#there are NO CIRCUMSTANCES IN THIS GODDAMN WORLD IN WHICH LOVE IS TO BLAME LIKE THIS

[ch0llies]

REVIVAL | CHRIS STURNIOLO

A story in which a messy breakup lands you in your best friend’s Boston apartment a year after high school, and you find yourself face-to-face again with Christopher Sturniolo—your first love. As your paths cross again, the bitterness of how you left him still lingers, fueling every hated glance. But with your best friend dating his brother, you know is there’s no escaping Chris—or the tension that refuses to die. Is this revival destined to reignite, or will it crumble under the weight of your unresolved past?

story warning: this story includes very toxic and abusive behavior. none of the actions or words in this series are justified and are written exclusively for entertainment purposes only. under no circumstances are they personally associated with chris other than just using him as the main character. read at your own discretion. now that that is cleared up, there will be filthy smut, angst, swearing, underage drinking, underage drug use, abusive behavior, morally skewed choices, toxic relationships, and overall mature themes. if any of this upsets you... don't read!

word count: 8.9k

CHAPTER ONE:

You had been eyeing him all night. The longer the party went on, the stronger the ache between your legs became. 

You could blame it on the alcohol that was coursing through your body, or the fact that you hadn’t fucked in nearly a month since you dumped your piece of shit ex-boyfriend. 

But you knew the real reason. It had been a year since you’d seen him, and it was undeniable that Christopher Owen Sturniolo had grown into a man.

He was no longer the lanky little boy you shared your first kiss with in seventh grade or the awkward acne-ridden teenager who took your virginity sophomore year, and he most certainly wasn’t the wavy-haired senior who was irrevocably heartbroken when you got into a relationship and ghosted him. 

No, this Chris was different. 

His features had grown since you last saw him. He had sharp cheekbones, a strong and prominent jawline, and light stubble that made you crazy.

The freckles you used to tease him about but truly loved more than anything in the world were still there, scattered across his nose, but now they added to his charm rather than taking away from it.  

His thick brown hair, which he used to grow out and flaunt endlessly, was now cut shorter and only added to the maturity he seemed to be radiating. It framed his face perfectly. The brown strands were darker now and looked almost unreal next to his light blue eyes. 

He’d filled out too. The smaller frame you remembered was gone, replaced by wide shoulders and slightly toned arms.

He looked good. Too good. 

He stood across the room, laughing at something you assumed his friend had said.

You tried not to stare, you really did, but your eyes betrayed you. Every movement he made, every time he laughed, or ran his fingers through his hair, you felt your stomach tighten. 

And it wasn’t just lust– it was the past of everything unresolved coming back from the deep dark corners of your mind where you had hidden them.

Chris hadn’t acknowledged you yet— not really. Sure, you’d exchanged nonchalant hellos when you first arrived, but the conversation ended there. 

So technically he knew you were there. He was just refusing to recognize you and every feeling and emotion you would bring with you. 

So, you were just another face in a crowd, and he was the man you couldn’t stop thinking about.  

Maybe this was your karma.

Part of you was mourning the Chris you once knew. That Chris would have been glued to your side the second you walked in, his eyes lighting up like you were the only person in the room. This Chris didn’t even flinch when he saw you. His face was so incredibly straight that it made you feel like a goddamn stranger.  

You were only here because of Ava. She’d practically dragged you out of the apartment you shared that her dad bought for you two with promises that “It’ll be fun, I swear,” and “You have to be there—Matt’s expecting you.” Matt, of course, being her boyfriend, and Chris’s triplet brother. It was almost laughable. You had no desire to see Chris, no desire to stir up all the feelings you’d spent the past year pushing down. Yet, here you were.

He was standing near the kitchen now, leaning casually against the counter with a beer in his hand, talking to a girl you didn’t recognize. She was laughing at something he said, touching his arm lightly, and you hated how it made your chest tighten. A wave of something—anger, jealousy, regret—surged through you, and you tried to ignore it, trying to focus on anything else.

Ava leaned in closer, her hand lightly touching your elbow. “You okay?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“I’m fine,” you lied, plastering on a smile that probably looked as thin as it felt. You glanced over at her, noting the way her cheeks still flushed whenever she talked about Matt even after they’ve been dating for years.

Your gaze flickered back to Chris—like it had a will of its own—and you caught his profile just as he threw his head back in laughter. The sight of his throat working, the slight scruff along his jaw, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners… It was too much. You swore you could feel your stomach flip in response.

Ava followed your line of sight, sighing softly when she realized what had your attention. “You can still talk to him, you know,” she whispered, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “He’s still—”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. You were grateful for the pounding bass that swallowed the tension in your tone. “We said hi, and that’s all that’s needed.”

She gave you a look—equal parts sympathy and frustration—but didn’t push. You both knew there was more to this story, a history you hadn’t even begun to unpack.

You let out a breath, forcing your gaze anywhere but him. “Listen,” you said, nudging Ava gently, “go find Matt before he starts complaining you’re ignoring him.”

Ava hesitated for a second, like she wanted to say something else, but then she nodded. “I’ll be back ,” she promised, and with a smile, she slipped away into the crowd.

With her gone, you were left in the crowd of half-drunken strangers, music pulsing around you. You tried to dance a little, tried to lose yourself in the haze of alcohol and conversation, but it was nearly impossible.

He still hadn’t looked your way again—at least not that you’d noticed. But it felt like you could sense him, the same way you used to be able to tell he was approaching before you ever heard his footsteps.

You hated how your body seemed attuned to him even now, how the ache between your legs grew every time you caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. He was close enough that you could see the tension in his jaw as he spoke, see the way his fingers curled and uncurled around his beer bottle.

The girl who had been talking to him drifted off, pulling someone else onto the dance floor. Chris stayed where he was, sipping his drink and scanning the crowd, a flicker of something in his eyes that you couldn’t read from this distance.

Ava reappeared in your peripheral vision, weaving her way through the crowd with practiced ease. You watched as she sidled up to Chris, her lips close to his ear as she whispered something you couldn’t make out. A flash of surprise flickered across his features, followed by something you could only describe as annoyance. Then, as if he could feel your stare all the way from across the room, his gaze snapped to yours.

Your stomach dropped.

He didn’t break eye contact—not even when Ava squeezed his shoulder in parting and drifted away into the crowd. Instead, he kept those intense blue eyes fixed on you as he lifted his beer bottle to his lips, took a slow sip, and set it down on the counter behind him.

You could practically feel the tension crackling in the air by the time he started moving toward you. Your heart thudded in your chest with each step he took, every cell in your body screaming for you to look away, to find someplace else to be. But your feet remained rooted to the spot, as though glued there by all the unresolved tension between you.

Finally, he stopped in front of you. Close enough that you caught the faint hint of cologne and the warmth radiating from him. Close enough that all the old memories you’d tried to bury threatened to resurface in an instant.

“Hey.” His tone was clipped, casual on the surface but laced with something sharper—like he was testing you, waiting to see if you’d crack first.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

An uncomfortable beat of silence passed. You couldn’t read the look in his eyes—there was anger there, maybe some hurt, and definitely that lingering spark of attraction that neither of you had ever truly extinguished.

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Didn’t think I’d see you here, of all places.”

“Yeah, well,” you forced a shrug, fighting to keep your voice steady, “Ava’s my best friend. Matt’s her boyfriend. I got dragged along.”

He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. “Still letting other people call the shots for you, huh?”

The jab was subtle, but you felt the sting immediately. You square your shoulders, ignoring the faint tremor in your knees. “Acting as if I didn’t walk you like a dog all throughout high school”

He nodded slowly, as though taking in your words. “This isn’t high school anymore, clearly.” He said, looking you up and down disgustingly.

The tension between you felt almost suffocating, thick with memories of late-night phone calls, stolen kisses, and the bittersweet aftermath of what happened senior year. The way you ended things—ghosting him right when he thought your relationship might finally become something more.

“You don’t have to act like this,” you said quietly, your voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it level.

He arched an eyebrow. “Act like what?”

You hesitated. “Like I’m some kind of inconvenience.”

He scoffed. “If that’s how you’re feeling, I wonder why.” He glanced away, jaw tightening. 

Your heart clenched, and you pressed your lips together, trying not to let your emotions spill out for everyone to see. “We don’t have to do this,” you repeated softly.

He shrugged, and the movement was painfully casual. “You’re right. We don’t have to do anything.” He flicked his gaze past you, scanning the crowd like you might bore him any second. “So why are we?”

You swallowed, a soft ache in your chest. Because despite all the time and distance, you both knew there was still something here—something electric, something that made it impossible for you to pass each other by like strangers.

“Chris—”

“Look,” he cut you off, his voice lowering enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. “I’m not gonna pretend I’m happy to see you. And I’m not gonna pretend everything’s fine. Because it’s not.”

Your pulse hammered in your ears at his bluntness. “Okay,” you whispered. It was all you could manage.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “But we’re here,” he finally said, a slight tremor lacing his words. “And I can’t just—” He paused, jaw working as though wrestling with something unspoken. “I can’t ignore you,” he finished in a harsh exhale.

You felt your chest tighten. He was right; he’d tried ignoring you all night, and you’d tried to ignore him, and still you’d both ended up here, facing each other, every unspoken thing hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his eyes flickered to yours. “So what now?”

You swallowed, heart pounding so hard you wondered if he could hear it over the pulsing music. His question—“What now?”—hung in the air, thick with a tension that set your nerves on fire.

