ethan’s smile was so infectious that, through her pain and doubt, Francesca laughed.

“Sure,” Francesca rolled her eyes.

“I wrote the textbook you studied,” Ethan bragged, making Francesca laugh even harder as she began to walk again.

“Wow, a genius who still maintains humility. You’re a first in human history,” Francesca mocked him.

“My humility is exceptional,” Ethan played along, knowing he’d do just about anything to make her laugh.

When they reached Francesca’s building, they knew they’d reached the end of the road, but Francesca was still smiling so bright at him. Her confidence in this, whatever it was, growing.

“To clarify, I’m definitely coming over tonight though, right?” she challenged.

He should have told her to stay home and prepare, but who was he to say no?

“Definitely,” Ethan agreed. “I suppose I’ll just have to help you prep.”

Francesca smiled, he was offering support again, without provocation, and for now, it was more than she could ask for. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before parting ways. As she reached the front door to her building, she waved, “Goodbye Ethan.”

He returned the gesture, “Goodbye, Rookie.”

CHAPTER SIX

[seenashwrite]

The Cupid Complication

Word Count: 5.2K Category: Humor, Fluffersnark, Romance, Friendship, Behind-the-scenes canon compliant, Holidays, Valentine’s Day Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, You, a Cupid Pairing(s): Be surprised - stop wanting to know the endings at the starts, my loves Warnings: None Author’s Notes: Happy Valentine’s Day! More post-story Overall Summary: During the Valentine season this year, complications arise for you & the Winchesters due to a cupid who could use some more practice at her job. A lot more practice. A *supreme* amount of practice.  

The slow, methodical rapping sent a sharp, scolding noise into the air each time fingers hit desk.

THRRRUMP

THRRRUMP

THRRRUMP

Sinking lower into her seat, the cherub waited as her supervisor finished scanning the report.

The high-ranking angel behind the desk closed her eyes. The rapping stopped. She brought both hands up, now rubbing her temples. She sighed.

The cherub gulped.

"On your latest mission, your first arrow hit a statue, then your second, a tree, before successfully striking a human target upon your third attempt.”

"Y-yes, ma'am."

“To be precise, with the third, you managed to hit three of them.”

"Uh... yes, ma'am. That’s funny, huh? But it only nicked the woman, I don’t think she was affected. See, what happened was----"

“None of which were the assigned targets, that's what I'm to understand?”

"Well, yes - I mean, no - I mean, yes, ma'am."

"Octavia, I've repeatedly instructed you to not call me that."

"Yes, m.... Okay."

“Can you tell me why it is that we’ve navigated all the drama that is constantly plaguing heaven? Why we remain celestially adjacent?”

“Because we bring love to the world?” Octavia guessed.

“Because we - along with the muses and the reapers - specialize in the three things that will always be: life, death, and relationships. Those three things cannot be stopped, no matter how great a power may try to do so. They just are. And what keeps things running smoothly amidst all the chaos?”

“Being good at our jobs?”

“Are you telling me, or asking me?” the supervisor snapped.

“I’m… I’m telling. That’s why.”

“That is why. We coordinate. We make sure the looms of the fates have nothing time-sensitive in store for our targets. We cross-check that they aren’t in the reapers’ queue. It is a finely-tuned machine. It is a flow. It is a rhythm. And you, Octavia, have continued to disrupt that rhythm, despite your missions being limited to the month of February, the easiest, the simplest month on the calendar for making matches.”

Octavia hung her head and picked at her glittery pink-polished fingernails.

It did not go unnoticed.

“While I have you here - I’ve let it slide, but your appearance----”

“You told me I couldn’t be invisible except when I’m firing my bow! I’m trying to be festive for the season!” Octavia interjected, and was met with a stern look.

“If you hadn’t materialized when you were marking that poor woman’s heart and grabbed her breast right there in the middle of that coffee shop----”

“I wasn’t grabbing!” Octavia again interjected, and it was met with an even sterner look. “It was a really soft sweater,” she mumbled sheepishly.

“That righteous ruckus, I remind you, is what got you downgraded back to arrows. And now I find myself wondering what to do with you, if you can’t even manage what new recruits seem to execute with accuracy!”

While her supervisor began adding notes to the sizable file on Octavia, the cherub caught a glance of herself in the mirror on the wall behind the desk. She thought she looked the part - her style was cheerful, and when she was visible and surveying, it made people smile, and she didn’t care what her co-workers said, not about her heart-patterned shirt, or the shiny red shoes, or the nail polish, or her hair.

"It's pink!" they’d cried.

Octavia disagreed. Regardless of her form - big, small, skin tone, eye color - she always had wild, curly red hair. And not of a hue typically seen in nature; less ginger, more actual red. Actually, burgundy. Actually, it was possibly on the pink end of things. Fine, it was pink. But only in certain lighting. Besides, her clothes were needed - being naked was uncomfortable what with the oft-chafing quiver, so the clothing may as well match the hair - and besides that, Octavia was fine with the whole being-more-visible-than-not requirement. She liked being able to get to know her targets; even though the intel was always spot-on, it made her heart swell to know for sure she was making a good match.

They just didn’t understand. Most all cherubs - the cupids, at least - were less than enthused about Valentine’s Day, and Octavia couldn’t imagine why; after all, it was the holiday of love! And hopefully it was not spent alone, not if she had anything to do with it, despite the fact that Octavia herself often spent it alone. She didn't have many friends... really, she didn’t have any friends. And so, her companions were her targets. And she loved them, all year ‘round.

Octavia was shaken from her thoughts when the file was slammed shut, and her eyes met the steely gaze of her supervisor once more.

“Your targets have been reassigned. You have a new assignment, which - if you succeed - means I won’t transfer you to…. to…. Oh, I don’t know where, but you’ll be gone. Do you understand?”

“Ma’am? I mean, what? What is it? The assignment?” Octavia asked, nervous.

Her supervisor leaned across the desk, pointing a finger. “You are going to fix this.”

“How?”

“Think, Octavia. Who saw her first? Which of these----" A pause as the file was opened and papers were shuffled, followed by a huff when the sought information couldn’t be found immediately “----humans saw her first?” 

Octavia blinked, not following.

“The woman! You say she was only nicked, and if that’s true, you must focus on the other two - so Who. Saw. Her. First?”

"It seemed both of them at once. They do lots of things in unison. It’s kind’ve weird."

“Then I suppose you’ll have to figure out how to untangle this weird one by weird one. You have approximately twelve earth days - I want this done by sundown on the 14th. And without the bow, I don’t want to hear of any more stray shots.”

“But then how do I----”

“Fix it.”

“But if you don’t want me to----”

“FIX. IT. Dismissed!”

Octavia stood, held out her arms for the customary goodbye handshake, but when the gesture was most decidedly not reciprocated, she slunk from the office.

After the door closed, the supervisor muttered under her breath as she dug around in her drawer for the small bottle of liquor she kept handy for such situations. Situations that most always involved Octavia. And as she sipped, she glanced back through the file. And then she blanched. And then she dropped her glass with a thunk onto the desk, causing the liquid to slosh across the paper, across the last names in the universe she’d have ever wanted to see.

CONFIRMED HUMAN SUBJECTS INVOLVED IN INCIDENT, FEBRUARY 1st

WINCHESTER, DEAN

WINCHESTER, SAM

~ Almost twelve days later ~ .

"Can you help me with something?"

I glanced up from my research at the sound of Sam's voice. "Of course," I said, removing my glasses. "I need a break, anyway."

In the kitchen, there was a small box on the table, wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and a ribbon lying next to it. And there was crumpled wrapping paper on the floor. A lot of crumpled wrapping paper. I looked from it to Sam, amused.

"I keep getting one side right, then the other side comes out all uneven when I fold it," he explained. "And forget the bow, I wasn't even gonna try."

"No worries, I got you," I told him, and plopped onto a seat. He sat across from me and watched as I picked up the paper and began to unroll it to judge the size. “So, is this for who I’m thinking?” I took a peek at Sam, caught the blush rising to his cheeks, and I grinned, having my answer. “You’ve been talking about her a lot since the last hunt.”

“Yeah, I guess I have,” he said. “I don’t know why, I just… started looking at her differently, you know?”

“Oh I know, and I get it, she’s great. And it’s nice to see you happy,” I said, about to lift the box - but then I stopped, met his eye. "Sam… this is leaking."

"What?"

I pointed to the moisture trail the box had left when I'd pulled it closer. "Did you... you didn't cook something, did you? I mean, that's fine, it's just we may need a different type of box, and no sense in wrapping it yet if it needs to be refrigerated, and----"

Sam cut me off. "I didn't cook anything - it's a chocolate heart."

We stared at each other for a moment, then stared down at the box, bewildered.

Which is when it jumped.

To be specific, it pulsed itself into the air, though only a tiny bit, shifting its position on the table slightly every time it came back down. Two successive plops, a brief moment, then it repeated. And it kept repeating. And it was on its fifth cycle before we came out of our shared daze, both putting our hands on the top to stop the movement. It vibrated under our palms.

“We gotta open it,” I said.

“What if it’s a cursed object?” Sam asked in response.

“Where the hell’d you get it?”

“Candy shop, same one that’s been on main street for forever, a little old lady owns it.”

“Witch, maybe?” I suggested.

We looked down as the box became a touch more aggressive in its pushback, the sides straining slightly - something thick was beginning to sneak out of the corners.

Sam shook his head, bewildered. “I dunno.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s pissed off!” I announced and, as if it wanted to confirm my assertion, the box managed to knock our hands away, sending itself clean off the table and onto the floor, where it resumed its original soft bum-bum… bum-bum… bum-bum...

“It’s beating,” Sam said. “The heart.” A pause. “I can’t give her that!”

“THAT’S your concern?!” I shouted, then took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, trying to quell my annoyance. “Okay. I’m opening it.”

“Wait! We should---” Sam began, but was interrupted.

“Hey, whoa - what’s going on, why’re you guys yelling?” Dean asked as he walked in, frowning.

The box performed its routine for him.

“Wow,” said Dean. “Never mind.” He looked to me. “I was gonna ask your opinion on something, but since you’re busy…”

I gave him a look. “You’re in this now, too, bud.” I dropped into a squat, did a mental 1-2-3 count, and took the lid off the box.

“Gross,” Dean said, his nose wrinkling. “I mean, cool, but gross.”

“That’s not what I bought!” Sam said, pointing down at the cool-but-gross.

It was an actual, for real, no denying it, right there, in the box, human heart, and it was pumping out a brown, viscous fluid with every beat.

“Is that….” Sam said, but trailed off, and he squatted beside me, then dipped a finger into the goo. He held it to his nose, sniffed. “I think it’s chocolate.”

“Lemme see,” Dean said, and now he squatted, too - then to our horror, he dipped his finger as well, and immediately brought it to his lips, giving it a lick.

“Dean!” Sam and I exclaimed.

“Mmmm,” Dean hummed, his eyes closing briefly. “Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff. Good stuff. Is the rest made out of candy?”

“No!” Sam and I exclaimed.

Dean’s face went pinched again. “Gross,” he repeated, then promptly stood and began walking to the fridge. “I need a beer.”

“’I need a beer’, he says,” I commented, shaking my head.

Sam and I straightened ourselves, still watching the heart pump-pump away, but we looked back to Dean at the sound of chuckling.

“You may as well give it up, brother. I got you beat. Heh. Beat,” he said with a smile, popping the cap off the beer.

“Beat at what?” I asked.

“Yeah, beat at what?” Sam echoed, and the look on his face and his stiff posture and the way he crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes made me think he already knew what Dean meant.

“I mean, it’s creative, I’ll give you that - but chocolate’s not her favorite. Which you’d know, if you knew her as well as I do,” Dean replied, cool as could be.

It hit me then that Dean had also been talking about our hunter colleague an awful lot in the recent past, and it prompted me to ask, “Dean, what was it you wanted my opinion on?”

He swallowed a mouthful of beer, then replied, “I wanted to see what you thought about how my Valentine’s gift turned out.” Looking to Sam, he added, “Which I wrapped by myself.”

Sam looked like he wanted to smack the smug right off Dean’s face. “You did this!” he said. “You put some sort of hex on that heart - you’re trying to sabotage me!”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to sabotage you, she’s not into you.”

Sam turned to me. “Years ago, over an autopsy, he passes me a human heart, just like that one---”

“No chocolate,” Dean pointed out.

“---and he said ‘Be my valentine’.”

“Dean... asked you... to be his valentine,” I said slowly.

“Not like--- that’s not--- it’s his sick sense of humor!” Sam explained. “And he’s doing it again! Trying to split us up!”

“Split who up?” I asked. “You’re not dating her! Neither of you are!”

“Not yet,” Dean said, still with the smug.

“What did you get her? Show me,” Sam demanded.

“Like I said, I got her favorite candy. C’mon,” Dean replied, setting down his beer and gesturing for us to follow.

As we walked down the hall to his room, they kept fussing, and as Dean was opening the door, I said, “You’re both acting really weird, I’m honestly getting concerned because---- good lord.”