You wanted to say something—anything—but words felt woefully inadequate. Instead, you met his gaze, letting him see the swirl of emotions that had taken up permanent residence in your chest: guilt, anger, desire. Especially desire.

For a beat, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was so charged you could practically feel it crackle. Your body felt hypersensitive to every shift in the air, every faint brush of his scent. All you could think about was how easy it would be to close the distance, to press your body against his and say the things you’d been holding back.

But instead, you let the moment slip by.

Chris exhaled sharply and dragged a hand through his hair, clearly wrestling with a torrent of his own. “You know,” he said at last, his voice low, “this isn’t exactly how I pictured seeing you again.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “Yeah, me neither.”

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but instead he just shook his head and turned away, jaw clenched. “I’m gonna get another drink,” he muttered, barely meeting your eyes before he disappeared into the crowd.

A breath you didn’t realize you were holding hissed from your lungs. You stood there, your entire body humming with the tension that still vibrated in the wake of his departure. It was as if every nerve ending had been lit on fire—burning with all the words left unspoken.

Hours later, the party was winding down, though the music still thumped in the background. You’d spent most of the time dancing with other friends, forcibly ignoring the steady undercurrent of longing that tugged you toward Chris like some gravitational pull. If he noticed you looking, he never showed it, except for a few fleeting moments where your eyes met across the room, sparks flying before you both turned away again.

Eventually, Ava found you. She looked disheveled, eyes glassy and a lazy grin on her face. Matt clung to her side, equally worse for wear—his hair mussed, his speech slurred. They were hanging off each other, giggling like teenagers.

“Hey,” Ava said, her words blending together, “I—uh—we need to go home.” She hiccuped, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Like, now.”

You glanced at the two of them, realizing just how hammered they were. Rolling your eyes affectionately, you hooked an arm around Ava’s waist to keep her steady. “Okay, okay. Let’s get you guys out of here.”

Getting Matt to focus was a chore, but between you and Ava’s coaxing, he finally managed to shuffle toward the exit. You kept an arm around your best friend, her head lolled onto your shoulder as she slurred something about how much she loved you.

Matt grinned drunkenly. “Y/N… you’re… you’re the best,” he mumbled, stumbling.

You snorted. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get you home in one piece.”

Ava’s apartment—yours and hers, really—was close enough to walk, but considering how unsteady they both were, you worried it might be a disaster. Halfway to the door, you felt a presence behind you, a telltale warmth that made your skin prickle.

“Mind explaining where you’re taking my brother?”

Chris.

You turned, finding him standing there with his hands tucked into his pockets, eyes flicking between you and Matt, who was practically leaning his entire weight on your shoulder. Chris’s face was a complicated mask—some concern, a lot of annoyance, and just a hint of that ever-present tension.

Your chin lifted. “Home. With his girlfriend?” you said simply. “They’re both wrecked, so I’m taking them back to our place.”

A shadow of doubt passed over his expression. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

You arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

He nodded toward Matt. “I can’t leave my brother with you—” he gestured to Ava clinging to your arm, “—and that drunk fool. No offense, Ava.”

You bristled, even as a very small part of you was relieved that he cared enough to intervene. “Ava’s not that drunk. She just needs some water and a good night’s sleep, and Matt clearly needs the same.”

Chris’s gaze hardened. “Look, we can argue all night if you want, but at the end of the day, I’m not letting you carry his drunk ass home alone.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Matt swayed dangerously, cutting you off. Chris moved closer in an instant, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and steadying him. Matt mumbled something incoherent, then blinked as if just recognizing Chris was there.

“Hey, kid,” Matt slurred, lips curling into a lazy grin. “Missed you… or something.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but you didn’t miss the fleeting look of concern. “You see?” he said flatly. “He needs someone who can actually hold him upright.”

You blew out a breath, too exhausted and too buzzed to keep up the argument. Fine. Let him play the hero. “Alright,” you relented. “Let’s just get them home.”

With that, the four of you spilled out into the cool night air, Matt and Ava clutching onto each other and you, while Chris hovered on the other side. The walk was short but felt endless with your two drunken companions swaying and stumbling. Chris moved in to help whenever Matt nearly toppled over.

Every time his arm brushed yours, every time your shoulders bumped, the tension between you flared to life again—like an ember bursting into flame. It was maddening how your body seemed to respond to him, no matter how much you tried to tamp it down.

Finally, you reached your apartment building. You fumbled with the keys, grateful when the door clicked open. Inside, you guided Ava to her bedroom, where she promptly collapsed onto the bed. Matt, half-lidded and swaying on his feet, followed suit, flopping down next to her without a second thought.

You stood there, watching them, heart still pounding with adrenaline—or maybe something else. You could feel Chris behind you, close enough that warmth radiated off his body. The quiet of the apartment only amplified your awareness of him, every breath and shift in his stance sending your nerves sparking.

You turned, finding yourself nearly chest to chest with him, the small hallway leaving little room to maneuver. His eyes pinned you in place, a swirl of emotions dancing across those blue irises—conflict, frustration, and under it all, that magnetic pull you knew too well.

“So,” you murmured, voice low, “I guess you’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Chris swallowed, and for a moment, you saw the mask slip. “No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

You turned, finding yourself nearly chest to chest with him, the small hallway leaving little room to maneuver. His eyes pinned you in place, a swirl of emotions dancing across those blue irises—conflict, frustration, and under it all, that magnetic pull you knew too well.

“So,” you murmured, voice low, “I guess you’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Chris swallowed, and for a moment, you saw the mask slip. “No,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

The tension hovering in the narrow space was almost suffocating, so thick it felt like you could reach out and touch it. But before either of you could say another word, a sudden commotion broke the moment.

A door creaked behind you. Ava, looking pale and disoriented, stumbled out of the bedroom. She blinked blearily in the dim light. You recognized that look immediately: she was about to be sick.

“Ava,” you said in alarm, stepping forward. “Oh no—”

But it was too late. Her face contorted, and she heaved forward. Chris, seeing what was about to happen, darted sideways to avoid the inevitable spray—only to crash directly into you.

“Shit!” you yelped as he slammed your shoulder. You lost your balance, stumbling back until the sharp corner of the wall made harsh contact with your head. Pain exploded at your temple, and you winced, hissing through your teeth.

Meanwhile, poor Chris was still caught in the line of fire, a portion of Ava’s vomit hitting his arm and splattering onto his shirt. He recoiled, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

Ava wiped her mouth, tears in her eyes, and mumbled something close to an apology. “I—I’m sorry… ‘m so sorry—”

You pressed a hand to your head, anger flaring as throbbing pain pulsed behind your skull. “What the hell, Chris?” you snapped, forcing yourself to straighten. “You didn’t have to knock me over!”

He turned on you, face drawn tight with frustration and disgust from the mess on his sleeve. “You were in the way,” he ground out. “I’m not exactly going to stand there and get covered in puke—though apparently, that happened anyway.”

Your brows shot up, temper sparking. “Oh, so that makes it okay to push me? You’re a real gentleman.”

Chris’s jaw flexed. “Don’t start with me. I’m not the one who can’t hold down a drink.”

“Hey!” Ava croaked from behind him, her voice wuavering. She slumped against the wall, looking miserable. “I didn’t mean—”

“Ava,” Matt’s voice interrupted from the doorway. He appeared with bleary eyes, hair sticking up in every direction. He took in the scene—Ava hunched over, you rubbing your head, Chris spattered in vomit—and promptly turned on his brother. “Chris, why the hell are you yelling at her?”

Chris took a breath, trying to calm himself, but the frustration was evident in every line of his posture. “I’m not yelling at her,” he said through gritted teeth, yanking at the soiled fabric of his sleeve. “But maybe try not to puke on people next time!”

Matt’s face darkened, protective anger flaring up. “Dude, she’s drunk and sick. Back off.”

A tense beat of silence followed, the four of you standing in that cramped hallway, hearts pounding, heads throbbing—some from booze, others from bruises, and Chris from equal parts disgust and fury.

You rubbed the spot on your head again, wincing at the dull ache that pulsed beneath your fingers. Ava slid down the wall to sit, eyes closed, still mumbling apologies. Matt hovered beside her, steadying her as best he could.

You pressed a hand gingerly to your head, wincing at the dull throb that had settled behind your temple. Meanwhile, Ava slumped on the floor, still half-groggy and covered in the remnants of her unfortunate mishap. Matt hovered next to her, one hand on her shoulder to keep her steady.

“Let’s get you two cleaned up,” you sighed, ignoring the furious pulse of pain at your temple.

Ava groaned but let you help her to her feet. Chris stayed by the wall, still looking half-annoyed, half-disgusted, but when Matt stumbled, he automatically reached out to steady him. Despite the tension in the air, the four of you worked together to guide your drunken friends toward the bathroom.

Once inside, you managed to get Ava to rinse her mouth while Matt hovered behind her, swaying dangerously. Chris stood awkwardly in the doorway, arms folded over his chest, that exasperated expression never leaving his face.

“Brush her teeth,” he said gruffly, nodding to the unopened toothbrush sitting on the counter.

“I know how to take care of my best friend, thanks,” you shot back, though your voice lacked its usual bite. Your head hurt too much to spar properly.

He rolled his eyes, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll handle Matt.”

You and Chris maneuvered around each other in the cramped space, exchanging occasional glares whenever you nearly bumped hips. Eventually, you got Ava’s teeth brushed—despite her half-hearted protests—and Chris convinced Matt to rinse his face with cold water, muttering warnings all the while about “not throwing up on me, too.”

By the time Ava and Matt were more or less presentable, both of them looked ready to pass out on the spot. You guided Ava back to her bedroom while Chris helped Matt stumble in behind her. They collapsed onto the bed, Matt’s arm draped protectively over Ava’s waist, and within seconds, both were out like lights.

You stood there for a moment, catching your breath, still nursing the throbbing pain in your skull. Chris lingered behind you, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“You alright?” he asked finally, voice lower now that Matt and Ava were asleep.

Your head still pounded, but there was no ignoring the fact that Chris’s shirt was splattered with sink water and vomit stains. “I’ll live,” you muttered, pressing your fingers gingerly to your temple.

He huffed, his tone edging into that familiar snark. “You sure? Looked like you smacked your head pretty hard.”

“I wouldn’t have smacked it if you hadn’t used me as a human shield,” you shot back, though there was more weariness than heat in your voice.

Chris dragged a hand across his jaw, clearly wrestling with another sarcastic comeback. But instead of firing off a retort, he let out a frustrated groan. “This shirt is disgusting,” he grumbled, glancing down at the dark splotches. With a brusque motion, he yanked it over his head.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him bare-chested—this close, the hallway lighting throwing every muscle into relief. You tried to be discreet, but your gaze couldn’t help but linger on the defined planes of his chest, the way his shoulders had broadened since high school. You forced yourself to snap out of it, shifting your eyes quickly back to his face, hoping he hadn’t noticed the heat creeping up your cheeks.

He shot you a quick look that might have been amusement or annoyance, you couldn’t tell. “What?” he asked, almost daring you to say something.

You cleared your throat, ignoring the traitorous flutter in your stomach. “Nothing. Let’s just… get you cleaned up.”

Without another word, you led the way to the kitchen, pressing a hand against your throbbing head as you walked. Chris followed with the soiled shirt balled in one hand.

“Sit,” he ordered once you reached the small table, his voice unusually gentle.

Too tired to bicker, you sank into a chair. Chris rummaged in the freezer and emerged with a bag of frozen peas, wrapping them in a kitchen towel. He offered it without meeting your gaze.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, pressing the makeshift ice pack to your temple. The cold relief was almost instantaneous, dulling the worst of the ache.

Chris turned toward the sink to rinse out the vomit-stained shirt, muscles in his back flexing as he scrubbed the fabric. You found yourself staring again, and you silently cursed the unwelcome rush of heat that flooded you from head to toe.

Trying to distract yourself, you forced your gaze elsewhere. “Let me… let me grab some dish soap,” you said, pushing yourself up. A bolt of pain in your head nearly made you stumble.

He cut you a sideways glance. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered. But the sudden movement left your head throbbing again, so you settled for just handing him the soap from the counter.

He muttered his thanks, squeezing a little onto the shirt and scrubbing at the stain. The quiet felt thick, loaded with tension that had nothing to do with the earlier chaos.

You tried to focus on the peas pressed to your temple, but your eyes kept wandering. Finally, you gave a short laugh, more at yourself than at him. “You know,” you said, “for a guy who’s half-naked in my kitchen, you’re pretty grouchy.”

He snorted softly, still working on the shirt. “Guess you bring out the best in me.”

A spark of irritation lanced through you, though it was tempered by the undeniable awareness of just how good he looked—tanned skin, toned arms, the faint spattering of freckles you remembered from years before. “You’re not exactly a delight either,” you shot back, pressing the ice pack firmly against your head.

He finished rinsing and wringing out his shirt, then turned off the faucet. Water dripped across his arms, sliding down the lines of his muscles. You forced yourself to keep your eyes level with his, ignoring the tilt in your stomach.

After a moment, Chris set the damp shirt aside and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. He eyed you for a second, then jerked his chin at the peas you clutched. “How’s the head?”

“Haven’t had any complaints,” you smirked and his eyes widened at your innuendo.

You laughed at his reaction but actually answered the question this time. “It’s a little bit better, though.”

He nodded, running a hand through his hair, obviously uncertain where to go from here. “Look,” he said, voice quieter now, “about earlier. I wasn’t trying to push you. I just—”

“Didn’t want to get puked on,” you finished for him. “Yeah, I got that memo.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “I’m sorry if I knocked you over.”

You held his gaze, a wry smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “You’re forgiven. Now, are we done acting like idiots, or do we want to keep this up all night?”

A muscle flickered in his jaw, and for a second you thought he’d snap back with another sarcastic remark. But he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah,” he said softly. “I’m good.”

An awkward beat passed, the both of you taking stock of what remained. Matt and Ava were unconscious in the next room, you had a knot forming on your head, and Chris was half-naked in your kitchen, still dripping water.

“Well,” you said, pushing your chair back, “I guess we should try to sleep. Unless you want to stay up and make sure no one else hurls on you.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “I’ll take my chances on the couch.”

He grabbed a spare towel off the counter and scrubbed at the stray droplets on his arms. You couldn’t help a quick glance at the way the movement flexed his shoulders, and you hoped your expression didn’t betray how flustered you felt.

“Night, then,” you managed, your voice a little tight.

Chris nodded, stepping around you to head for the living room. “Night.”

You stood there for a moment, the makeshift ice pack pressed to your head, watching him go. As he disappeared around the corner—shirt still in hand—you exhaled slowly, muscles taut from all the pent-up tension of the night.

The morning light drifted through the blinds, prickling against your eyelids as you stirred awake. The dull ache in your temple reminded you exactly why you’d gone to bed last night with a bag of frozen peas pressed to your head. You blinked, slowly registering the muffled sounds coming from the living room.

You pushed the blankets aside and slipped out of bed, wincing at the minor throb that still pulsed behind your temple. Padding into the hallway, you paused at the sight of Chris sprawled on your couch, arms folded over his chest. He looked about as comfortable as one could be when sleeping on a lumpy couch in someone else’s apartment.

He stirred at the sound of your footsteps. His eyes cracked open—still heavy with sleep but alert enough to narrow in on you as you stepped closer.

“Morning,” he grumbled.

Your first instinct was to snap at him—some half-baked comment about overstaying his welcome. But before you could open your mouth, he cut you off, lifting a hand as if to ward off your tirade.

“Before you bitch me out,” he said, “I’m waiting for Matt to wake up so I can take him home.”

A quick wave of annoyance flared in your chest, but you only sighed. He had a point—Matt was definitely in no state to hop on an Uber last night, and Chris wasn’t the type to leave his brother behind. Instead of biting back, you nodded reluctantly.

“Fine,” you muttered. “At least you didn’t run off in the middle of the night.”

He shot you a look, somewhere between exasperated and amused, but said nothing. A fragile ceasefire, at best.

Just then, you heard a low groan from the hallway. Ava appeared, bleary-eyed and leaning heavily against the wall as if the sheer act of walking was a Herculean effort. Her hair was a mess, and she looked about as hungover as a person could be.

“Ow, my head,” she mumbled. “Did anyone catch the license plate of the truck that ran me the fuck over?”

You grimaced sympathetically. “Welcome to the consequences of your own actions.”

Ava rubbed her temples, squinting as she glanced around the living room. Her eyes fell on Chris, who was watching her with a mild, unreadable expression. She blinked once, twice, then turned to you, face twisted in confusion.

“Um… why is Chris here? Did you guys… fuck?”

Your jaw dropped. Chris actually closed his eyes like he was silently wishing himself elsewhere. After a beat of stunned silence, he cleared his throat. “Where is Matt?”

Ava shot him a mischievous smile despite her pallor. “Oh, you know,” she drawled, her tone teasing, “he’s probably hiding in my room because you two were up all night going at it.”

You and Chris both spluttered in protest. “Ava!” you snapped, cheeks heating. “We did not—”

She raised an eyebrow, wiggling it suggestively, but then cringed as her headache reeled her back in. “Ow. Okay, sorry. Too loud.”

“And too wrong,” Chris added flatly. “The only ‘going at it’ last night was you puking all over me.”

Ava’s eyes went wide, suddenly looking mortified. “Wait, what?”

You let out a half-amused snort, remembering the chaos. “You really don’t remember? You staggered into the hallway and threw up on Chris, then he tried to dodge and slammed me against the wall.”

Chris nodded, eyes flicking pointedly to your temple. “Which gave her that nice bump on her head.”

Ava cringed again, glancing at you with genuine guilt. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I… I blacked out.” She turned to Chris, noticing the faint dried stain still on his forearm. “Oh my God,” she repeated, horror-struck. “Did I really—?”

He shrugged, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hey, a shower and about twenty gallons of soap later, I’m mostly fine.”

Ava buried her face in her hands. “This is humiliating.” But then, despite her headache, she cracked a small laugh. “I guess that explains why you’re in the living room, huh?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, too, as the absurdity of the whole situation sank in. Chris let out a resigned chuckle, shaking his head.

“Believe me, I’d have been long gone if I didn’t have to cart Matt’s drunk ass out of here in a bit,” Chris said.

“I can’t believe I slept through all that,” Ava muttered. “Did I at least apologize?”

“Yes,” you said dryly, “though I’m not sure how coherent it was.”

“Enough to rub vomit in my hair again,” Chris grumbled good-naturedly.

Ava groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Ugh. I’m never drinking like that again.”

Chris smirked. “I’m holding you to that.”

A wry grin tugged at your own lips. After all the tension and drama last night, there was a strange relief in being able to stand here and laugh about it—like all of you were finally exhaling.