A gift bag was tipped over on his bed, and what had to be dozens of worms were happily crawling around: on the bed itself, on the pillows, on the floor, on his desk, and - to his horror - over the stack of vintage porn mags on the nightstand.

“What the hell?!” he shouted.

Sam snickered.

The worms were fat, and glossy, and each segment was a color of the rainbow.

“Gummy worms?” I asked.

“Gummy worms,” Dean confirmed.

After a shared look - the same one we’d share during hunts when we knew it was time to cut out and regroup - we all left the room, shutting the door behind us.

“You believe me now? That I’m not sabotaging you?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Something’s up.”

“Finally!” I said. “We have to retrace our steps, figure out what caused this. Now, you two started talking about her on the way home after that hunt, I think, so----”

“Something’s trying to keep me from her,” Dean and Sam stated in unison.

I groaned. “No, that’s not it - it’s that something’s, I dunno, infected the both of you, to make you want her. You know, want-her, want her.”

“I’m gonna go see her,” Dean said, determination all over his face and in his tone.

“Not if I get there first,” Sam replied, equally determined.

When they both began to move to, I assume, race each other to the car, I stood in the way. “Stop, okay? Isn't she still up at Donna's, going over traps and sigils with the girls?”

Dean got a moony smile on his face. “Man, she's so freakin' smart.”

Sam went dopey, too. "Right? So smart. Smartest person we know, definitely."

“And the prettiest.”

“Pretty? She's gorgeous.”

“Totally the hottest chick we know.”

I raised my hand. "Hi? Right here, remember?"

Dean gave me an up-and-down. “You’re all right, you got nothing to worry about.”

“I’m. Not. Worried,” I said through grit teeth.

“And you’re good with the lore,” Sam offered halfheartedly.

“I know. Look, if you’re gonna go up to Donna’s----” I began, but they cut me off by going around me, headed toward the garage at what seemed like light speed. “I’m coming with you!” I yelled, hot on their heels, pausing only to snatch my jacket off the back of a library chair.

.

.

Thankfully, the road trip conversation was less argument and more fawning over the object of their mutual desire, and as much as I liked our friend, I got bored, which meant I got sleepy. In what felt like a blink of an eye, I suddenly found myself in the next county over from our destination. The slamming of the car doors had jolted me awake - according to my watch, they’d driven all through the night, the maniacs, and now it appeared a side mission had emerged.

We were parked in front of a liquor store.

It was surprisingly empty for Valentine’s Day, at least in my estimation. I’d have thought people would’ve been buying out the joint, last minute prep for their sappy candlelit dinners. I shuddered at the thought. That was me: Not Romantic, party of one.

When I entered, the gal behind the checkout counter gave me a polite smile and a small point in the direction of the refrigerated areas at the back of the store, to the only other occupants besides ourselves. But she didn’t need to - I’d heard them already. And it sounded like the most recent bout was about to hit a fever pitch.

“It’s the last one, and I got to it first!”

“Yeah, well I saw it first!”

Dean and Sam were yanking a bottle back and forth, and when I came up to them, I noted it was champagne. Pink champagne. I rolled my eyes, then reached in and snatched the bottle away, which earned me two dirty looks.

“Guys, I have a idea about what might’ve happened - is it possible this is a cupid situation?” I asked.

They both stared at me for a couple of seconds, and then smiles began to appear on both their faces.

“That explains it,” said Sam.

“It sure does,” said Dean.

I eyed both of them, suspicious at why they were pleased to hear my theory, but went on. “We should call Cas, see about doing a summoning spell.”

“We could do that on our own, I don’t wanna bother him while he’s spending time with Jack,” Sam replied.

I was instantly relieved - at least Sam was getting some sense.

“Why should we summon a cupid?” Dean asked. “If it is a cupid, that must mean I’m meant to be with----”

“Whoa, hold on,” Sam interrupted. “I’m supposed to be with----”

So much for sense.

Now I interrupted. “What makes you think either of you are supposed to be with her? Regardless, both of you can’t be meant for her! This is obviously some sort of mistake!”

Dean's lips curled into a smirk. “You jealous?”

My eyebrows shot up. “Jealous of what? Not being on the receiving end of leaky organs and creepy crawlers? Can we focus for a second? Back on the hunt, did you two see anybody that shouldn’t have been there? Before or after the salt and burn?”

“Nope,” Dean answered.

“Same here,” Sam agreed.

I sighed. “Me, neither.” I thought a few more moments, then asked, “Anywhere else? Anybody new? Anybody unusual?”

“Well, I mean… I guess the girl that sold me the heart was a little different. Different for Lebanon,” Sam said. “I’ve never seen her around town before, and I’d have noticed - she had pink hair.”

Dean nodded. “Uh-huh. Same girl sold me the worms. I’ve never seen her before, either.”

“Okay, so, pink hair - what else?” I asked.

“She was just… really Valentine-y. I thought it was just part of the sales shtick,” Dean answered.

“Yeah, her dress was patterned with these little lips, like kisses,” Sam said.

Dean gave him a look for remembering that piece of info, and I hid a smile.

Sam ignored him. “And she had a name you don’t hear often… it was Opal… Olive… Ophelia?”

Dean snapped his fingers. “No, no - it was, like, Octopus or something.”

“Octop---- Dean, what?” Sam said, exasperated.

I ran a hand over my face, looked skyward for a second, briefly turning over in my mind how my life had come to this point, then brought my eyes back to them. “Was it Octavia?”

They were mildly stunned.

“How in the hell could you have known that?” Dean asked.

“Because I’m a hunter, and I’m observant, and I’m not in some whack-a-doo crazy cupid coma,” I replied, and I sounded snide, because I was being snide. “I know the name because of the name tag.”

“I thought you didn’t see anybody at the cemetery,” Sam said, brow furrowed.

Dean frowned, as well. “And cupids wearing name tags? No they don’t, they’re naked. Where would they put it?”

“Oh my god, the stupid has to end,” I announced, and stepped behind him, grabbing his shoulders, shifting him so he was facing down the aisle, to the front of the store. I pointed. “Checkout girl? Up there? Pink sweater with white hearts? Pink-and-white striped skirt? Pink tights? Pink hair?!?”

At that moment, the shelves began to tremble - specifically, the shelves lined with the not-pink champagne bottles. Glass clinked as they bumped into one another. The ones stored upright tipped onto their sides.

And then they fired.

Corks shot out like bullets, and we dodged and weaved, getting popped here-and-there, but other than sticky, bubble-coated boots, we managed to get out of the store unscathed. And on the sidewalk, we found her. There, the cotton candy-colored cupid stood, fidgeting, a hesitant smile on her face.

We stared.

“H-h-hi?” she managed.

We continued to stare.

“I screwed up,” she admitted. “And unless I fix this, I’ll be kicked out of the cupids.” Tears sprang to her already shining eyes. “I don’t even know what other cherubs do! And I don’t want to, I’m a good cupid, I am.”

“Oh no. You suck,” Dean stated, and I frowned at him, gave him a sharp elbow, then looked to the source of our troubles.

“It’s Octavia, right?” I asked, glancing at the name tag.

She nodded. "I wouldn't lie, I promise."

I nodded in acknowledgement, and said, “Okay, then, keep that going. Tell us what, exactly, you screwed up.”

“I got the address backwards. I was supposed to be across town, not at that graveyard.” She paused, a contemplative expression coming to her face. “Now that I think of it, that isn’t a romantic place.”

“No,” Sam responded flatly. “It’s not.”

And then Octavia told her story, confirming what I’d guessed. “I thought all this would discourage you, but seems my arrows were more potent than I realized,” she finished. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. You mean so much to me. Every one of you.”

Dean and Sam and I looked at each other, all of us softening - we believed her.

“Octavia, what else can be done?” Sam asked. “Because I’ll be honest, all I want to do right now is tackle Dean and steal the keys and leave him in the dust and go to her.”

“Awesome. Let's see you try,” Dean shot back, eyes narrowed, fists clenching.

I looked to the cupid with what I knew was desperation on my face as I moved to stand between the lovesick idiots.

“I could use something else on my arrows—-” Octavia began.

“NO ARROWS!” the three of us shouted.

“—-but it should work if you use it on yourselves.” She pulled three small bottles from the pocket of her skirt, all filled with a shimmery red liquid that gave off a slight golden glow.

“So do they drink it?” I asked.

Octavia shook her head. “It needs to be applied to where I hit them - well, Sam can maybe drink his, but…”

“But what?”

“But… butt. I hit Dean in the butt, then it kind’ve curved up and hit Sam in the cheek. Not one of those cheeks, I mean----”

I held up a hand. “Stop, I got it.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. “You’re--- you’re telling me it went through his ass then in my mouth?”

Dean leaned over, gripping his knees, laughing so hard he was gasping for breath in no time.

One of the bottles was smaller than the others, and after Octavia handed the first two to Sam and Dean, and they went back into the store to use it, she handed the tiny one to me.

“Give this to her, just in case. It’s for her arm. The arrow lost a lot of steam by the time it got to her, I think most of the juice was off it. Has she been calling a lot or did she show up at your place or anything?”

“Ah, that’s a big fat no,” I answered. “All the crazy has been with these two. Lucky me.”

“You are lucky,” Octavia said. “My aim is so bad, I could’ve hit you, too. Then two of you could’ve been mismatched, along with that other woman, and it would’ve been worse.”

“Yeah… worse…” I said under my breath, my mind wandering for a moment. I shook myself out of it. “Well, look - no harm was done. Maybe a few bruises from your artillery in there, but otherwise we just have some clean-up to do back on the homefront. The candy stuff was pretty genius by the way.”

Octavia blushed. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely. And listen, I’m sure where you come from, they’ve got practice areas for shooting, right? That’s all you need. Hell, I had to practice every day for a long time before I got good at throwing blades. You’re creative, and you’re clearly passionate about your job. I don’t know what else heaven could ask for.”

A bright smile came to the cupid’s face. “Thank you. So much. I mean it.”

“So what’s on deck for you tonight, since you pulled this off? You gonna celebrate?” I asked.

“I don’t have any plans, it’s not like cupids have matchmakers, so… But I like being around love. I think I’ll hang out at that little restaurant around the corner, the people seemed happy there, and there’s paper hearts all taped on the windows, and I think I even saw some balloons. There’s no balloons in heaven.”

“Okay,” I said, and I smiled back, but I felt a little sad for her.

I didn’t have time to think on it for long - Dean and Sam emerged, and we all said our goodbyes.

.

.

The would-be paramour was packing up her car when we pulled up to Donna’s place, and after a brief round of rock-paper-scissors, Sam got the honor of explaining what had happened - a win or a loss, hard to tell.

But she was laughing through the whole story, and when it was done, she gave me a big hug, saying, “Bless your soul, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you.”

I laughed, too. “Honestly, it wasn’t so awful. Plus, I get to bring this up every Valentine’s Day for years to come.”

“Great,” Dean said, not meaning it in the least.

“Do any of you have anything going on tonight?” she asked. “Should we go get a pizza or something on the way back to Kansas?”

“Nah, I think I’ll pass,” Dean said.

“Um, yeah. Me, too,” I said.

She turned to Sam. “How about you? I mean, why not make the best of it? And we don’t have to do pizza, we could do a movie, maybe?”

“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Sam asked hesitantly, which got another laugh out of her.

“Yes! If these two party poopers are out, that means we can watch something artsy they’d hate.”

Sam smiled, relieved. “Yeah, that actually sounds great.”

While they discussed their plans, Dean turned to me and said, “That's not a half-bad idea.”

I was surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Making the best of it. We can go make with the best.”

“You wanna spend Valentine’s with me? I figured you’d… what happened to celebrating Lonely Ladies Getting Laid Day?”

“It’s Unattached Drifter Christmas. And I don’t mean anything fancy, or… stuff... It’s just... you know, as friends.”

That’s what he’d said, but he’d taken a step closer, and his voice had gotten a little softer, and if my eyes didn’t deceive me, the expression on his face held something I’d seldom seen on him: uncertainty.

“Friends?” I clarified.

“Well friends with be----”

At my raised eyebrow, he cut himself off and course-corrected.

“Beer. Friends with beer.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Sure.... sure, as in.... you'll....”

“Sure, Dean. I'll go.”

“You’ll go. Okay. Okay! That’s… that’s good, that’s…”

“Do I get flowers?” I asked casually, and at the near-horrified look on his face, tacked on a wink to let him know I was anything but serious.

He grinned. “You get a burger.”

I brought a hand to my chest. “Oh, Mr. Winchester - be still my heart.”

We were ready to get going, but after I filled him in on the rest of my conversation with our clumsy cupid, we agreed we had a quick stop to make before our Valentine’s Day evening got fully underway.

Octavia was at the bar nursing a cosmopolitan when the maître d' approached.

“Miss? Might you be Octavia?”

She swallowed and said, “Yes? I mean, yes. That’s me.”

“This was just dropped off for you,” he said, handing her a plastic bag with a drugstore’s name across it. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Octavia took it, mumbling a thank you as he walked off, completely distracted; she’d never received a gift before. And it was the most perfect thing she’d ever seen. She knew well that most all the cards had long been sold, and she was glad, because this was much more special.