“How about I make some coffee?” you offered, tossing a glance at Ava’s pale face. “I think we could all use a little caffeine.”

“Oh, God, yes,” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead.

Chris nodded in agreement. “Sure. Then I can drag Matt home to sleep this off somewhere that’s not your couch.”

The faintest hint of warmth stirred in your chest at the idea of him staying just a little bit longer—even if it was just for coffee. But you pushed that down, focusing on the task at hand.

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, leading the way to the kitchen. Behind you, Chris and Ava followed, still chuckling under their breath at the mess they’d all endured last night.

As you flicked on the coffee maker, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen once Matt woke up, once Chris left, once this bizarre morning after turned into actual daylight. But for now, at least, you had peace—and, surprisingly enough, even a laugh or two to share.

You settle around the small kitchen table with Chris and Ava, nursing your cup of coffee. The early sunlight streaming through the window does little to mask the awkwardness lingering from the night before. Ava, sporting a messy bun and still looking a bit drained, leans an elbow on the table and eyes Chris over the rim of her mug.

“So,” she drawls, voice scratchy with sleep but brimming with sass, “get comfortable, Chris. I’m gonna go wake Matt up, and it’s gonna be a while.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “You and Y/N can, I don’t know, get cozy and touch tips while Matt takes me to pound town again.”

You nearly choke on your coffee. Chris’s face goes through about three different shades of horror before settling on exasperated. “First off,” he mutters, setting down his mug a little too hard, “I really don’t need to know the specifics of my brother’s sex life.”

Ava just laughs, utterly unapologetic. “Suit yourself,” she shrugs, sliding off the chair. “But don’t blame me if you two get bored. Find something to do, or each other to do—whatever.”

“Ava, seriously,” you groan, pressing your palms to your eyes. “At least use protection, okay?”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Yes, Mom,” she shoots back sarcastically. “You’re so thoughtful.” Then she winks at Chris for good measure. “Think of me fondly while I’m gone.”

With that, she downed the rest of her coffee, set her mug in the sink, and strutted upstairs to Matt’s room, shutting the door with a pointed click behind her.

An awkward hush settles over the kitchen. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, fiddling with the handle of your mug. Chris avoids your gaze at first, clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck.

“So,” you say finally, deadpan, “that was subtle of her.”

He huffs a half-laugh, glancing up at the ceiling like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Yeah, subtle as a car crash.”

You both fall silent. Then, from above, a soft thud—followed by the unmistakable sounds of Ava and Matt… reacquainting themselves with each other.

“Oh, God,” you mutter under your breath, cheeks heating. You rub your temples, trying to will the noise away, but it only grows louder.

Chris grimaces, then tries to play it off with a roll of his eyes. “Guess they didn’t waste any time.”

You make a face, sipping your coffee in hopes the caffeine will distract you. “They’re in for round two, apparently.”

A moment passes, filled with an increasingly steady rhythm of moans that filter down the stairs. You and Chris exchange a glance—equal parts discomfort and wry amusement at the sheer absurdity of it.

He breaks the tension by arching an eyebrow. “Reminds me of some of our high school experiences.” There’s a dryness to his tone—like he’s testing how far he can push you.

You sputter, nearly spilling your coffee. “Wow. That’s a throwback.”

A half-smile ghosts across his lips. “Well, she’s not moaning as loud as you did back then.”

Heat flares in your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment, and, annoyingly, part amusement. “Excuse you?”

He shrugs, crossing his arms, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Just saying, I’ve got a good memory.”

Your eyes narrow as you set your mug aside. “No one asked you to remember. And I’m pretty sure I was never that loud.”

Chris smirks, leaning back in his chair. “You can keep telling yourself that.”

“Ugh.” You glare at him, ignoring the slight flutter in your stomach that you really wish wasn’t there. “And here I thought we’d have a civil morning.”

“I’m plenty civil.” He lifts his coffee cup, giving a mock toast. “You’re the one who let your best friend invite me to loiter in your living room.”

“As if you had no choice in the matter?” you counter, eyebrows shooting up. “You could’ve left at any time—”

“Except for the part where my brother was drunk off his ass and still is, apparently.” He nods toward the ceiling, where Matt and Ava’s very enthusiastic “recovery” session continues.

You roll your eyes, even as a small twinge of guilt twists in your gut. “Fine. You win that one.”

He sets his cup down, a flicker of genuine concern crossing his features. “How’s your head feeling?”

“Better,” you admit grudgingly, resisting the urge to rub the lingering bump. “Still a little sore. You’re lucky I don’t sue you for damages.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah, good luck explaining that to a judge: ‘Your honor, he dodged puke, and I paid the price.’”

The corners of your mouth quirk up despite yourself. “I’ll have to come up with something a little more dramatic.”

His gaze lingers on you, a hint of that familiar tension creeping into the air between you. For a second, neither of you speak. The echo of moans from upstairs fills the silence, but you try to tune it out, focusing on Chris’s expression. It’s a mix of exasperation and something you can’t quite pin down.

Eventually, he clears his throat, looking away. “Anyway. As soon as they’re done, I’m taking Matt home.”

“Fair enough,” you say, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from his lingering stare. “I’m just glad he’s not making an even bigger mess down here.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

You share a moment of uneasy quiet, sipping at your drinks and trying to pretend the floor isn’t practically vibrating with Ava and Matt’s activities. Each moan or thump from upstairs seems to underscore the unresolved tension between you and Chris—like the universe is mocking you both.

You collapse onto the couch, remote in hand, while Chris drops heavily onto the opposite end. Neither of you seems particularly eager to be in the kitchen, where the sound of Ava and Matt’s increasingly enthusiastic activities upstairs is even more obvious. Even here, though, you can still catch the muffled rhythms and gasps emanating through the ceiling.

“Want to put something on?” you offer, brandishing the remote as a distraction.

Chris shrugs. “Sure. Maybe it’ll drown them out.”

You flip through streaming services, settling on some mindless show you’ve both seen before—something you can half-watch, half-ignore. Anything to keep the awkward silence at bay.

Except the background noise doesn’t stop. Ava’s voice floats downstairs in a series of moans, clearly not worried about volume control. You feel your face heat, trying hard not to picture what’s happening up there, but it’s impossible to completely shut it out.

Chris catches the faint color in your cheeks and smirks. “You okay?”

You shoot him a glare. “Fine.”

He snorts, eyes flicking toward the ceiling with a knowing tilt of his head. “I guess some people really enjoy their mornings.”

“Can we not analyze it, please?” you mutter, turning up the volume on the TV.

For a few minutes, the two of you watch the show in a tense silence, interrupted only by the occasionally awkward clearing of throats. On the screen, the characters are bantering, their dialogue a hollow cover for the more intimate soundscape filtering down from upstairs.

Eventually, Chris shifts, pressing his knuckles to his mouth as though suppressing a grin. “Kinda like old times, huh?”

You glance at him warily. “Old times… meaning what exactly?” even though you knew exactly what he was reffering to.

He lifts a shoulder. “High school. All that sneaking around we did.” He nods at the ceiling again with a wicked glint in his eyes. “Not that we ever woke the whole house up—but you sure knew how to make noise back then.”

A spike of heat floods your cheeks. “Oh, shut up. I told you I wasn’t that loud.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I distinctly remember having to clamp a hand over your mouth one time, so your parents wouldn’t figure out I was in your bedroom.”

Your crotch thrums at the memory, even as you roll your eyes. “You’re making that up.”

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nope. That was, like… sophomore year?”

“Junior,” you correct quietly, the mental images flashing unbidden behind your eyes—late-night kisses, stolen touches, the muffled giggles when the floor creaked.

Chris spreads his hands, as though he’s proved his point. “See, you do remember.”

You hate the surge of warmth pooling in your stomach, especially with the unmistakable moans from upstairs fueling the tension. Your gaze flicks to him, noticing the way he’s tugging at the collar of his still-bare torso as if he’s feeling the heat, too.

Desperate to reclaim some composure, you turn back to the TV and raise the volume a couple more notches. The show’s bright laughter and goofy dialogue bounce off the living room walls. It helps—just a little—until there’s a particularly loud thud from above, followed by Ava’s not-so-subtle cry of Matt’s name.

You cringe, flicking Chris a sideways glance. His eyebrows are raised, and the corner of his mouth twitches with restrained amusement. “They’re really going for it, huh?”

“Stop it,” you hiss, trying to ignore the thudding of your own heart.

He chuckles, low and mocking. “Hey, it’s not my fault you’re blushing. Maybe it’s bringing back memories for you, too?”

You grit your teeth. “Yes, because the best soundtrack for nostalgia is my best friend hooking up with your brother.”

His gaze slides over you, lingering on the curve of your hips, the lines of your legs tucked up on the couch. “Pretty sure I’m remembering a different soundtrack…”

A fresh wave of tension courses through you, courtesy of those teasing words and the faint recollection of your younger selves entwined in the dark. You can’t help the jittery sensation in your stomach—part annoyance, part undeniable attraction.

“That was forever ago,” you say, voice a little tight.

“Was it, though?” he counters, his voice dropping just enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

You scowl, holding his gaze even though your pulse hammers. “Yes, Chris. It was.”

From upstairs, Ava’s delighted shriek rattles through the ceiling. You stifle a groan, covering your face with one hand. “Oh my God, I am never letting her live this down.”

Chris laughs, and it’s surprisingly genuine. “She’ll do the same to you if the roles were reversed.”

“Probably,” you admit.