There it was, in her hands, her very own valentine, handmade with what materials were at their disposal. It was a cut-from-newspaper heart, trimmed in cotton balls, with random stickers that weren’t holiday-related but were all pinks-and-reds, stuck here-and-there around the writing. And that writing said:

. Have a happy Valentine’s Day, Octavia. You deserve it. - Your favorite hunters .

After swiping a few tears away, Octavia left money on the bar and upon exiting, scurried around to the back of the building so she could disappear. She needed to drop her valentine off back home. And she also needed to pick up something while she was there.

When she reached her final destination of the night, the cupid watched through the window of the burger joint for awhile, drinking in the happiness before her. It could mean trouble, what she was about to do, but in this case there wasn’t need for an assignment, or cross-checking with the fates or the reapers, because she felt it was right. She knew it, sparkled tips to shiny toes.

Tonight’s arrow was smaller, and coated delicately. Concentrating, Octavia aimed carefully. She didn’t blink, and she didn’t wobble, and for the first time ever she hit precisely the targets she intended.

It sailed clean through both their hearts, and Octavia smiled. They would have an amazing night. As for the rest, well - she’d leave forever up to them.

Author’s Notes: This is not only for Valentine’s Day, it’s also for the Galentine’s celebration hosted by @spnfanficpond and my secret Galentine is fellow Pondie @bookshido (who I cannot tag, but have arranged for them to be tagged, cross my heart!) Hope you enjoyed!

...And a quick PS: While you'll notice standard divisions for change of scenes, the intro and ending are separated from this first-person perspective tale by the heart dividers, and are in third person for the purpose of giving the audience information that the main characters don't know/don't need to know - just FYI so you don't think I've lost my mind... or my perspective, as it were. ;)

See Nash Write : Master  /  See Nash Write : Mobile

🏷️🏷️Wanna be tagged? Hit me up! 🏷️🏷️

The Nashooligans...

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[numeronubisexualhawkeye]

Tuck and Roll

3060 Words

sequel to Take Cover 

(got like 4 requests on here and another 4 on ao3 to finish this so i’ll be posting the next 3 chapters on my ao3, MajorMinor)

The first two weeks in Portugal were infuriating. Despite the fact that Theo was a big donor to the graduate school Clint and Natasha were pretending to be enrolled in, he was elusive. Natasha had gone against all logic and spent her days trying to go after Theo by herself, spending hours out in town and in the university, scouting out the locations they had been tipped off about Theo’s trafficking. It was hard doing it alone, or at least she felt as though she was working alone.

After their argument that first night, Clint had become reclusive. He only ever signed to her, which she only managed to catch bits and pieces of, she had only just started learning ASL which was miles different than the Russian standard she had been taught in the Red Room. Natasha had only spoken to him in Russian some days, trying to reciprocate his stubborn attitude. She knew he didn’t understand it well enough to respond, and felt it was a fair trade for him only signing to her for the first few days after their fight.

By the end of the first week though, their silent treatment had run its course. They needed to speak to each other to work and to survive, but since Clint was still too much in his own head to do that, they took to treating this as if it were a solo mission. Natasha would go out during the day and talk to Theo’s colleagues and clients, coming off as an enthusiastic grad student that just wanted to get to know him. Clint going full covert mode and spending night after night in the tow, putting that Hawkeye codename to use as he watched Theo move about the city.

Neither one of them ever had much to report back at the apartment. Theo was elusive, working as indirectly as possible when he could. Clint had caught mostly only been able to watch him through the windows of his home, which was occupied only by him and his house staff. There was nothing redeemable about what Theo was doing, but at least he had the nerve to not have a wife or kids amongst his business. By the third week, both of them were tense from their own emotions and lack of action. Clint wanted to spring a trap in Theo’s house, draw him out and ambush him. Natasha wanted to catch him off guard, get under his skin, and work her way to where she needed to be to get this job over with.

On the Friday of their third week however, there was a breakthrough, a gloriously simple one, but a breakthrough nonetheless. Natasha had been in the library of the university, flipping through some tome on Portuguese art, when she heard a murmur of voices behind her. She shut the book and looked around the shelves, and there he was; Theo.

There was a gang of students and staff going up to him, telling him how grateful they were for his generous donations to the library and various departments of the school. Natasha made her way toward him, and he caught her immediately. He waved off the people around him and stepped to her.

“Hello! Long time no see. How have you been?” he started.

Natasha slipped into the sugary voice she had used the night they first met. “Oh fine, same as always. Me and David have been meaning to get out, but work and school keeps us busy.”

Theo smiled. “Well, I’m sure I can help you with that.” He took a card out of his pocket, wrote down an address and phone number and passed it to her. “Join me for dinner someday. You can set it up with my assistant. I’d be more than happy to show you the more...secretive pleasures this city has.”

Ew. “Thank you. I’ll tell David, I’m sure he’d be glad to get to talk to you.”

Theo’s expression wavered a little at that. “Ha. Well, I hope to see you again soon Anya.”

When Natasha had told Clint about the set up, he looked annoyed, but she didn’t wait for him to have any smart remarks. “I’ve already set it up for Sunday evening. Clear your nesting hours.”

When Sunday rolled around, Natasha was itching with anticipation. Finally, something to fucking do on this mission. The restaurant wasn’t far from the apartment they had been holed up in, so she walked, Clint following closely on the adjacent streets until they both reached the restaurant, where Theo was waiting outside.

“Ah, Anya, I’m so glad to see you.” he had his arms stretched wide for a hug. “Where’s David?”

“He got food poisoning, but he sends his regards.” She heard Clint chuff out a laugh in her comm.

Theo led them inside to a table toward the back of the restaurant. There was a guard standing on either side of the table, which put Natasha on alert. Theo may have presented himself as an elusive and private man, but this was a clear indicator of his shady dealings on the side.

Clint was somewhere in the upper floors of the neighboring building, watching through windows and seeing she and Theo's every move while being completely invisible to any untrained eyes. Natasha felt about as safe as possible on missions like this. Even if Theo or either of the men standing guard beside him tried something, she could take them out, and if she couldn't, well, Clint's code name wasn't Hawkeye for nothing.

She drank one glass of wine and picked over her food. She may not have been as susceptible to alcohol as Theo may have been, but she didn't want him to get the idea that she was too comfortable around him. This had been arranged as something strictly professional, discussing the programs at the university, gaining his trust so she could get into his professional circles, not personal.

“So, Anya,” Theo said, “what exactly brought you and your um, husband, here?” He said ‘husband' the way little kids talk about broccoli. It was something gross and annoying, something he wanted to push to the edge of his plate and flick to a dog waiting under the table.

Clint could hear everything through the wire she was wearing. Natasha gave a small smile. “Well when we met in undergrad, we were both on a humanities track, European history and all. So when we graduated, and then married, we decided, why not come to the heart of where all great exploration began y'know? Get a hands on experience in that history.”

Theo smiled and laughed. “Smart girl you must be. Not many people appreciate a woman with so much, curiosity and appreciation for the Old World.”

“Well we both paid 35k to get degrees in it, so I would hope to have a bit of appreciation for it.” Natasha tried to keep bringing Clint, well, David, in the conversation, keep Theo's focus professional. His files had said that he worked with his traffickers and clients through his allies, professors and politicians with a taste for their students and interns.

Professional is what was preferred, but Natasha had a sick feeling that she was going to have to take the personal route. This mission was already going into its third week without much progress. The stress of this mission plus the added weight of the tension between she and Clint made working conditions seem far worse than they actually were. Natasha just wanted the whole thing to be over with so they could go back stateside, and she could request a new partner.

“Ah, you Americans and your money. I can respect it though, spending it on such a quality education.” Theo said as he waved down the waiter. “I’ll take check now. Both our meals are together.”

“Oh no, I can pay.” Natasha said determined. Professional, this was professional, she didn’t want Theo to get any funny ideas. But he had funny ideas when he first saw her, and when she took this dinner. He was expecting something from her now, especially after three weeks of trying to weasel herself to this exact scenario.

“Please, it’s my pleasure.” Theo’s voice dropped to that low gravelly tone older men take up when they think they’re being sexy, when in reality they sound like a dog with a bad chest cold.

“Natasha.”

Clint’s voice in her ear was a shock, and she fumbled with her reply after he disrupted her. “Well, if you insist, but I’m not making this a habit.”

“Natasha.” Clint was sounding more irritated. The fact that he was saying anything at all was a surprise to her. There hadn’t been anything especially insightful during this dinner. All she had learned was Theo was the same as every old sleaze that preyed on women; too much money, and not enough people telling him no. Natasha was begging for anything, anything to happen so she could get an opening on this guy. How could someone this simple be so hard to infiltrate?

The waiter left to bring back the check, and it was just the two, well three, counting Clint’s now active part in this conversation, of them.

“So,” Theo started, “any plans for the rest of the night?”

Fuck. It was such an obvious move to get any intel that she needed to wrap this mission up, but she didn’t want to do this. But why? She had slept with more men for work than she had for her own enjoyment, it was the one death she couldn’t escape, even now after so many months with Shield.

“Don’t you dare.” Clint’s voice said harshly in her ear. She wanted to be irritated with his interjections, she dealt with men like Theo for a living, she could handle this. But something about having Clint in her ear made her anxiety worsen. He was watching her, he could see everything, hear everything, Theo didn’t know, but what if he did? Was he trying to set her up? Would they get back to his penthouse and there would be Clint, tied up and beaten to a pulp by one of Theo’s goons? No, he couldn’t know, he had barely lifted his gaze up from the neckline of her dress, even with the modest cut he wouldn’t stop staring.

Why was she so worried? This was work, Theo was work. Clint was a part of work. But when Theo reached his hand across the table and placed it on top of her’s, she pulled back harder and faster than she had meant to. His touch snapped her out of her stupor.

“I’ve got to get home to David.” she said. Clint’s cover name felt like an anchor, and just like everything about this night and this mission, she hated it. Why did he have such a hold on her all of a sudden? Why was she letting Clint’s hooks get into her? Natasha had dealt with men like Theo, would keep dealing with them even if she ever had the chance to leave Shield. They had barely spoken to each other since the first night, but now all of a sudden, she wanted to be home, no, in the apartment, don’t make this personal Natasha. She wanted to be in the apartment with Clint. Why? Why, fucking why?

“Ah, perhaps another time then.” Theo said, if he caught wind of her sudden anxiety, he didn’t show it. He leaned across the table to grab Natasha’s hand and kiss it, but she snatched away and got up abruptly.

“Until next time senhor.” Natasha said before she whipped around and walked out the restaurant.

The entire walk home, Clint was silent in her ear. She caught a few quick glances of him moving through the streets as they both made their way back to the apartment, but neither one of them made a sound. He had reached the apartment before her, the door already unlocked when she got there. Inside, he was sitting on the couch, but his posture was rigid, and he stood up when she stepped inside.

He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.

“If you have something smart to say, just say it Barton.” Natasha snapped. She didn’t give him time to answer, just kicked off her heels, and shut the door to the bedroom.

Again.

No.

You sound like a porn star.

Do it again.

Come on babe.

Fucking Christ Natalia, do it again.

Again.

Natalia!

You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous

“Natasha.”

Do you want to go back under?

Do it again.

“Wake up.”

Anya.

You’re not like the others.

Do you like that?

Natalia.

“Nat.”

Any plans for the rest of the night?

“Natasha. NATASHA!”

She bolted upward, butting her forehead against something hard. She winced and pushed away at whatever she had hit, hands fumbling in the dark. Her fingers brushed against skin, and she screamed.

“Hey, hey!” a light switched on, and there was Clint, kneeling in bed beside her. “Chill, you’re okay. You’re okay.” his voice was soft but stern.

Natasha got out of bed and stood there staring at him for a few seconds, breathing heavily. The back of her neck was beaded with sweat despite the fact that the air conditioning was on full blast. She felt shaky and a little disoriented. She stumbled forward, trying to muster up the attitude she had had with him the last couple of weeks so she could push him out of the room and go back to sleep. But she tripped over herself and had to put her hands down in front of her to catch her on the mattress.

“Woah, are you okay?” Clint inched forward on the bed, hands outstretched cautiously.  Did that Theo guy give you something?”

She shook her head. She was fine, wasn’t she? Theo was just another disgusting human to be dealt with, she could handle this, she could. But why was his voice in her head hours later? But it hadn’t just been Theo’s voice. It was never just going to be Theo’s voice.

A shiver ran through her body, and Clint noticed. She felt his weight settle next to her on the edge of the bed. “Nat.”

She swallowed hard and took in a gulp of air. What did she want to say? What could she say? Sorry for waking you up with my nightmare screaming. Go back to the couch, I’ll be fine once we kill this guy.

“Do you need some water? Aspirin?” Clint asked.

Natasha’s voice finally remembered how to work. “Vodka.” she said hoarsely. “Well, anything alcoholic, if we have it.” Clint nodded and went to the kitchen.