You try to refocus on the TV show, but all you can hear is Matt and Ava’s muffled moans, and all you can feel is Chris’s eyes tracking you from the other side of the couch. The air feels charged, like a static storm on the verge of sparking, and you can’t decide if you hate it or crave it.

Finally, you shoot him a sharp look, hoping to douse the tension. “Got something to say?”

He smirks. “No, not really. Just reminded that you and I used to have this effect on each other… and it was never quiet.”

Your cheeks burn, and you set your jaw, refusing to let him rile you up any further. “Keep it up, and I’ll crank the TV so loud the neighbors call the cops.”

“And here I was, thinking we could just talk about the old days,” he drawls, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his bare skin shifting with the motion. “But hey, if the thought of me dicking you down is too much for you to control yourself right now, then I get it.

You open your mouth to retort—except your heart is pounding and your mind can’t help flipping through flashes of those stolen nights in high school. The way his hands felt on you, the desperate hushes whenever there was a risk of being caught, the rush of young desire you never quite forgot.

Upstairs, Ava lets out another moan that makes you cringe and press the remote’s volume button a few more times. “God, they better wrap this up soon.”

Chris arches an eyebrow, smirk widening. “Jealous?”

Your eyes snap to his. “Of them?”

He lifts a shoulder, carefully casual. ‘You tell me.”

A beat passes, and you can’t help flicking a glance at his bare torso—at the taut muscles that were far less defined back in high school, the confident air that certainly wasn’t there as a lanky teenager. You snap your eyes back to the TV, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

He chuckles, and it’s a low, lazy sound that does nothing to steady your heart rate. You pretend you’re enthralled by the sitcom characters on the screen, hoping the next few minutes pass quickly—or that Ava and Matt finally decide they’ve had enough.

But as you stare at the screen, you find your mind wandering, remembering the feel of his lips on yours, that electric rush you once craved. And judging by the heavy silence from Chris’s side of the couch, he’s remembering, too.

You and Chris remain on opposite ends of the couch, the TV blaring in a desperate attempt to drown out Ava and Matt’s enthusiastic finale. Finally, the unmistakable moans and muffled thuds from upstairs taper off. A few minutes later, you hear shuffling footsteps on the stairs.

Ava appears in the living room doorway, hair even more disheveled than before, cheeks flushed. She looks from you to Chris, who’s still shirtless, arms crossed as he lounges in an almost-too-casual pose. Something in her gaze flickers—mischief, curiosity—and you realize she’s not missing a single detail.

“All right,” she says, stretching her arms over her head like she’s been in a yoga class instead of a bedroom romp. “We’re done. For now.” Then she eyes you and Chris. “So, did you two fuck while we were busy, or…?”

Your face heats instantly. “No!” you blurt out, a little too fast. “Of course not.”

Chris just huffs a low laugh, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “No,” he echoes, nonchalantly. But he doesn’t deny the tension that’s been crackling between you both all morning.

Ava narrows her eyes, scanning the room. “Mmm-hmm, sure,” she says with a knowing drawl. She lets her gaze settle on Chris for a moment, then glances back to you. Though she doesn’t say anything outright, it’s like she’s clocked something beneath the waistband of his sweats—and is doing her best not to cackle.

Before you can overthink her silent observation, Matt stumbles down the stairs behind her, hair sticking up in every possible direction. He looks like he barely has the energy to walk straight.

Chris pushes up from the couch—maybe a little too abruptly, as if trying to hide any…obvious issues. “C’mon, man,” he mutters, grabbing Matt by the arm with more force than necessary. “Time to get you home.”

Matt, still half-asleep, doesn’t protest. He just mumbles something incoherent, kisses Ava goodbye,  and lets Chris steer him toward the door. Ava steps aside, watching them go, biting back a grin.

“Uh, thanks for the hospitality, I guess,” Chris calls over his shoulder, still wearing that faint smirk. He glances at you once, eyes lingering a beat longer than normal before he hauls Matt outside.

The door clicks shut. Silence falls—blessedly free of moaning and snark. You exhale, slumping back against the couch cushion. All the tension of the morning seems to settle in your shoulders, and you rub the knot at the back of your neck.

Then Ava whips around, hands on her hips, eyes dancing with amusement. “Holy shit, girl,” she hisses, scurrying over to flop down beside you. “Did you see the giant hard-on Chris had?”

You choke on air, cheeks flaming. “Ava!”

She throws her head back, laughing despite her obvious hangover. “I’m serious! Dude was packing some serious heat under those sweatpants. And you’re telling me you two didn’t get busy?”

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “We did not—no! Absolutely not,” you insist, shaking your head. “And can we not talk about…that?”

Ava props an elbow on the back of the couch, eyeing you like she sees right through your protest. “So you’re telling me he was just sitting here, sporting a massive boner, and nothing happened?” She snorts. “He’s still into you, obviously.”

You swallow hard, memories of the heated banter and near-constant tension flashing through your mind. “It’s not like that,” you try again, but the argument sounds weak even to your own ears. “He’s just waiting for Matt—well, was waiting—to get home safe.”

“Right,” she says, drawing the word out. Then she pats your leg in mock sympathy, still clearly amused. “You know you’re free to live your life, right? Even if it includes hooking up with your old…whatever the fuck he was.”

You set your jaw, refusing to meet her gleeful gaze. “He’s annoying. We bicker. That’s it.”

Ava shrugs, standing up to stretch again. “Annoying plus bickering can sometimes equal good, angry sex. Just saying.”

You toss a couch pillow at her, sending her into another wave of laughter. “Oh my God, you’re impossible.”

She catches the pillow and smirks. “And you’re in denial, babe.” Then she lifts her hands in surrender. “But hey, my job here is done. I’m all freshened up, physically satisfied, and apparently, I missed quite a show down here, too.”

Rolling your eyes dramatically, you bury your face in your hands. “I cannot deal with this conversation before lunch.”

Ava laughs again, patting your shoulder and leaning in conspiratorially. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you think about Chris’s, um, situation in peace.”

With that, she saunters off to the kitchen, presumably for more coffee—or to nurse her hangover with some Advil. You remain on the couch, heart still beating a tad too fast, unable to stop yourself from recalling the way Chris smirked when Ava asked if you’d hooked up.

Because maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t as opposed to the idea as you claimed to be. And if Ava’s not wrong about the whole “obvious interest” thing, then the next time you see him, it might be a whole new kind of mess.

tags: @mattsobvimyfav

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MASTERLIST

[essaytime]

I feel like a goddess summoned to her temple.

@cto10121

[imissivan]

so i think in every universe that’s not the present one, ivantill is requited openly and goofy and sometimes still repressed and bad at communicating, but however long it takes, they find each other. but i have to admit. what they’ve gone through — the lack of freedom, happiness, the total lack of human social networks, not even not being raised by humans but the total absence in their lives of humans who connect with humans AS HUMANS — rather than as human pets — it prevents ivan and till AND mizi and sua from forming relationships like we think of them. yknow? mizi and sua are much more open about their regard for each other, because of mizi’s unique character and situation, the level of innocence she’s able to retain. but the rest of them know what’s going on. the pain of that existence stunts what possibilities are available to them. in that environment, they do what they must to survive — which means ivan keeping his feelings under tight control and accepting his fate to yearn and never have; till deeply, deeply repressing whatever he feels for ivan bc mizi represents innocence and a hope for a joyful, free life that has been denied to all of them; sua not connecting with anyone besides mizi, marching to her death without consulting mizi bc it’s all she can think to offer. the circumstances of this universe are such that it’s nearly impossible for healthy or full human relationships to form. for children destined for alien stage — for whom growing old is already a distant dream, much less growing old with someone they love by their side — it’s even less likely. this is also what makes these relationships that DO form despite the circumstances so damn powerful and compelling — the time mizi and sua get to share (mizi crying with frustration when they drift apart when they’re so little) — the stability that ivan and till’s bond provides, even if it is volatile and characterized by miscommunications and misunderstandings. for me, with ivantill, it’s key that it’s NOT totally unrequited — the feelings till has for ivan are confused and unexamined, but like, i don’t blame till for that! he’s got plenty to worry about already, and the circumstances of the garden also exacerbate ivan’s struggles to communicate and understand his feelings properly, too. loving gently and warmly and out in the open like mizi does does not come naturally or at all to ivan in this world! and that adds barriers between ivan and till. but they still care for each other so much — till does look back, there are moments of tenderness, of ivan being different for till than other ppl, of till treating ivan differently, which along w the narrative structure and their relationship paralleling mizi and sua’s and so on, express a deep regard for ivan that goes mostly unexpressed / is made difficult by their situation.

but then!!! you look at the goddamn AUs and shit!!!! and one, look at ivan’s character — outside of the trauma of alien stage, he’s so much more open and soft and loving! to till, specifically — able to get his attention and form a relationship not just based on proximity or thru antagonizing him. that’s very important, in my eyes, to making ivantill work. it’s something ivan can’t do in alien stage, that kind of open expressive love, but if he could, i think it would present him as a viable option for love in till’s eyes (as much as such a thing can exist in that world). like at the bare minimum, till would KNOW — whether ivan confesses or not — that ivan loves him, be more aware or sure of that. ivan can express affection or admiration for till in the open, at times when till’s not asleep or distracted or whatever.

second, till is also different! mizi is not the only source of warmth and happiness in an otherwise bleak and deeply painful, abusive life. without those incredibly challenging circumstances forcing till into survival mode, he has more options for how he can imagine his life, relationships, and express himself. he doesn’t have to put his whole being into loving the one person who expresses warm love as a survival mechanism to keep inspiring himslf to live. instead, he can observe and better understand ivan. and ivan is also less difficult to understand, himself better at expressing himself. with fewer thorny barriers between the two complicating their attitudes towards one another, the two can be friends, best friends, without complication — and thus also more. and i feel like i can’t ever stop thinking about the biggest barrier to their relationship in the alien stage world, the lack of examples of loving human relationships. how do you know what it means to love someone, if you have never seen it? never felt it? i think about this on a queer level, too — took me forever to figure out that i DO feel certain kinds of attraction differently towards different kinds of people, that i do feel it at all, bc at first, i only had 1 narrow example of what romantic or sexual attraction could be. without examples of other possibilities, it never occurred to me that what i was feeling counted. and that’s still with and understanding of any concept of love or romantic relationship!! poor ivan and till are out there fuckin tryna invent human social networks from scratch, RIP

this has been such a long stream of consciousness thinking about these guys so i just want to mention one final thing.