Natasha sat in the same position, barely moving while he was gone. There had been so many men like Theo before that she couldn’t count them if her life depended on it. Human traffickers, drug peddlers, arms dealers, straight up fucking war criminals, why was he sticking so hard and why had he brought them all back into her head at once? And he hadn’t just brought up the men she had killed or put away. Fucking Christ Natalia, do it again. The Red Room. The instructor who had trained her to do the very thing she was supposed to do without any fear or anxiety was coming back years later, and her voice still sent waves of emotions so horrible Natasha didn’t have words in any language to describe them.

She was glad when Clint finally came back into the room with a glass of vodka in one hand and the entire bottle in the other. She took the bottle and shot back a few gulps before setting it on the nightstand.

“Bad dream” Clint asked.

“Bad life.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Both of them taking swigs from the bottle, the glass forgotten on the nightstand. She was starting to cool off, the sweat on the back of her neck feeling too cold against her skin. The shakes in her body had stopped, and she could breathe easily again. Despite all that, she was wide awake.

“How did you hear me?” she asked suddenly.

Clint passed the bottle back to her. “What?”

“You. How did you hear me?” she looked over to the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 2:36 in the morning. “I know you don’t sleep with your hearing aids in, especially not on non-violent missions like this. So how did you hear me?”

He turned his face away from he, unable to answer. He might not have been looking, but Natasha knew the body language, it was shame. But what for?

“I kept them in tonight.” he finally said, face still away. “You looked so rattled when you got back, thought that guy might have slipped you something, so I stayed awake as long as I could until I was certain you were asleep and no one would break the door down. I heard you screaming about thirty minutes after I fell asleep.” His words came slowly, like he kept debating if he should stop, or change his story, but he didn’t.

There it was, that concern that she didn’t need. She tensed again, preparing to be angry, but the feeling swelling in her chest wasn’t hot, it was a different kind of heat. Her entire body felt flush with embarrassment.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. We all have bad nights. Comes with the job. Just gotta hope they don’t turn into even worse days.” He got up from the bed. “You can keep the bottle.”

“Clint,”

But he was already to the bedroom door, closing it gently behind him. Natasha let out a sigh, took a few more swigs from the bottle, and went back to sleep. She left the light on, just in case she woke up again, but she didn’t.

When she awoke that morning, Clint was gone. She called him a couple times, but there was no answer. No note, nothing missing from the apartment, his bow and arrows still stashed in the closet by the front door. What she did notice though, was the news report on the tv when she switched it on as she sat down to eat breakfast.

Theo was missing, and so was her partner.

[vegetalass]

Animalia, or the Circle of Life

Sorry y’all i been writing this forever but i got distracted a lot lmfaoo

Based on the line “you’re an animal, steel. A dog.” and my idea of Sidestep’s “game.” I wish it was more violent / angry, but this is the only thing I could think of.

Basically you have a PHAT crush on steel and he knows but he doesnt care and decides to cut you out first. Snip snip i guess.

Villain name: Ophelia

Warning: Contains Fallen Hero: Retribution spoilers!

Huge shout-out to @m4rkab for beta reading and providing amazing feedback! As well as Capri and Sock in the discord chat for helping me brainstorm ideas! and to Grum, of course!

FH:R belongs to @fallenhero-rebirth

Steel/gn!Reader - 2663 words

_________________________

In a way, Steel has always looked slightly deformed to you.

For starters, his arms are a little bit too big for his waist, and his back stands just a little too taut, almost as if you could see the metal rods fused to the bones that hide beneath his skin. It’s never really been a problem, this aspect of him, especially since these are things you easily forget whenever you’re not in his vicinity. It’s only when you stare at his malformed figure in a sad kind of longing as you quietly join him in the Ranger’s HQ, that you realize that there’s always been something off about him that you can’t quite seem to place.

Maybe you’re just being harsh because he doesn’t really like you. Hell, maybe you’re harsh all the time. But when you gently skim his mind and accidentally get a feel for how uneasy he still is around you, it’s easy to begin thinking about all of the wasted effort you’ve put into getting to know him. He only has to snarl at you for you to remember that he is not your friend and never will be, which makes it easy to understand why there must be something else that is causing you to look at him like he’s an animal.

It’s unfair. The fact that Steel won’t be nice to you and you have never been allowed to be nice at all. You know that he doesn’t deserve to be judged as such, when he’s been trying to get to know you the way that one deserves to be known… But it’s hard when you can see right through his forehead, and understand that nothing will ever be enough.

The most dangerous animals are often the most beautiful, after all, and though his scars are a warning that do nothing to favor him, still, you can’t help but think what a handsome man he could’ve been had he not waged a war against you and the whole fucking world.

You wish you could’ve been real friends. More than friends.

Maybe you will be in the next life, after you finally kill him in this one.

You play a game — in your head, that is — where you pretend that everyone normal is actually hideous and that everyone hated is loved, and that here, in this game, you’re the only beautiful savior left who’s going to protect the Los Diablos citizens from evil.

Steel is there, in all his glory, and Ortega too, along with the rest of the Rangers, and it's here that you remain on opposing sides, but instead of helping they just hinder, and instead of having their victories broadcast on television, their mugshots hang from telephone poles all city-wide.

Even though you could’ve been a Ranger, you’ve decided that this vision is much more satisfying.

The fantasy continues with everyone you love turning out to be a Re-Gene and not a single person who turns away when they see blue skin or orange tattoos. You live your life in the open, proud of your scars and body, and become as revered as Ophelia as Ortega is as Charge or as Chen Wei is as Steel, deformities and all.  

The long-awaited celebration comes last, when you finally imagine how you save the day and how people cheer for you, this other you, the real you. And it’s when you see Steel there, begging for your forgiveness against all odds and factors, though you take your time, you also decide to forgive him, not for his sake, but for yourself and the people, to prove that kindness and love really can be a choice.

Because in this pretend place, Steel loves you.

This is always how the game ends, happily, as the real Steel would never choose kindness, and even at your friendliest, you don’t think you would, either.

There’s nothing in the world, you think, that could be better than this. It’s just... too bad it’s not real.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter now, and in fact, probably never will.

Because Steel is still cruel, and because you know that if he even thought of the connection between you and villainy that he would shoot you in the face on sight. And who would want a relationship with a man like that even on his best days?

Not you.

Well…. that’s a lie. But this whole “crush” thing is a recent development. You weren’t expecting to fall for him, not when he can barely look at you in return.

To say he even tolerates you would be a kindness. You talk, you laugh, and you smile, as though you’re normal people in a normal city, doing things that people in a normal relationship would do. Any human could be fooled by his nature, and part of you has been, too. But you’re not a human, and Steel is used to being on TV,  so both of you know when a hand that’s been extended isn’t really a hand at all. And despite the passing kindnesses that you have shared together, Steel still won’t let you in.

You know this, because when you bask in his mind’s image of you, you can see that part of him wants to. He’s just better at being reasonable, or you guess, as Ortega would say, “hurting himself.”

Because you do like Steel. You do. It’s just really complicated to explain, and you know that Steel wouldn’t ever feel like listening.

You can imagine the laugh Ortega would have at this problem already, and frankly, you can imagine having one, too. It would be a lot easier to be nice and kind to Steel if he was nice and kind to you. Because those are the rules, and even if you do have a weird thing for him, you have a much longer history that needs to be respected.

Which is funny, since you’re even at the HQ right now.

Steel shuffles, breaking your train of thought, and turns around, shoulders and then head, before noticing you hiding in the silence of the room you share.

Piss.

“Hi, Chen,” you nod, pretending that you hadn’t just been imagining all the different ways you could get him on his knees. That’s ironic.

“Sidestep,” he acknowledges, body still tilted sideways on the chair he’s been resting on, elbows on his knees.

“Can’t use my name?” you joke, trying to force a smile, at least to replicate the feeling of normality instead of the vicious aura of displacement that already surrounds you. It’s been enough just to have this ill-fated crush on him, you don’t want to reek of insecurity, as well.

He chuckles softly, chest expanding, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

He seems nervous, disrupted by your appearance, as if you caught him in a moment of vulnerability and hesitation. His face is tilted down, and despite the obvious recognition in his eyes, his back stays hunched. You’d be curious at his predicament, but you’re a telepath, and you don’t have to wonder for long.

At the the first burning touch to his mind, you can already see the person that’s reflected back at you, and it’s not hard to see why he’s acting so bothered.  

You might as well be a monster from the way your image distorts. Your face breaks into a mocking smile, with teeth like pointed needles, and as your body grows to a tower-like height and becomes layered with dark armor that is unmistakable in shape and form, you begin to reach out in all directions, as well.

You look terrifying yet familiar, but you recognize the feeling of Steel’s hesitation at the thought. You know this is one of the reasons why you think he is capable of being nice.

You break instantly from your trance at the sound of his voice, though he hasn’t moved an inch.

“This thing we have…” he trails off, waving his hand in the air. You stare at him, feeling like a deer caught in headlights from your resting place by the door.

The way he says your name makes you feel sick.

“I don’t want you coming to the HQ anymore.”

You continue to stare at him, silent at his confession despite the fact that you could have seen it coming.

That you should have seen it coming.

“You’re a variable that I cannot afford,” he voices, again dancing around any explanation or reason why, “and you can’t keep leading me on like this.”

In your game, this is the part where Steel says he’s just worried about you. If this were your game, you also know that Steel would say he’s sorry.

You know it’s naive to assume that he doesn’t suspect that you’re Ophelia, but you’re not sure what evidence he really has, and it makes you angry to think that you may have slipped.

But it’s hard to decide if it was intentional or not, and if this is the outcome, if it was worth it.

“Say something,” he demands, voice straining and suddenly angry, as he watches your eyes hover distractedly over his body but never focus. He rests his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes roughly with terrible metal knuckles.

“I’m...” you start, sucking in a sharp breath when you finally look at his face, “not leading you on.”

His reply is instant. “Then what are you doing?”

He glares at you from behind his hands, but you do not flinch as you’re unsure of what he’s expecting your answer to be.

You see the monster in his mind again, the one that’s a wrongful depiction of you, now shedding a stream of bloody tears. Suddenly, it becomes harder to watch through Steel’s eyes, as the You-Beast morphs from something hideous into the kind, little kid you were eight years ago, still stained in blood.

Oh, Chen! I just want to be a Ranger!

What a sick joke. A cruel one.  

Because that is not your answer, it never was, and now, you have nothing left to say to him, it being clear when your eyes slip to the floor in shock. Anger radiates from every inch of his person, and yet, you can’t find it in yourself to care the way you would’ve, even if you had just a week ago. You reach out for purchase against the slope of his thoughts, and see that his response is easy and his words are endless.

He narrows his eyes.

“I’m being kind. I’ve been more than kind. I just…” he rubs the bridge of his nose, and restarts the thought. “You know that I care for you.”

“You do?” It’s not checkmate, but it’s a start.

He hesitates. You’re a mind reader, after all.

Both of you remain quiet, standing in wait for a battle that is bound to happen. In some ways, you feel numb to his words, unfazed at his unkindness a part of you has always known him to be hiding. Yet, there is also a piece of you that forces your eyes to close in an attempt to concentrate just enough to stop yourself from lashing out. You don’t want to face the consequences of becoming angry at a man who is too pathetic to let you be happy in your spare time.

You peel your eyes open, and realize you have begun to cry.

“I don’t want to watch you drag your baggage around as if there is a way to mend what is broken.” His voice is stern, and suddenly you feel like a kid.

Your hands reach out, finding the closest thing to your body that fits in your hand and throwing it in his direction. He flinches, but the half-full bottle of Neon Rangerade misses his head by a good foot and a half and he stares at you with a blank expression.

“I’m not broken,” you croak, trying to defend what little reason you have left, “ Nothing is broken.”

The words feel heavy on your tongue, like the pills you could never swallow, but Steel ignores your disposition in his stupor. Normally, you’d attempt to reach a finger into his mind, but you know the only things that would be left there are his weird image of Ortega and about a thousand vile words.

“I don’t deserve being lied to,” he says blandly this time, distantly, while gazing far out the window at God knows what.

You don’t care to know what he’s thinking about anymore, or which incident it is that bleeds and stains in his mind. You have been good at keeping your mouth shut, but this conversation has been all the confirmation he needs. Silence can be a poison, and though you could easily find out what it is that Steel has been holding onto, what grief he carries in his heart, you can’t find it in yourself to press him any harder. He would know if you did, and you’re already crying.

He’s being cruel by doing this to you; forcing you to sew your lips shut even when all you wanted was him. People say that it’s the Re-Genes who lack any Humanity. Another fucking joke.  

“You’re an animal, Steel. You know that, right? A fucking dog.”

That’s ironic.

You wipe your wet cheeks. You shouldn’t be crying about a man you know never cared.

“Maybe,” he finishes, avoiding your eyes, “but that doesn’t mean shit coming from you.”

You watch as Steel stands up, finally broken from the paralysis you must’ve put him in. He glances once more at the white folder in his hands, and then at the leaking Rangerade you threw on the floor. He slowly puts down the files, and reaches for the bottle that is staining the carpet a bright orange. He’s always been a good boy.