THE GODDAMN ACTOR AU.

they can be platonic OF COURSE. but the depth of emotion and their bond and everything in the other universes — to me, actor AU is the healthiest and easiest and sweetest universe in which the two of them get together. they’re not in each others lives from childhood, and it works in their favor acrually — they’re both fully realized humans, who have lots of chemistry, who deeply admire each others abilities, have similar interests — if we can bring the knowledge of their dynamic and the depth of their bond from the alien stage world to consider what they’d be like together in the actor AU, like 🥹🥹🥺🥺🥺🥺. an open and confident and loving ivan. a mature and expressive and affectionate till. they’re at their best in actor AU, and it’s that AU that really settled my brain into “shipping these two forever and ever” mode. because it can’t happen in their original universe — not without huge changes and a lot of time, like even if they both escaped with their lives, they would need time to heal and grow into their own people before they could really have a health relationship. but in actor AU 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 what they have and can have in actor AU 🥺🥺🥺🥺 gives us a glimpse at what they could be, if they got that time, if they got that chance. what they can be in every other universe, whenever they get that chance. AHHHHH i just love them so freaking much

[alwaysshallow]

— coffee at midnight, part 3

John "Soap" MacTavish x f!reader

Sometimes things are just too rough. He's here to make everything easier. (3,9 k)

1 | 2

AO3 version

Having something stable in your life was rare – you learned that at very young age, when you were tossed from one family to another. Trying so desperately to find a right home, to fit somewhere because after five foster families, you had your hope low.

Well, at least that was until a sweet couple of two women started to be interested in adopting you. First, you were hesitant. Like, no one could blame you, right? The amount of families that you've talked with and nothing came out of it, it was pretty sad for a child to be fooled like that. Yet, when everything was finalized, and Kate presented you the room with full pride, walls painted on your favorite color (she asked!) you cried.

Genuinely cried because you never thought you'd find a family like that. Two moms, who loved every version of you, wanted the best for you. Adopted by the best people in the world, eleven year old, you were on the cloud nine.

You finally had your people.

That "stable" thing also applied to relationships of every sort – friendships, boyfriends you had. Hell, boyfriend-girlfriends type of status scared the shit out of you, considering how many times you ended up crying over something, someone. If you would think about it, nothing really survived through time – maybe that's why you build a wall between you and everyone. Except your moms.

And, except Addison. She was your dearest best friend from high school days and you could trust her with everything at this point. The amount of times she was by your side in your darkest moments or saddest, like when Jake dumped you for some blond chick from cheerleader squad. You remembered vividly how she encouraged you to throw eggs at his car.

The two of you were the equivalent of all these memes about best friends. Dumb ones; the ones where you knew so many shit about each other, so if your friendship somehow would end, you'd have to kill the other person. What was more funny, it was literally like that, even if you were in military and automatically had less time.

When you were on leave? Hell, you reserved at least two days straight just for her, to tell all the tea (the tea wasn't classified at least) or to listen to it. You loved her too much.

Those walls were up until Task Force 141 came in – and specifically that one goddamn person, but you didn't need to bring him up in your mind to know that. Even if it was military thingy, you were like a found family, which was ironic, considering you thought it's gonna be 'job only' relationships.

Yet, that found family bond was so strong that when you were on leave, it was impossible not to contact each other. Not only groupchats were alive (on every platform possible), but also you met with them if there was a slight chance for that. Most of you were going home, and almost everyone before taking that "vacation" wanted to meet again. In normal circumstances, without that big "we're military" thing, so you had a few bars to swing in.

Where no one knew who the hell the six of you were, where you played pool with strangers, being experienced after late night sessions in military. Or, darts, where you once lost and almost scratched guy's eyes out when he bragged about it, and you were completely done since you loved darts.

Well, that was where boys came to conclusion that they won't even try to participate in Monopoly with you, or Ludo. Just because you were "violent" or something like this; you didn't pay attention to that because you had a plan to convince them anyway. They would always fold, especially when some money was on the table to win.

All in all, you loved them, honestly. Their humor, even if you rolled your eyes multiple times, being the only woman, except the moments when Farah or Kate helped you in field. Hell, they were irritating on purpose, only to get a reaction out of you, especially with jokes about women. But, they slowly learned that they could have other things to joke about.

Yet, they were still respectful, even if they were men.

You also loved the way you could count of them. Every situation, every little bump on the road, they were here. Maybe it was shared experience, but you knew it was not only that – empathy counted in this one too, as well as care.

Because here, everyone cared. Even on leave, maybe especially then since inner demons never slept. It wasn't something you all talked about openly, but one glance at someone could be enough to tell if someone was bothered.

Either by the past, the present, or the future. Soldiers had way too many things on their minds on all times, buried deep, so it wouldn't be a problem on the field, when they needed to focus. There were more important things, like killing the enemy, getting intel, protecting the civilians. No time for being emotional, no?

Everyone knew that eventually, it will spill all over.

And when it would, it was sure as hell it's not gonna be pretty.

Probably your moment came right after getting back to base. One day, Price told you – one day to "reset", and the next day, 2 P.M. sharp, all of the team was needed to be back in the field. You wish he wouldn't say that; you needed anything but to rest. Not after a bad day. Not after failing one part of the mission. Not after your uniform was covered in so much dirt and blood you couldn't even see your face properly or hands.

You looked nothing like your previous version, not to mention the mimics and the blank stare in the mirror. Trying to ignore it? Impossible, especially when your hands shook, as you tried to take off your clothes and wash yourself in shared bathrooms. You knew that no one will bother you at almost midnight, they were probably asleep, or playing poker.

With a sigh, you adjusted the water to your liking; it was warm, but not too warm, just perfect for a quick shower. Or, you thought it was gonna be a quick one – you needed a one scrub of your body, and one look at blood coming down the drain, to sit on the floor of the cabine. Unable to make another move, because for the first time in the while, you couldn't even wash properly.

"For fuck's sake" you cursed under your breath, mad at yourself; you were a soldier. You should be able to get yourself clean, to not make a big of the deal of something that happened many times your career.

You saw those situations multiple times, and right back then, under the shower, you were like a broken piece. Broken piece, who suddenly had all of images right in front of her eyes. Images of blood, dirt, broken bones, dead bodies. Voices in your head, people screaming, trying to get you to help them, but you couldn't do shit without orders.

With a loud sigh, you bent your legs, pulling them closer to you, your forehead pressed to knees. Involuntary tears streamed down your face. It was hard not to cry every once in a while to wind off, to let all out of the emotions go away, before they will buckle up once again. Hard was scrubbing your body, while you thought the worst of yourself, but you had to brush everything off. No matter how long it would take, it was necessary.

It was aggravating how badly you wanted to close your eyes, but couldn't since too many images were playing in your head. That's why you were staring blankly at your dirty skin, trying to actually pull yourself together, to make yourself stand again, to scrub your body reminding you of everything. For the first time in a while, you felt like you're losing yourself again, like you don't know what to do, genuinely.

Am I too much? Am I a monster? Of course I am a monster. With a blood at my hands – you thought, clearing your throat, when it started burning. You felt like in any moment, you would burst out crying.

You punched the white tiles right in front of you out of frustration; it was supposed to help in a way, but it didn't, considering that your knuckles came out scratched. And, what's more to it, a little bloody.

That was also the moment when you realized Soap was looking at you, in shock – before, you didn't even notice his presence in community showers. He looked like he wanted to say something, but out of respect, he looked away for a moment, coughing awkwardly.

You couldn't care less at that moment in which state he sees you in.

"I just walked in. I'm... 'm not some kind of creep" he started, stumbling on his own words. He wasn't the best with them in moments like these, you knew that, but appreciated still. "Couldn't find ya, no one knew, and... I was lookin'..."

"I get it, okay" you sighed, clearing your throat.

Maybe you should care that he saw you practically naked – practically because curled like this, he couldn't see your intimate parts or anything, but you didn't. You just were... staring in the wall, again.

"What do you want? Something happened?" you finally looked at him, and he raised his eyebrow, confused that you're even saying something like this, implying that he wants something from you.

"What? No, everything's alright, I just... 'st saw your face when you got out of the jeep. And, there's something wrong with ya, lass, every time you don't say goodnight."

You raised an eyebrow too.

"Fuck. You know what I mean, hen. Don't act clueless."

Of course you knew.

"Yeah, I just..." you bit your cheek from inside.