You want to say you like that about him.

You can’t.

As he rests the bottle on the table, you notice Ortega’s face on the label that gazes up at the both of you in a trained and empty smile. You know it well, because part of you is empty, too.

“I’ll kill you, Steel.” you finally say, angry at both yourself and him for appearing so weak, so flushed red and angry. You turn to watch him as he pushes past you with heavy footsteps, and when he reaches the door to the long, sunny hallway that stretches out to the elevator, he doesn’t stop to look at you.

“I know.” His final words are cold, and it doesn’t take any telepathy to realize that he knows you aren’t lying.

Tomorrow you will be enemies again, and whatever your feelings were, they won’t matter now, because any kindness Steel had left for you died the moment you let yourself fall. The moment you realized it wasn’t a game anymore.

This is the animal kingdom, after all. It always has been, and the both of you are predators, waiting for the day when you can finally taste the sweetness that comes with being deadly.

It’s the circle of life.

You think about your game; about the fake Steel who begs on his knees for you and the boy he becomes when he kisses you despite your tattoos and scars. Despite being broken and animalistic.

You made him up in your head.

It makes you sad… Because it’s true that the real Steel hates you, and that if anyone else you loved knew you weren’t human, they would run for the hills, too. But most of all, it’s too bad that the people of Los Diablos don’t see you as their hero, and probably never will, because even if you pretend you don’t care, it would be really, really nice to feel loved.

Steel made you realize that.

And as you leave the HQ alone for the last time, a long time after Steel, you play the game over. This time, though, not forgiving anyone.

[softpeetabread]

University Life Part 7

This is +7k words long!! I’ve received a lot of feedback for the first few parts and I’m glad that you all are enjoying this seemingly out of control story. Thank you to everyone that has supported this, whether it’s by liking or reblogging. I hope that you all enjoy this new bit!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

**

The blurred image of rushing trees outside the window had entertained Katniss for a couple of minutes before she felt woozy. She thought she’d been used to watching trees and other types of greenery pass by as she and Peeta drove to school, but this new speed the train brought proved her wrong. She and Peeta were headed to the Capitol for their interview with Caesar Flickerman and she was certain this was also a contributor to her lightheadedness. She decided to focus on Peeta, who sat beside her sketching quietly. She welcomed the peaceful moment because her companion always had that look of concentration on his face as he undoubtedly immersed himself in the vision present in his mind. There seemed to be a world that only he could see and he presented it beautifully through his artwork.

They weren’t alone on their trip, though, much to Katniss’s chagrin. Amongst the phone calls they had received after the news that they had been in touch with Caesar, one of his colleagues had contacted them about being their escort and would help them with getting ready for the interview. Effie Trinket had gone on and on about how fabulous it would all be, and how this trip coincided with her return to the Capitol after spending some time in District 12 with her boyfriend, who she was bringing along. Katniss would have cared less about this woman’s personal affairs if it hadn’t involved her dear uncle Haymitch. He was such a recluse that she wondered how he talked to people, but it turned out he could be social if he wanted to, or if he was coaxed into those situations. Katniss wrinkled her nose when Effie said she and Haymitch were dating because there was no way her uncle—so curt, unruly, and insufferable—could charm someone as bubbly and enthusiastic as Effie. Yet there was little she could do to protest their company. Effie had a job to do and Haymitch did know a thing or two about the Capitol himself after going back and forth for his involvement with the military.  It’s funny how small the world truly was.

It's not that she was embarrassed of her uncle (although, she held a different opinion about his drinking problem), but he and Katniss had the tendency to argue and she could be quite aggressive with him when he pushed her buttons. It was the complete opposite with Peeta who made her feel relaxed. She hadn’t put those two sets of emotions together, at least not in a long time, so she worried about coming off as hostile to Peeta. For now, Haymitch and Effie had left them alone and she didn’t even want to wonder what those two were up to.

Surprisingly, Peeta and Haymitch got along, or at least they could hold a decent conversation unlike when Katniss talked to her uncle. His talent for speaking and using the correct words people wanted to hear always impressed her because it was just talking, but there was something about Peeta that made everything he said believable and soothing.

Katniss was curious to see what Peeta was sketching, but she thought against stealing a peek since she didn’t want to disrupt his concentration. Instead, she studied his face and noticed how long and blond his eyelashes were, casting shadows over his eyes as he blinked. She wondered how they didn’t tangle together or if he ever realized how thick they were.

There was a moment where he lost his focus and looked up to meet her eyes. How long had she been staring at him? Two minutes? Two hours? Regardless of the time, Katniss felt heat rush to her face as she turned away, fighting a smile.

“What were you looking at?” Peeta asked.

“Your eyelashes…I was wondering what they’ll look like with all the make-up they’ll put on you.” She could have been honest and told him how pretty she thought they looked, but she couldn’t let him know that. However, she wasn’t lying when she mentioned the make-up.

Effie had mentioned they would have a stylist and a prep team to get them ready, which meant having their hair and make-up done in addition to having wardrobe they would provide. Katniss thought it was a waste of time and money, but it was the Capitol and they wanted for everyone to be full of glitter and shine.

Peeta chuckled. “Hopefully, we’re able to keep our faces. Have you seen what they look like?”

Katniss laughed at his implication. “They do look ridiculous with so many alterations they get done.”

“I guess having make-up on would be relatively harmless and normal.” Peeta made a good point, but she wondered if they could object to anything they didn’t agree with or if they had to go with whatever their prep team proposed.

They heard a shift from the door and Effie came through with a folder in her hand. “Alright, children. Let’s work on your interview. I have a list of questions Caesar may ask you, though know he won’t make them all in one night. You have to be prepared to answer the ones he decides to give you, and he may even make some up on the spot.”

Katniss’s talents did not include public speaking. Just thinking about being in front of people made her nervous, and having cameras zoom in on her face set off a new kind of anxiety she didn’t recognize. Even if she tried to convince herself that it would be fine because she was doing this for Peeta, she couldn’t help feel her stomach curl and stir. Effie would be helping them work on their answers and give them a mock interview, but even with the practice, she was afraid she would mess up. She wondered how Peeta could do these kinds of things without feeling nervous. He was confident and sure of himself when addressing people, making him quite popular amongst different groups at their university.

She didn’t know what she expected from the set of questions Effie had, but at least they weren’t as difficult to answer as she had thought. They were more or less basic, asking where they came from and what they were studying; what plans they have for the future; what they do on their spare time; how Peeta developed his talent and how he found inspiration for his fiery piece. Perhaps it was because they were students and not celebrities, but if they were going to get asked those sorts of things, then she didn’t feel she should worry so much about what to answer. They spent around three hours working on them, though, and Effie gave them advice on how to answer, which gave Katniss the impression that she and Peeta had to be extremely polite and mind their manners. It was all about manners with her.

That led to their escort evaluating the way they walked and moved, too. Effie sent Peeta to Haymitch so she and Katniss could work on her etiquette, and even though it pained Katniss to watch him leave them alone, at least he wouldn’t see how humiliating this type of training was. There were a lot of things Katniss couldn’t predict, but she was sure that this whole ordeal was made so she wouldn’t have the slightest ounce of peace of mind. It would have helped if Effie hadn’t been such a drama queen about every little thing they did, but Katniss tried to keep her cool, taking deep breaths and thinking about other things besides walking out of the room or ripping Effie’s papers in half to shut her up. She was not only here to help Peeta, but she was also Haymitch’s girlfriend and the last thing Katniss needed was to upset her.

“You must walk like a lady, Katniss,” Effie said for the third time after Katniss walked from one end of the train cart to the other.

“Will they even notice if I miss a couple of steps?” Katniss asked with slight irritation in her voice.

“Of course they will. They will notice every two steps, every step, every half-step. Your posture, your strut. It’s all important.”

Katniss did her best to walk the way Effie instructed and once she was satisfied, she had her practice with a pair of heels. They were too tall, too thin, and they pinched her toes, so Katniss had a difficult time adjusting to them and relied on holding on to one of the seats. She wondered if there was any way she could use her own shoes, but she doubted that would be negotiable. Effie took her hand and helped steady her, and Katniss was able to practice for a couple of rounds before she walked on her own with the monstrous heels.

“Does Peeta have to worry about any of this?” Katniss asked.

“That’s why I shooed him away. Haymitch is helping him,” Effie said as she looked over Katniss. “Pick up your chin and square your shoulders; you’re slumping.”

Katniss was not about to hear her say these things more than once so she tried learning quickly. She had to give her credit, though, for taking her job seriously.

“Why my uncle though?”

Effie gave her a mischievous smile. “Well, I have to put him to use, too. We can’t have him just drinking up the whole bar without earning it first.” She gave Katniss another look and bit her lip. “Hm, maybe if I put a book on your head, that would help you…”

With a forced smile on her lips, Katniss stood as straight as she could, sticking out her chest to prove she was doing everything Effie said. “Do we really need to use a book, Effie? I’m learning a lot from your instructions.”

“I’m not entirely pleased with this,” Effie pouted. “We’ll reach the Capitol by tomorrow so we can pick up on this again in the hotel. And work on the way you answer questions.”

The dismissal turned Katniss’s forced smile into a genuine grin. Maybe if she hurried, she’d still catch Peeta with her uncle.

Her prediction about Haymitch being at the bar was correct, but Peeta wasn’t with him, which disappointed her. She was about to walk back when her uncle called her to join him for a drink.

“You know I’m not old enough to drink,” she said.

“Then get some lemonade or something,” Haymitch responded, as if it were the logical thing to do.

“Where’s Peeta?”

“Said he’d go to his room. I have a vague feeling he went looking for you, though.”

If there was anything Katniss would order, it’d be another drink for her uncle so he’d leave her alone to find Peeta. However, he was in a rather talkative mood, which meant he was tipsy enough to be conscious and sober yet also enough to lose some of his inhibitions. She sat down on a stool next to him to humor him.

“How’d you manage to land that one?” Haymitch asked before taking a sip from his drink.

Katniss looked at him with confusion, not understanding what he really meant.

Her uncle rolled his eyes before speaking again. “You won’t even talk to a wall, much less people. Yet your friend is someone like him. He talks a lot.”

“Perhaps it was my sunny personality,” she answered sarcastically.

Haymitch snorted and shook his head. “Or you threatened to kill him.”

Katniss glared at him, feeling the annoyance build up in her body. “Let’s say I did. What did you do to convince Effie? Threatened to throw her off a bridge? Cut off her hair?”

“You’d be amazed what I can do while sober,” he said, though he didn’t sound very mocking about it.

After a moment, Katniss sighed and decided to keep some peace since Peeta was on her mind. “We’re childhood classmates. Started talking to one another a few months ago, though. Been friends since.” She took Haymitch’s glass and set it beside her—just enough to keep Haymitch from reaching—deciding to test out just how skilled he was without his liquor. “Your turn.”

Haymitch huffed out a breath through his nose in attempts to relax. “She’s a reporter in charge of District 12 and then transfers the news to the Capitol. There’s been special editions for veterans and we talked. Took her out on a few dates. Now, we’re here.”

“I took you for a hermit,” Katniss chuckled.

“Who says I’m not? Just because I go out in public doesn’t mean I don’t want to go back to my house,” Haymitch said with a scowl. “I took you for a misanthrope.”

“Well, you’re not too far off. I make exceptions, though.”

“Like the boy?” Haymitch asked, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

Katniss took a deep breath as she tried to keep her irritation at bay. What was he getting at? “Yeah, like him.”

“I don’t know how you did it, though. You have the charm of a squirrel that’s been run over,” Haymitch snorted.

“Probably learnt from you since we’re related,” Katniss bit back. There was enough venom in her words to paralyze a person, but she knew Haymitch couldn’t be fazed by them. In part, it was true that she learnt from him to toughen up and have thick skin. His words didn’t usually hurt her and she noticed hers didn’t either. Maybe this was why she didn’t like making friends.

“How’s the interview prep going?” Haymitch tried reaching for his glass, but Katniss pushed it farther away.

“I’m putting my charm to use,” Katniss deadpanned.

Haymitch got up and took a bottle from the other side of the counter. The bartender had gone off and left him, which was a mistake really. “Too bad because in the Capitol, you have to make people like you. With your attitude, you’re not off to a real good start, sweetheart. And if you want for the interview to go well for Peeta, you’re going to have to try a lot harder to not come off as roadkill.”

Now that wasn’t fair! Katniss knew this wasn’t her forte, but it’s not like she wasn’t trying, either.

“Then give me some suggestions.”

Haymitch managed to open the bottle—it was one of those kinds where the aluminum is the only barrier between the liquor and its seeker—and took a swig from it. “Since you can’t borrow charisma from your friend and I can’t give you mine, then find an angle you can use. You’re a young college student. You’re a painter’s muse. Work with it.”

How could she ‘work with’ two details? Effie had said the interview would last anywhere from five to ten minutes, depending on how it progressed and how long Caesar talked, and that terrified Katniss. She gave Haymitch his glass back before hopping off her stool and going to search for Peeta. She found him in his room, looking over the paintings he had brought with him from his apartment. He kept Caesar’s painting in a different room since it was a lot bigger than the rest, which kept prying eyes away from it, including Katniss’s. Peeta wasn’t allowing her to see the final piece, even though she posed for him.

The challenge to make a new painting for Peeta’s commissioner was difficult because he let Peeta decide on what would go on the canvas. After a few days of thinking, Katniss had gotten an idea when the archery shooting range opened up at the gym. Maybe it wasn’t something Peeta would consider, but she would feel the utmost comfortable in her natural habitat. She was glad when Peeta agreed to the idea and decided this time to take pictures of her rather than relying on memory. Katniss knew he would be painting her with a bow and arrow, but the rest of the piece was hard for her to put together. He could do anything, really.

The paintings she could see, however, were in Peeta’s room, carefully stacked against each other, separated by a delicate material provided by the Capitol. He had mentioned to Caesar about his other works and the talk show host was more than happy to have him bring them along. He had friends that showed interest ever since he talked about Peeta and his art. It made Katniss smile knowing that people were supporting Peeta. She had never seen something like this happen, but she was glad to witness it.

“You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with Effie,” she sighed as she took a seat on Peeta’s bed.

“Brutal etiquette classes?” Peeta asked.

“Who knew coordination involved having to think about how you walked?” Katniss took one of the pillows and hugged it. It wasn’t as warm as Peeta, but she’d make do for now.

“I can switch with you, if you want. Your uncle seems to know what he’s doing,” Peeta offered.

Katniss gave him a skeptical look. “Thanks. I just talked to him, though. Gave me a proper pep talk.”

“What’d he say?”

She told him about Haymitch’s advice and what he thought about her and Peeta listened intently. As much as she tried to steer clear of any complaints, her tone gave away that she was evidently bothered by her being in front of a camera.

“I’m not very good at talking to people,” she said with a defeated sigh.

Peeta sat beside her, not being able to hold back a smile. “You’re good at talking to me, though.”

“Yeah, but you’re different.”

“How am I different?”

Katniss tried to think of something that set Peeta apart from everyone else, but she wasn’t sure if she could convey it with just words. All this time, he had been worried about not being able to do her justice when she was the one that struggled to do that very thing now. “Well, you’re…you.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “That’s very insightful, Katniss.”

She couldn’t help chuckle at his sarcasm. “You know what I mean!”

“I do and that’s why we’re friends!” As he spoke, he took the tip of her braid and flung it over her back playfully. He seemed to recognize something then. “What if we do that? Play off each other’s banter?”

Katniss tried chewing the idea. “How, though? We’d be talking to Caesar.”

“Yes, but we could also fill in things for one another.”

She tossed him the pillow she had clung to. “That’s not banter, Peeta!”

He set the pillow aside and took her hands in his. “Follow me with this. Whenever you and I talk about the same thing, you light up at some point. I’ve noticed this today, actually. Your uncle gave us a weird look when you started to laugh about something.”

“Did he mention it when he was helping you?” Katniss asked with an arched eyebrow.

“He asked me if you were sick and mentioned you never laugh unless you have a fever,” Peeta chuckled.

“To be fair…he’s right.”

“Then, worst case scenario: we induce a fever for you so you can be giggly with Caesar,” Peeta shrugged, as if doing such a thing could be that easy.

Katniss knew that wouldn’t be necessary. She more or less understood what Peeta said and tried to relax about the subject.  

The following morning brought her some more comfort as she and Peeta did what he suggested, in addition to her using Haymitch’s advice. After practicing their interview several times with Effie, she brought in Haymitch to rehearse with them and Katniss tried her best not to be sarcastic while answering him, but there was only so much she could take and realized Caesar could not be as intolerable as her uncle.

**

Arriving at the Capitol gave her different types of shock, not just the typical one with anxiety. From what she could see through the train’s windows, there were people waiting outside dressed in all sorts of colorful clothing. They were all ridiculous and exaggerated, and after seeing Effie with her voluminous wig and hat, she looked relatively normal, professional even, with her blazer and pencil skirt.

The culture shock set in when she and Peeta stepped off the train and took in the new world they’d been exposed to. District 12 was calm and peaceful with an abundance of nature trails and the woods to provide a tranquil environment. The Capitol, on the other hand, was flashy, full of lights, skyscrapers, billboards, and pollution. It was surprising to see so much artificial color in the sky that Katniss wondered where the energy even came from to power everything. She and Peeta were stunned and looked up to observe the buildings surrounding them. She could see faces of actors and models on advertisements, and a giant screen with Caesar’s face on it promoting his show.

There was a flash of a camera at first to the right of Katniss’s line of sight, followed by a dozen more and at some point, she had to keep her eyes closed in order to regain her focus. There were screams coming from the people that had gathered around the train station, and then it clicked for Katniss that the people weren’t waiting to board the train they had come in, but rather they were waiting to see them and they somehow knew their names because they were screaming them out. It was worse than her classmates back in the university, but at least she had Peeta to guide her away from these people. Effie prompted them to follow her and Katniss hadn’t even noticed she had latched onto Peeta’s hand until he gave hers a squeeze so she could walk with him. She didn’t let him go until they were boarded onto a large white vehicle, but even then, she sat beside him and they were both able to see through the window the eccentricity of the Capitol. Katniss didn’t envy them one bit; she was not a fan of so much light or ostentation. She wondered if Peeta thought differently since he was more open to new environments.

The hotel in which they would be staying was a tall building with countless stories, and Katniss wondered if it had an end to it. The staff wasn’t as colorful as the pedestrians on the outside world, and instead they looked serious and a bit emotionless. For one thing, she was glad about that because she didn’t think she could tolerate the freak show with the abrasive color schemes that were a sight for sore eyes. Once checked in, they were brought up to their room, which was a large suite with three rooms, a living room, a dining room, a kitchen, and a balcony. This could be a house back in her district for all she knew. Because Caesar had invited them, he would be paying for the expenses, even if Peeta had protested against it. It was strange to Katniss how someone could go out of their way to accommodate them when they hardly knew each other, but something good was happening to Peeta so she would take it for all it was worth.  

They still had a couple of hours before their prep teams arrived, so Effie drilled Katniss and Peeta again about their etiquette and answers they would give to Caesar. After covering the same things multiple times, Katniss started to feel confident, but she still didn’t think she could be as self-assured as Peeta.

If Katniss had thought Effie was odd, their prep teams proved that there could be higher levels of strangeness plus more. She had never met someone who could gush and talk so quickly and excitedly as the six people that walked in, speaking to Effie about this and that and things Katniss didn’t understand or care about. It hadn’t been five minutes since the teams’ arrival and she was already getting a headache. Effie introduced Peeta and her to their prep teams and they praised Peeta for his work of art that had, apparently, gotten the Capitol in such a frenzy to know who this talented artist was and why Caesar Flickerman, of all people, was so interested in him and his muse. They looked at Katniss and touched her hair, face, arms, and other places she couldn’t even keep track of due to the commotion these people were making about how exotic and different and beautiful she was. She had thought there was nothing appealing about her; she didn’t know how to be sexy or charming or even coquettish, so there was no point in pondering over how attractive she could be. With so many voices saying she was pretty, gorgeous, stunning, she believed it less. Compliments were supposed to be a one-time thing, weren’t they? The short compliment battles she and Peeta had were different. They were aggressive and competitive and they said the comments in a sort of defying manner, being more of a battle than a compliment. Whoever blushed or laughed first lost and Katniss almost always won. Those were fun because Peeta and her knew how that game worked. Even if they did play it like a game, Katniss usually disguised her comments with actual compliments she was too shy to give Peeta on a normal occasion. The somewhat empty compliments she received from the prep teams weren’t part of the little game they played, though, so she couldn’t take them very seriously.

Being separated from Peeta and brought into different rooms made her feel uneasy, but they couldn’t be kept together. Their procedures weren’t the same and the prep teams had to focus on their assigned person. Katniss suspected this was also to keep them from getting distracted so they could do their jobs properly. Surely, she wouldn’t need so many people getting her ready, but Katniss was proven wrong when her team got to work on different tasks. One prepared a tub full of lotions and creams and other perfumed concoctions while the other two rid her of her body hair. It was painful and a bit invasive, but Katniss couldn’t really object. When it came time to get her into the tub, she felt nervous about being nude in front of her team, but they wasted no time in removing her robe and leaving her naked momentarily before receiving help to soak into the tub. At first, the flurry of flowery-smelling chemicals stung her tender skin, but afterwards, she felt the soothing sensation they were supposed to have on her.

As the three worked—Flavius, Venia, and Octavia—they all talked to one another, occasionally asking Katniss questions before getting back to their conversation. They were excited because they would get to be backstage in Caesar’s studio while Katniss and Peeta had their interview with him, and they would be able to go to parties and more events with more celebrities, and how exciting all that would be. Was Peeta suffering the same way she was or was he tolerating it better?

“What’s it like to be a painter’s muse?” Octavia asked Katniss as she worked on her nails. She had made a face when she saw how short Katniss’s nails were and mentioned she didn’t have much to work with so she made it her mission to give her long, beautiful nails even if they would be fake.

“I’m sure it must feel flattering!” Venia answered for her. “Does he ask you to pose for him for other types of artwork?” She applied a type of foundation that felt cool against Katniss’s face.

Katniss thought of the question as just curiosity, but Venia’s tone was a bit implicative of something she couldn’t figure out and then she became more confused when Flavius and Octavia slapped Venia’s arm playfully, telling her that was a private question. The giggle fit that followed added to Katniss’s confusion.  

Given the fact she’d only posed for Peeta once, it wasn’t much of a fantastic experience the way they were all expecting, but at least he let her decide where she wanted to pose. It sounded so simple, though, and these people were so excited. Would it crush them if she gave them the honest truth, or would it satisfy them if she gave a vague yet inflated answer? These people didn’t know Katniss and Peeta. The less they knew, the better for them.

“Well, Peeta makes it a priority to make me feel very comfortable is all I can say,” she shrugged, which wasn’t far from the truth if she thought about it.

That was enough of an answer for them and they continued on with another topic Katniss didn’t bother following. It was difficult to zone out, but she found a way to distract herself by looking at the room she was staying in. She had been guided to sit on a cushioned chair near the window so the illumination of the light coming from it lit up the room splendidly. The colorful lights that came through it were muted enough to not bother Katniss.

It felt like hours had gone by because she was feeling restless and irritated, but once her prep team stepped back to admire their work, she was allowed to stand so she could look at herself. If she complained that they were obnoxious, they made up for that with their ability to transform a person into an ethereal creature because that’s what they did with her. Her hair was adorned into an intricate bun woven with braids; her face was made up with a soft and sweet palette of orange, red, and pink eye shadow and powder, but the false eyelashes gave her eyes more volume and even made them look bigger; and despite the false nails, they looked delicate and elegant with the red nail polish and studded crystals over them. She had never had this type of treatment before. She not only looked otherworldly, but she even looked pretty. Perhaps that was the Capitol effect.  

She had been told her stylist, Cinna, would be bringing her dress and other accessories, and she was about to ask for him when a knock on the door answered her thoughts. It opened when her prep team gave the okay to enter and a dark-haired man with gold eyeliner walked in, a dress bag slung over his left shoulder and a large rectangular chest held by his right arm. He set his things down and introduced himself to Katniss before dismissing the excited prep team.

“You two have been making quite a commotion,” he said with a smile.

“Really, it’s all Peeta’s talent. I just so happen to be in the painting,” she answered.

“He must have had a good reason to pick you. Artists take inspiration from the world around them,” Cinna pointed out. He tugged on Katniss’s bun and she felt what must have been a bobby pin slip through her hair.

“He’s a creative person. I don’t think there is anything he can’t put on a canvas.”

Cinna opened the chest he brought and took out five boxes of different sizes before placing them on the chair. He handed one of the smaller boxes to Katniss before speaking.

“Not everyone chooses to play with fire, though. Have you wondered why he decided to have you surrounded by it?”

Katniss wasn’t sure what to expect when she opened the box, but underwear certainly wasn’t it. Of course, the Capitol had thought of everything to provide for her, and surely, Peeta was receiving the same type of treatment. She wondered if he also received a similar box. Would they know he preferred boxers over briefs? The only reason she knew that was because they had gone grocery shopping together so often that in one of their trips, he mentioned he wanted to buy a new pack and she’d accompanied him. Somehow, it hadn’t been discomforting to see the pictures of men’s groins on the labels of the plastic bags and she hadn’t thought of anything in particular when she was with Peeta, even giving her own opinion about what to get. The reverse hadn’t happened, where he’d accompany her to buy her own underwear. She knew she shouldn’t feel self-conscious, but having Peeta know she wore panties didn’t sit too well with her. He probably didn’t care, but she wasn’t ready for that type of experience just yet. It felt a bit ridiculous since she knew what type of underwear he wore and he hadn’t even so much as blushed when she found out.

“No…I assumed he pictured something in his mind and just went for it,” Katniss answered when she was able to find her voice again.