It was a hard call for you – to share what was on your mind or not. Right, as best friends to the grave (that's what Soap called your relationship multiple times), in theory it was a must. In theory only though, because practice was... a little different.

A lot to take, that's for sure, and everyone had their own problems to deal with – you knew it too well – and as his best friend, you knew his shit that he had to live through. He had enough of his bullshit, to hear about yours, but it was clear that Soap MacTavish wasn't the one who gives up easily.

If anything, he could get more curious about the problem and be more nagging, trying to help because "that's what he does best". It wouldn't probably even be another talk, but small gestures, and as much as you loved these types of things, you wanted to forget what bothered you. So, the easiest way was just to tell him.

"I see their faces. Everyone. Everyone from today, but also from the past. That pregnant lady that I killed right before I met you" you eventually said; quietly, like it was something ignominious to even think of.

It was something ironic to think, considering that you always cared about mental health and told everyone around you how feelings matter, how they are validated to feel everything. Kate taught you that, making a strong point about it when you usually were very closed about telling her your difficulties. She wanted to make you feel heard if you'd be willing to share anything, even something so little, even if you thought it was stupid.

Yet, you still felt bad.

"Terrorist." he corrected you, keeping the low tone. It seemed like the most important thing to him – to correct you that was a terrorist first, pregnant lady second. "It was you or her."

"It's not important, Johnny. My point is, we fucked up. I fucked up, pretty badly. Not only blew our plan, but someone had to pay the price. And I fucking can't even look at myself!" you laughed, feeling bitter and even weaker than before.

It was a tragedy that he had to see you like this.

"I can't even fucking wash myself because I see all of this blood, shallow wounds, and I just..." you shook your head, trying not to break more.

Especially right in front of him, when he was looking at you with... pity?

When you covered eyes with your hand, trying to separate yourself from that feeling, you could hear his footsteps coming closer. Next thing he did was dropping to his knees, at least that what it sounded like, considering that your view wasn't on him.

"I have nightmares lately. Bad ones. And from that dehydration today, from having to see the executions for getting fucking intel... it's just becomes worse. And worse. And worse."

"It's your job. You're good at it. Your job." his voice is steady and quiet, such a contrast to yours; breaking, shaky.

"I'm fucking disgusting, that's what I am." it came out snarky, sudden. You know he doesn't deserve that; he meant the best for you, he always did. Putting you before him, which irritated the shit out of you.

Many times you thought he deserved a better friend.

"I'm supposed to kill bad guys and protect good ones, not to let kill good guys for an intel. It's another fuck up mission, it's getting to my head. If we're doing any good."

"We are doing good. I... I think."

Hearing those words was something like a breaking point for you; you looked at Soap kneeling beside you, the corner of lips twitching before you broke into uncontrollable laughter. It quickly became maniac, something that you had no control over, just to transform into involuntary crying because it was enough. He thought team was doing good?

Thought wasn't enough. You needed a proof, something visible, something on paper that not even everything, but most of your work is needed and does good. Words weren't enough, and his hesitance was just a nail to a coffin you already were in because you chose this work for a reason. Helping people, make them feel safe.

As you looked at Soap, his presence was just melting the walls you had – as always, next to him, you were unable to lie or pretend like with everyone else. You felt you could just throw everything out of your system without wondering if it's appropriate. And you were crying, and laughing, and just making yourself crazy in front of him, yet he wasn't saying anything about it.

You didn't know what was happening in this moment as you were shaking; you just registered that his hands are slowly coming to you, and before he could hug you or anything, you decided to push him away a bit.

"I'm a fucking mess, Johnny." you babbled, trying to get your voice steady again. "Go, I have to... shower. It's pathetic."

A beat of silence passed between you two, before Scot decided to come even closer, pushing you deeper into the cabin. From that moment, he was getting wet too from shower stream.

"Let me."

You blinked.

"What?" you raised an eyebrow, confused what he means by "let me." Let him what? Let him tell you another story how you are brave for the work you're doing, or...

"I'm gonna help you in washing. That's what I mean."

"You're insane. I'm not going to use you like that." you stated, clearing your throat.

A certain wave of embarrassment went through you, like you just realized how bare you were; even if he couldn't see your front properly, you brought your legs closer to your chest, defense mechanism or some sort.

It was another thing that hit you, when you thought about it – how he was always there if you needed him, even if you didn't want him around for his own sake. No matter what it was, he was there, to help you. To make things better, even if it seemed like the shittiest situation in the world.

"It's not like I would take advantage of you, you know that. You're in a bad state" he whispered. "Let me do it. Please. You're gonna do the front, I'm gonna do the back."

"MacTavish-" "-please." he spoke quietly, tenderly – you heard him like this for a first time.

It was a silent agreement to his proposition when you gave him the second sponge; you didn't think that you could say "yes" to it out loud. It seemed embarrassing, it seemed like another overcrossing of a boundary.

Johnny's movements were slow and silky, like he was afraid to hurt you deeper than you were already since you closed your eyes, taking a deep, shaky breaths to ease yourself. Blood and dirt were coming down the drain, making you sick even more with a thought of people that had to be left behind.

Thinking it was some kind of encouragement seeing how all of it comes off, so you won't see "memories" of the mission, you decided to finally scrub your front, giving the whole attention to it. Because you couldn't miss a single piece, you just... needed to separate your body from the events that happened.

Move on to another, to another mission the next day. Time wasn't on your side when it was coming to processing everything on your own, lying in your bed without purpose, trying to tell yourself you weren't a bad person.

No.

You were a soldier. Safety of the world was before anything, even before you, your mental health, anything.

Twenty long minutes, and the next thing Soap did was washing your long hair with certain softness to it, massaging your scalp. If conditions were different, you'd probably joke and laugh about it, teasing him how good he does it and maybe he needs to think about changing careers.

Instead, you were just silent, eyes closed.

You always insisted on doing things alone – you learned it was the best way to not be disappointed; if you don't expect shit from people, you're not gonna be sad after, right? The perfect prevention from possible heartbreak. Not exactly how Kate raised you considering that she always reminded you about making friends to make life easier, but... life verified a lot of things actually. However, lessons from your mom were still appreciated, of course, even if you didn't quite apply them to life out of... fear? Yeah. Fear of being disappointed again.

Better to build walls around you than letting people in.

Version of you before Task Force 141 would hate you for allowing Johnny to help you like this, but the version after, the version of you that lied in bed with him, the version that trained with him, the version that was his partner in the missions?

You couldn't help but appreciate all of it. You wouldn't allow it for anyone else but him, your rock, your person, someone that you trusted to the end of the line. Someone that seen you in your worst right now, and still was there.

"Everything will be alright" Soap cooed, which made you open your eyes to look back at him; his eyes locked in moment with yours. "I'm here, yes? I'm not gonna leave you."

He was soaked, you realized; just because he sat with you under that shower, still in his shirt and cargo pants that he was on a mission with, his boots kicked to the side. You wondered if he was even comfortable enough. Probably not, and yet, he was still by your side.

"Everyone leaves anyway." you said quietly, looking away from him, as soon as you said that, feeling how he tensed. "Not me, hen. Not me." he replied in soft tone – yet again, different than he used usually, and different totally from the one he used out in the field.

Amusing to think that man was shouting few hours ago to you to get down and with ease killed a man hand to hand with his pocket knife; such a contrast to his softness. Such a contrast to hands that held a gun, such a contrast to his voice, now sweet and dripping with honey, easing your nerves, such a contrast to his image in the field.

"You have your own demons, Johnny. You don't need here to sit with me and try to fight with mine, when you have problems. It's..."

"I do have them, yeah." he interrupted you. "I fight 'em when I'm with you – selfishly, in order to fight with them, I just need ya around, healthy and recovered. I can't do that when you're injured like that. Shattered to pieces."

He got up then and tossed you a towel to catch, while you still were bamboozled by his words; you caught it though, wrapping yourself around it quickly. Johnny saw your bare back, but he didn't need to see front.

"I'll meet you in your room, hen. Gotta wash myself" he hummed. "Or, you want to help me?" Soap raised his eyebrow, smiling with the corner of his lips – clearly, he wanted to cheer you up a bit.

"You wish, MacTavish." you replied, collecting your dirty clothes swiftly. You nudged him with your hip. "You want some coffee? I think I need one."

"Yeah! Give me ten minutes."

You spent with him two hours when he came from the shower – it was disappointing considering you wanted to talk with him more, but you had to wake up early to move onto next installment of the mission. The other thing that was different than normal? If you'd have another day off, your little chat would have alcohol involved, but in these conditions you had to be good, so you just talked with him, a mug of coffee in your hands.

Coffee at midnight, as always.

Mission wasn't one of the hardest – getting intel you needed in Mexico, asking civilians about some things, so you were pretty calm when you arrived at the place. Small village; Alejandro said something about "being cautious" with people here since they were sneaky and who knew better than him? That's why you were on high alert, even if Soap was making jokes of you having "stick up your ass".

Mostly he was joking, though, you knew that he appreciated that you had your eyes everywhere.

It was the dynamic between you two – him goofing around with you rolling your eyes at him or goofing with him which usually irritated the shit out of Ghost that tried to do his job.

Back then, you were in mood number two, considering what happened yesterday at night. Your mind was still partially in that moment, with his hands being all over your back and his fingers gently massaging your scalp with all of his attention. It felt so vivid, like he would be doing it in the moment you were wandering around small village, not the night before. You already missed his gentleness, his soothing words, and...