While she changed into her undergarments in the bathroom, Cinna took care of opening the rest of the boxes and taking out their contents, arranging her shoes beside the chair’s leg, and the jewelry she would be wearing on the desk top. He’d taken the dress out of its bag and unzipped it, ready to help slip it on Katniss when she walked out. All the while, they had continued their conversation and she found it so easy to talk to him, almost as easy as it was to talk to Peeta. Katniss felt like she could trust him. Maybe it was his unassuming attitude or his genuine smile, but she didn’t feel like she had to force herself to speak to him.

“I don’t think we should let that inspiration go to waste,” Cinna said as he zipped up her dress. “Hopefully, he doesn’t mind if I borrowed his idea.”

Katniss gave him a curious look. “Will the dress light up?”

“Only if you spin around. Caesar makes a point of asking his female guests to twirl for him. This will definitely make an impression.”

There was a sense of danger coming from the dress and Katniss felt rude for wanting to remove the beautiful red gown she had on. “Is it real fire?”

“No, it’s synthetic. It’ll look real, but that’s the point. It’ll match Peeta’s art with you being on fire.” Cinna’s words were reassuring and helped calm Katniss down, if only for a moment.

With the accessories in place, Katniss could see the sparkle of the earrings and the necklace when light bounced off the jewels while her bracelets looked like delicate flames surrounding her wrists. He helped her with her shoes, which were not as tall as the pair Effie had lent her to practice with on the train, and her look was complete. Despite this, she began to feel anxious, as if she hadn’t prepared enough. The time for the interview was approaching fast and the fact that she was ready to go didn’t make it any easier to process.

“I’m nervous,” she said as Cinna smoothened out her dress.

“Have you ever been interviewed before?” he asked.

“Not on live television. I don’t feel as confident as Peeta does. We’ve talked about what to do in case I freeze, but I don’t feel like it’s enough.”

Cinna pursed his lips in thought. “Why not keep your focus on something else? The cameras can be distracting, but if you look at someone else in the crowd, that would certainly help you.”

Katniss looked at him and thought of something. “Will you be in the crowd?”

With a smile, he nodded and caught on to her idea. “You can find me and pretend you’re talking to me. Pretend you’re answering my questions.”

“Hopefully, it’ll be that easy.”

“Is there anything you and Peeta do that helps comfort you?”

Katniss thought about it for a moment before remembering how she had held on to him as they left the train station. “I usually hold his hand and that helps me.”

Cinna placed individual orange and red crystals on Katniss’s arms and cheek. “Okay, so you have two options to choose from. Focus on either Peeta or me. Caesar won’t let you flounder around, either. Trust me, you’ll be fine and you’ll even enjoy yourself.”

Katniss wanted to believe him. If what he said was true and she could put her focus on these two people, then she was sure the interview would turn out fine. She would have Peeta by her side and he wouldn’t let her choke. Cinna would be in the crowd, surely cheering for her and giving her reassuring looks. Somehow, the pressure to perform well was slowly fading. She would have fun with it.

When she walked out of the room with Cinna, the others were already in the living room waiting for her. Katniss recognized the back of Peeta’s head—he was the only blond in the room—but he looked transformed. He wore a striking black suit with a red tie and cuffs, and his hair was combed back, looking shiny and flawless. They had joked about him getting made-up, but Katniss didn’t see anything on his face other than a bit of powder, which was probably customary for people who appeared on television to wear anyway. She wondered if he, too, would be lit on fire if he spun or did something with his sleeves.

“Look at you, Girl on Fire,” he said as he approached her.

She raised an eyebrow at him, although what she felt was amusement instead of annoyance at his teasing. “We need to give you a nickname, too.”

“I thought it was ‘The Artist’.”

“No, it needs to be a mouthful like mine.”

“Think about it on the drive over to the studio. We have to go already,” Haymitch interrupted.

“Why don’t you stay behind, uncle Haymitch? There’s a bar here,” Katniss suggested, hoping he’d listen to her, but knowing he wouldn’t.

“And pass up the refreshments over at the studio? That’s a trip I have to make, sweetheart.”

Katniss rolled her eyes at him, but the irritation was short-lived. Effie had a planner in her hand and she was marking something off her list before telling everyone that they needed to make their way down in order to head to the studio. A jumpy sensation settled in Katniss’s stomach, but Peeta offered her his arm and she slipped hers under his willingly. Their stylists and prep teams would be accompanying them for any last-minute adjustments, but at least they weren’t going in the same car as Peeta and her. She didn’t think she could handle listening to them talk about nonsense for another minute.

Even with the late afternoon sun, the city looked different from the time they arrived earlier in the morning. It was a sort of transition stage before the night life arrived and Katniss could only imagine what it was like. The arrival to Caesar’s studio had the same reception as the one she and Peeta received at the train station, only this time there were far more people and they were being held back by a thin transparent wall and security guards that were three steps from one another, all lined up. They couldn’t all be here to see them, could they? They weren’t even that well-known and it felt odd that they would be screaming for them. The Capitol must really be fond of artists if there was so much of a commotion already. All Katniss could really do was hold on to Peeta as they were led inside by Effie, who was all too familiar with the procedures.

They were given a printed schedule that she went over with them, which wasn’t much really. Caesar would introduce them, they would have their interview, Peeta would present his painting to Caesar, and then there would be some kind of challenge towards the end. If she had known that they were going to compete in something, she would have brought comfortable shoes with her. Sarcastic remarks aside, she really did wonder what Caesar would have them do. She and Peeta had watched a few episodes of his show to get an idea of what they were walking into, and it made sense that there would be some kind of challenge because Caesar would come up with some strange activities for his guests. Most of it was improvisation, so she wondered what would be set up for them.

The talk show host approached them a few minutes later when he spotted them and he seemed ecstatic at their presence. Compliments were thrown, small talk was made, and the tense atmosphere Katniss had sensed broke when she got familiar with Caesar and his mannerism in the short amount of time they spoke. He explained how the show worked, where they would enter from the stage and where they would take a seat near his desk, and they would have a fabulous time, he was sure of it! He reminded them to wave to the crowd and smile before he left to get ready. A small, electronic box was attached to Peeta’s and Katniss’s hips and microphones were hooked onto the collars of their attire so they could talk through them. Touch-ups for make-up were done by their prep teams. Cheers and encouraging comments were given, though Katniss found it weird that someone would tell them to break a leg. She spotted Cinna and Portia, Peeta’s stylist, sitting in the same row together, and she felt better at the reassurance that not only was someone she knew in the crowd, but Peeta was with her. The smile on his face was the sole reminder that she had come here for him and she wouldn’t have wanted for this to happen any other way. His energy seemed to cross over to her body and the electrifying feeling of adrenaline rushed through her, as if Peeta had given her his good vibes. Of course, they were going into this as one.

The loud, jazzy tune played that signaled the show had begun and Caesar took his place as he began his opening monologue, welcoming the crowd and giving them a brief summary of what the show would contain. There was static that briefly came from Katniss’s microphone and Caesar introduced Peeta and her as his guests. The crew from back stage gave them their cue and Katniss slipped her hand into Peeta’s, holding onto him tightly before walking onto the stage and being met with the rumbling cheers of the crowd that awaited them.

**

Did you think I was going to pass up the opportunity to include the District 12 Team? By team, I don’t just mean Effie and Haymitch, but the whole styling pack. I, personally, love Hayffie, so I had to add that to this story as well. Did you also think I was going to let K and P go alone to the Capitol? ;)

I picture Caesar to be like a combination of Graham Norton, David Letterman, Jimmy Kimmel, Jimmy Fallon, and Conan O’Brien. (I watch them sometimes lol.)

I imagine the Capitol to be a mix of New York City, Las Vegas, Hollywood, and Seattle. My brother has gone and he mentioned that people dress rather eccentrically, so while writing this, I pictured them. The Capitol also gives me that casino vibe of LV, the ‘Big City’ vibe from NYC, and the star-studded atmosphere of Hollywood. I’m from a small town in southern Texas and I’ve gone to big cities like Dallas, San Antonio, and Austin. The culture shock wasn’t as great for Dallas and San Antonio, but for Austin, I was quite appalled. I’m open to liberal settings, but I was hit in the face with Austin. So I definitely feel for Katniss and Peeta since they’re from a small town and then they come to the Capitol, which is probably huge and full of lights and they’re probably bugging their eyes out.

Also, Idk about y’all, but I don’t think finding out what type of underwear your friends use is weird. I’ve gone with my best guy friend grocery shopping and he needed new underwear so I browsed with him and gave him some of my opinions. Given that I’m gay, I should have been repelled by all the pictures of guys’ concealed dicks, but it was pretty funny to be there. He’s never gone with me to Victoria’s Secret, but he knows what I wear and I’m fine with that. Katniss isn’t me, though, and I know she’s not the most open to sharing about her body and all that, but I think if she knew what Peeta wore, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Maybe someday, he’ll find out what she wears. ;) As for the compliment battle, if you haven’t seen a video of that from celebrities on youtube, you haven’t lived. The cast of Love, Simon did one and it was great. Usually, the battles I have with friends aren’t written tweets; we just say things like “You’re cute.” “Your FACE is cute.” “Hey, BITCH, I love YOU.” Stupid shit like that in a very aggressive tone. P and K wouldn’t swear at each other, I can’t picture either of them calling each other bitch, but maybe little shit sometimes. I have been listening to the comments about hotel shenanigans and believe me, I will get to that! We just have to get through the next part, which is their interview. I will try to update next weekend. School is starting this Monday and I’m also moving into my apartment so I have a busy weekend. Fingers crossed that I can get to writing something during some of my free time. Let me know what you think!

[homestuckexamination]

Homestuck: Execution of a Masterpiece - Part 1 - What’s in a Game?

Whenever people ask a Homestuck fan what Homestuck is all about, or why they should read it, the vast majority of people expects a roundabout response. It’s weird and complicated, some say. You have to read it to understand it. There’s this notion that Homestuck is an inscrutable work that requires hours upon hours to get any enjoyment out of it, and this school of thought is only reinforced by Homestuck’s slow beginning. People love Homestuck, but while the first Acts serve as a great introduction to the Setting, people tend to remember and get excited by things happening later on. Where are the Trolls? Some say, already knowing the existence of these characters. Is this the right Webcomic? Was another typical question tossed around before the Viz Media redesign removed any shred of doubt regarding the comic. A lot of people outside of the Fandom hesitate to get into it, whether it be the Length, stories they may have heard about the Fans, or thinking it’s all Nonsense.

And yet, whatever it is you personally believe about Homestuck, its notoriety on the Internet speaks of there being... Something more to it. Something interesting enough to keep over a Million users checking the website daily at its height. Something interesting enough to Crash Newgrounds and partially Megaupload, Youtube, and other services with a single major update. You may not know what that is, specially with the paradoxically self-deprecating attitude a lot of the people in the Fandom have taken. With the Hiatuses and the Ending, a lot of people have left Homestuck behind, and yet you may still see people occasionally mentioning missing it, following certain Livebloggers of the comic, or creating/reblogging Fanart. Even those who didn’t enjoy the ending, as things have settled down, still remember the story fondly, and while going through a bit of a hiccup currently, Hiveswap has sparked interest in the story anew.

So the question is, of course. What makes Homestuck good? Why did it captivate so many people if it really is cryptic and confusing? Or was it just a passing fad? Is there any actual veracity to these claims? Today, I am going to explain what’s captivating about this Webcomic, and then go through the entirety of the story showcasing turning points for the narrative and how they are executed in this Modern Shakespearean Odyssey. Be warned, there will be Spoilers, but I will try to confine them to the second half of this post.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

So let’s preface this addressing the big elephant in the room. 

What IS Homestuck?

Even fans of the Webcomic may not be able to tell you specially well what it actually IS. It’s a Webcomic... But it’s not in a Comic Format, it’s more like a Choose your Own Adventure Game... But you don’t actually Choose anything... It’s been likened to Ulysses, as well as a Shakespearean Play. It’s been talked about as a Creation Myth by the author, as well as just ‘A Webcomic about Friends who Play a Game’, and a Webcomic about a Game in general.

Add to this the length and narrative shifts that occur through the story, and the ever-growing complexity of the narrative spanning through the entirety of the comic, and you have a metatextual behemoth the likes the Internet had never seen before. Perhaps bits and pieces of it, but not all together, and definitely not to such an extensive degree. But it really is not as difficult to understand as it may seem. All you need to do, is assess the Author’s prior works, and his intent with with his work, as well as Homestuck.

Before Homestuck.com was a thing, the website hosting Homestuck was Mspaintadventures. You can still read his old adventures, obviously, but back in the day Homestuck wasn’t specifically the focus- Rather, it was just the latest in a series of experimental stories Hussie had been working on. Going even further back in time, before MSPA was a thing, Hussie also worked on other things. ‘And It Don’t Stop’, and ‘Whistles the Midnight Calliope’ are stories Hussie created and illustrated, ‘Complacency of the Learned’ was a dropped project of his, and even further back he was part of a comic series at Team Special Olympics... Which. Was as awful as it sounds. And yet it’s thanks to these rather awful beginnings that we can begin assessing Homestuck in a clearer light.

The biggest key to being funny is to not be a dumbass. Really stupid people have a hard time being funny (intentionally). The smarter you are, the better the odds you have of being funny. Note that sometimes you run into really smart people who aren't funny, or lack a sense of humor. But note, this is VERY STRONG evidence that they are not nearly as smart as they appear to be! In my view at least.

When I equate humor as a product of intelligence, I mean it is primarily a product of awareness. The more you are aware of, and the more insight you have into a myriad of things, the more you will be able to successfully illuminate absurdity, and the more clever ways to accomplish this you will be able to conceive of. Awareness lends itself to an agile imagination. This is why stupidity is such comedic poison. Awareness of the world and that from which you draw your satirical muse is deadened by the mind-blunting forces that are associated with stupidity. These forces primarily are a lack of concentration and dedication, and inalertness to all that surrounds you and all content you are exposed to. As well as being quick to judge and label whatever does manage to get through the pinhole. Those are brain killers and comedy killers. They lead to hackneyed work at best, and incredibly awful, prejudicial, bigoted stuff at worst.

Now I don't mean to say I'm a real smart guy and that's why I'm funny, or EVEN VICE VERSA. I'm just pointing out that, in thinking back, becoming less obtuse and deepening my understanding of as much as possible was a turning point in beginning to understand what is and isn't funny. 

I just try to make sure every page has some purpose, whether it's just funny or amusing, or advances the story in some way. The most important page is always the one I'm working on. I never put out pages just to take up space or kill time.

I think if a story manages to be a succession of meaningful, entertaining events, then that fluidity happens automatically.

I am making the kind of thing I would want to read. I am making the kind of thing I wish existed, but doesn't. Yet.

I write it because I enjoy it and assume everyone else will take pity on those who don't.

Back when MSPA first launched, the featured story was Jailbreak. A simplistic CYOA story about a dude trying to escape a prison, that allowed readers to submit commands. Once Jailbreak was finished, Hussie began Bard Quest, which followed up on Jailbreak’s spirit, but with multiple branching options. This proved to be too much for Hussie to keep track of, sadly, and ended up dropping the story. Then we move on to Problem Sleuth, a story that spanned the entirety of a Year, about Hard Boiled Detectives. In a similar way to Jailbreak, Hussie allowed people to submit commands and started to showcase more of his style and special brand of humor. Towards the end of Problem Sleuth however, Hussie knew how he wanted to end the story, and began to cherry pick the commands and even make them up entirely so that he could give the story the ending he wanted.

And this brings us to Homestuck, after Problem Sleuth was finished. Homestuck’s development is, in a way, an antithesis of Problem Sleuth. With Problem Sleuth, Hussie learned about the shortcomings of CYOA Webcomics, and got some more insight on the genre. So when Homestuck began, he already had a story in mind, but allowed people to submit commands, to explore the world he’d already crafted. As such, things that would be out of character or disrupt the story in a way he didn’t agree with were humored as intrusive thoughts. The first few Acts are a tug of war, between the Author wanting to push the story in the direction he envisioned, and the Audience having a degree of control over the characters in ways that bring new interesting ideas and possibilities. This is what makes the first Act feel like a drag for some people. They have been told about the story when it’s already going in the direction the author wants, but the beginning is a playful back and forth of narrative forces. It starts silly. It starts comedic. And it retains the comedy through all of it. But at the start, the lack of any concrete setting or storyline make everything feel like absurdist tomfoolery. 

It’s those who enjoy this style or bear through it and get hooked on by the many plot hooks afterwards that learn there’s something more to the story, and this is what creates the divide between people within the Fandom and people Outside of it.

But this didn’t exactly answer the question did it? WHAT is Homestuck really? 

Homestuck is a cultural amalgamation, and a way for Hussie to expose his inner world while improving as a person. Many people have attacked Hussie and Homestuck because of his work at Team Special Olympic, and the use of a few slurs- Namely the R word, through the first Acts of Homestuck, and while it’s commonly used up to Act 5, it falls in desuse afterwards. People outside of the circle see this and would argue that most of the comic uses slurs- However, the first Acts were made in a very small span of time, compared to how long Act 6 took to make. It was also an issue people had less awareness of back then. The further you get into the story, the more it touches upon very real themes, psychological issues, identity, orientation.

From the point of the Story itself, Homestuck is an intense Cultural Remix of old and new, mixture of Classical Themes with Pop Culture, touching everything from the Philosophy of Existentialism and Gnosticism to joking about the Obama Presidency. It’s Hussie, as a complex author, creating an intricate Multiverse with intriguing mechanics that draws inspiration from everything from Religious currents to Dragon Ball Z and Earthbound. But from the point of the Author, Homestuck is the exposition of themes Hussie feels are interesting to share with an audience, as he grows to understand more about the world around him, learns from his mistakes, and creates a work he would want everyone to enjoy.

And since it spanned a period of Seven Years, the themes it touches, the culture it reaches to, and the way Hussie himself behaves, slowly shift through the entirety of the narrative. You can see the growth, of both Homestuck and the Author, both in the art style and in the narrative, as time goes on. This is why Homestuck is so hard to pin-point and explain, because it could very well seem two entirely different stories at two different randomly picked spots. And yet, at the same time, it’s the way Homestuck evolves and grows that captivates many people, the way a simple story becomes something much more grand and intense.

And while this showcases what Homestuck IS, it definitely leaves a much more important question in the air...

What is Homestuck ABOUT?

Because of the same reasons discussed above, the very story of Homestuck seems ever-shifting depending on how deep in you are. Some people simply mention Act 1, trying to avoid Spoilers- The story about the protagonist, John Egbert, and his group of Online Friends, who play a Game together, which leads to unforseen consequences. Others will try to dig deeper into the story, but without giving specific details, perhaps teasing about some events later on in the story, or commenting about Time Travelling, but leaving it ambiguous and difficult to understand. Others may straight up decide to spoil a Plot Point in hopes of hooking their friends into the story, and yet, without the context of the rest of the comic behind it, the Plot Hook simply doesn’t stick as well as it should, and at worst, even makes others believe the story to be Ridiculous or Nonsensical.

Hussie himself has described the comic in various different ways through the years, with the most prominent two explanations being A Comic about Online Friends who Play a Game, and A Comic about Games. And you can see both of these being true through the entirety of Homestuck, the narrative does indeed begin with Kids playing a Game, and said Game is the very core of the Setting, around which the conflict revolves. At the same time, the Comic takes upon game-like characteristics, having an in-Universe inventory system the Kids mess around with, and draws themes from many other games- Building like in the Sims, a RPG-like levelling up system, and even going as far as to include Easter Eggs, Cheat Codes, Glitches and Corruptions occasionally. Homestuck makes fun of Video Game Tropes, while at the same time embracing them for its own purposes, whether it be to create a plot point or to add some comedic messing around with inventory management.

Because of this Videogame Style, too, and the Game the protagonists play, the author manages to combine a Modern Setting with Sci-Fi elements, and further digs into it with Fantasy themes. Magic and Science mix confusingly, Game Mechanics raise questions about Reality itself and Free Will, and yet in turn also allow for an incredible degree of Customization and Self-Insertion.

Through its parody of Videogames and its draw from multiple cultures, Homestuck builds one of its biggest strengths in its Versatility. It presents core ideas that become rational parts of the narrative, and allow the story to take any twist and turn imaginable without being far-fetched. People loved making theories about the direction of the story, people still make stories about the story, people love to make their own characters and include them in the setting, insert themselves. And it works! Because the Setting is Hyper-Flexible and allows for people to work with a solid foundation that spans so many fun things!

In turn, however, this also becomes one of the story’s biggest flaw when it comes to drawing in new people- The density of the story is such that most people will find something intriguing and interesting, and yet, people will find different things interesting and intriguing. So someone may read the first few Acts, and not get hooked, even though if they kept reading they would enjoy it! Conversely, others enjoyed the first few Acts, but perhaps missed some plot point along the way, or took a break and forgot something, causing confusion about later events and not letting them enjoy the setting as much as they should be. Homestuck is not a story for everyone. It has something for everyone, and it has an incredible amount of appeal to a number of different demographics, but because of this, there’s a divide among ‘when the good stuff begins’. This creates expectations- They will say the first Acts are bad, and then someone will read them and find them Hilarious and Charming. They will claim certain characters are the best and they can’t wait for their friend to get to them- But their friend fell in love with another set of characters, and now they want to skim over the thing the other was so in love with to get back to the action. Ultimately, this shouldn’t matter- If you think you’d enjoy Homestuck for what it is, it’s a great story with amazing characters. But within the Fandom, this creates a disparity on what parts of the story are good/bad/better/worse, and as such, may put off people who would otherwise love certain aspects of it.

Regardless of whether they enjoy it now or later, whether they enjoy it overall or don’t find enjoyment, Homestuck is what it is. An Hyperflexible Narrative about a Group of Friends playing a Game, parodying popular Game Tropes and getting more Intricate as time goes on, always dangling a new plot thread in front of the audience without providing all the answers, giving enough to keep their attention, but not enough to spoil them. Foreshadowing future events that, when happen, click in your head and make you realize how far back everything goes, and how everything is intertwined. It’s a crazy, often silly comedy. And in my opinion? It’s something people should give a try if they have the slightest bit of interest in.

There’s no shame in dropping the story at any point if you’re not enjoying it after all. Homestuck is long, and if you’re not liking it it’s okay to let it be and just think it’s not for you. But if it grabs you? It grabs you hard, and it makes you want more. 

And while the story and the mechanics and the narrative it presents are incredibly intriguing and rather deep, there’s also something everyone who likes Homestuck enjoys.

The Characters

One of the biggest draws in Homestuck, people will often mention, are the Characters. The group of main friends, along with everyone presented afterwards, some are more relatable than others, but ultimately they’re all enjoyable in some way. Hussie himself once said that he disliked writing characters he didn’t personally enjoy on some level. And you can see this even with the simplest of one-shot characters. They’re complex and flawed, and often come to either realize their own mistakes, or have someone else showcase their rights and wrongs. Their interests, their interactions with others, it creates for multi-dimensional characters that often feel like real people, which stick to a set of values and a type of personality.

This is magnified by the concept of the Hero Titles, what would be Homestuck’s equivalent to someone choosing a ‘Rogue’ or a ‘Paladin’ in a game. They don’t show up until later on, but even in the earlier acts these Titles give more context to the Characters’ personalities and what they did and what they will do next. And they can be applied to pretty much everything, even characters outside of Homestuck and even to yourself! Yet another layer of customization that keeps people interested in the setting, specifically because many Titles are left rather ambiguous. Flexibility is, once again, the name of the game.

And speaking of Flexibility? The characters in Homestuck are designed with Headcanon Flexibility in mind. The art style is often symbolic and rather undefined. Characters are represented by loose shapes, by their Symbols and their Colors, rather than a specific look, which has led to artists drawing them in all sorts of ways! All characters are, canonically, Aracial, a blank slate to project upon, and even the hair color is more often seen as ‘dark’ or ‘light’ rather than necessarily Black or White. Sure, Hussie slips some times because he has his own headcanons, calling babies ‘pink’ at times or mentioning about someone being ‘white’, but ultimately? Race, Height, Body Type, is often left ambiguous and shifts heavily, specially when Guest Artists begin to show up. And yet, whenever you see a specific character being interpreted in one way? It doesn’t matter what the artist’s specific Headcanons are, you can still tell they’re them. People will joke about certain characters being similar to each other with this symbolic style, but the fact you can always recognize them in fanart is a testament to their Design.

Ultimately

Homestuck is a weird and unique story, which is why it’s drawn so many people to it. Everything about it is a progression, an evolution. The Art Style improves as it goes on. The narrative gets more complex and gains more depth, building up from the very same base it started with. The characters grow and change through the story, facing relatable issues and inter-personal problems. The author gains more awareness, betters himself, grows as a person, and it reflects on the story and the themes it touches. A silly story about a group of Online Friends. A tale of self-improvement. A Creation Myth about what the author thinks is Right and Wrong. A collage of Classic and Popular Media combined in a new-age medium. A LGBT-positive tale with quite strong representation specially late-game representation. A versatile tale to entice people to get involved in the Fandom in one way or another.

It is not perfect. But it doesn’t need to be. It’s constantly pushing the boundaries that define it and experimenting, shifting in its angle and becoming more in tune with the issues in the world. A story about Hope and Change, a series of enigmas presented with just enough puzzle pieces missing to make you wonder and theorize, but not enough that things become frustratingly obtuse.

That is why Homestuck is so hard to define. That is why so many people enjoy Homestuck and have stuck with it for so long. And that is, if you think you would enjoy this silly narrative, why, you too should read Homestuck! Maybe it doesn’t stick! Maybe you simply don’t enjoy the style, and that’s fair.

But if you do enjoy it and follow through? It can and will shift your perspective on so many things.

Also, if you’re worried about not getting some of the Pop Culture references, like movies and such, don’t worry- I didn’t get half of them back in the day, and what they did was actually make me interested in movies I would’ve had no interest in whatsoever otherwise.

I’m specially looking at you, Con Air.