And you were far from admitting it fully, since you shook your head, scolding yourself in your mind to focus, not daydream.

It was nothing, he'd probably do it for everyone.

At least you thought.

[flowerslut]

I know that you've written a bit about it in Roots, but I was wondering how you think Maria would react to Jasper finding a home and a family with the Cullens (and Bella) without the dire circumstances that caused her to visit in Roots? Like, imagine she's come to pay them a visit in Calgary to get Jasper back before it all went bad- what were her thoughts? And maybe she saw them again after Bella has been turned, maybe on purpose or maybe on accident- what would she think of Bella?? Sorry if this is a weird ask but I really love the way you write Maria and I'd love to hear your thoughts

well the guide tells us that maria "considers herself to be on good terms with [jasper]" and, to once again quote my beloved wife, maria thinks that jasper is that "lame friend who's a born-again vegan now." sure he's cringey but she thinks they're buds. it's incredibly funny because in the context of their history, this absolutely checks out! they didn't kill each other! or even try to! which can't typically be said for southern war alliances! sure, he defected like a little cowardly bitch baby thanks to that skank peter and that's super annoying and inconvenient, but their parting was as peaceful as it gets in her eyes.

we see this in midnight sun:

so we can speculate that she views him as useful, and for anyone to be useful in an active war zone then they have to be dangerous and smart, so I'm sure maria has some measure of respect for jasper, even if it's begrudging or mocking. and note that these ⬆️ are thoughts edward has years after the whole "we'd had to move immediately" debacle, meaning that, at least in the cullens' minds, maria 1) thinks of jasper as her favorite, 2) hates peter, 3) is still "undeniably dangerous," and 4) 100% has the ability to track the cullens down.

with all that being said: I'm sure maria finds the cullens intensely amusing, if not a little annoying. i've said before that I think she should get to fuck around with the cullens more (bat them around like a house cat with a mouse) and her visit in calgary is fun to think about because of how little information we get. "Jasper had politely asked her to keep her distance in the future" vs "Maria was undeniably dangerous" are such funny facts to present to the reader, side by side. it would only make sense to connect them and just assume that edward is doing a LOT of censoring in his narration there.

I'd love to think that maria did some fun spiteful murdery shit when she visited in calgary, but it's just as likely that she just did a Normal Vampire Murder™️ that somehow blew the cullens' cover! she's just from a completely different world!!! it's so FUN to think about!! for fic I love to imagine her not taking the cullens' "please dont hunt in town" requests (or any requests) seriously, the same way I love the idea of her setting up an opportunity for the cullens' to slip up (it was just intellectual curiosity okay! she was just doing an experiment! you can't blame a women in stem for being curious!)

as for her meeting bella? tbh that scene I wrote in roots pretty much sums up how I think their meeting would go. I don't believe that, even after everything she's learned, bella really understands how dangerous maria is, especially since the information she receives via edward (and the cullens) is usually pretty sanitized and censored. I'm positive jasper was censoring pretty heavily in eclipse. the "a nightmare, a monster of the grisliest kind" seems like the gnarliest admission we get, and it's so goddamn vague it makes me feral (in a good way, don't worry). but bella doesn't strike me as someone to be afraid or wary of maria in a way the rest of the cullens probably are, and that's because homegirl never gets all the facts/the full story! likewise, I think that maria is like "who is this dumb idiot" and "why have these other idiots clearly not filled her in" when she meets bella because anyone who isn't at least a little bit uneasy about her is either 1) hiding something or 2) a complete dipshit, and i'm sure she's seen enough of the cullens to know that they're a little short on sense.

[ohbentomori]

To the me of 5 years later

Hey kiddo,

I’m pretty sure it’s weird to see a message to you from yourself, right? Probably not given the circumstances. You might even be wondering when this letter was written anyways and it’s easy to forget given what time you’ll probably see this again.

At this time when you wrote this, you woke up with a start at around 2 AM thinking you have this nasty deadline to meet (you ain’t wrong, kid) and tried to do it at the last minute since it’s for your 11 AM class the same day but, somehow, you knew you wouldn’t make it so you didn’t try to push it.

By now, you’re already a pretty tired mess and it’s easy to see why you’d stop yourself immediately. The reasoning was pretty sound anyways. You thought that you didn’t want to rush the work because you genuinely wanted to be able to appreciate it but at the same time, you knew that it was going to flop up since you haven’t bothered to work on it during your free time... and I wouldn’t blame you for it. You’ve been through so much lately and I guess you’ve run out of outlets to vent your worries on and I’m telling you that you’re doing great.

You’re doing well, kid. I mean...I can mentally count down the times you’ve almost given up on even breathing and functioning but here you are, strong and 25 and hopefully happy with yourself now.

There were a lot of mistakes down the road but I hope you never think that they weren’t all bad either. They turned you into who you are now and you should be happy for yourself. Remember when you were 18 and you thought, “Man, I’m so excited to be in college!” and had the rug pulled out from under you because it was a vivid life experience you didn’t expect.

But you survived it. 

You managed to get by.

Right now, you’re 20 and sad and honestly crying right now. Which is alright! You were always such a big emotional baby anyways and lots of people like you for that. But you need to stop hiding those emotions too. You need to drop the poker face when you’re feeling down because a lot of people do want to help you and it’s not bad to accept it. Doesn’t make you any less of who you are. I hope you learned that lesson by now because of you didn’t, I’d probably whoop my own ass if I could.

Breathe. Adulthood isn’t easy (obviously, I can’t imagine why) but you’re still here, right? Life isn’t going to get easier but you shouldn’t stop yourself from taking a breather when you need it. Go outside and get fresh air. You don’t do it enough lately. It’s like you’re terrified of the fucking sun. Get out and live, you damn skinny vampire. Make friends. Go on a limb to get out of your comfort zone. Right now, you think it’s difficult but I hope that when I read this again, I’m already telling myself what a badass motherfucker I am. Hell yeah! Pump yourself up!

Yeah. That’s it. Keep it up, okay? Don’t let the bad juju ruin your moments. It’s alright to take it slowly, one day at a time. I know you’re probably still not going to be able to slow yourself down so easily but right now, the you that’s typing is acting like this is a goddamn shitshow. (Prove yourself wrong later dammit!)

I’m not going to get all mushy and sentimental with myself cause you’re bound to be doing that anyways when you read this again. Just let me leave you a message I don’t think you’ll be surprised to see but might come in handy any time;

“Even if everything is a mess and falling apart, remember that you’re allowed to be happy and nobody can tell you otherwise. You know yourself best after all. So smile, laugh, do a fucking cartwheel when you feel like it! You’ve been sad enough times so you deserve to explore yourself and do what makes you happy. You’re wonderful and love yourself more often. Buy clothes and shit. Blow the world away with your passive-aggressive nature cause it’s you and you should do whatever it is that makes you feel alive.”

Sincerely,

your 20 year old self.

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

it's miklan time -retrieves sunglasses from my bathrobe pocket-

(after post edit: it got giant im sorry you said miklan's name and i responded accordingly to the programming of my gautier brain)

I think, quite honestly, that Miklan didn't really get or was even close to getting the uwus the way Edelgard did. In Sylvain's paralogue, Sylvain says Miklan got what he deserved. Nobody would dare ever say that in a Fodlan game about Edelgard lol. She suffered so much uwu! So much trauma! Her circumstances led her to what she became! All the horrific things she's done are excused!

Mind, Sylvain still has some love for his brother. It was hard for him to lose Miklan permanently and he almost always refers to him in both games as "my brother", rather than severing that emotional connection because of not caring or not wanting to acknowledge their family ties.

If you consider Hopes, Miklan also wasn't given any uwus or fucks there either. He was given a chance, but not excuses. His story was written well because the characters around him told him no more fucking bullshit or you're dead. They understood his circumstances weren't great and that it led to what he was doing for so long, but they needed to cut off any possibility that that would continue.

It was basically like, if you want your life to be the way you believe it should've been all along, you cut the bullshit right now and start making amends. Yes, his circumstances sucked and he didn't deserve that, but he retaliated by targeting innocent and uninvolved people, which wasn't excused. Overall, the writing correctly handled how to go about handling someone who turned to a life of crime out of anger and spite who previously didn't deserve how he'd been treated.

The political climate of Faerghus was at fault for Miklan's disinheritance, which as king is Dimitri's job to improve upon. He can't just look the other way when it's his country's politics that drove someone to that life (I mean, he could if he was Edelgard LOL). It was Miklan's poor decisions that led to him being a bandit, but it was Faerghus' politics that led to those poor decisions, so in a way, Faerghus' politics still have a hand for it and are at fault for it.

That is to say, Miklan shoulders heavy blame, but not all of it. Dimitri is basically saying look, I'll fix the bullshit that fucked up your life, but if I do that then nothing is stopping you from fixing yourself. If Dimitri takes away the reason Miklan became a bandit in the first place, i.e. his value was trashed because the new kid had a crest and he didn't, then Miklan has no reason not to fix his life. Dimitri gave him a place of importance and value, i.e. commanding officer, because Dimitri believed that's the rightful place he deserved to begin with.

He deserved an honorable position in the first place, but that was taken from him by Faerghus politics. Dimitri has a responsibility to fix those things, and once he does, Miklan can be that respected person again, but it falls to Miklan himself to actually prove that that is what he wanted in the first place - the respect and honor that he lost. That his desires weren't pillaging, and if his desires were within reach that he would take them. Evidently Miklan was spiteful, but not spiteful enough that he wouldn't take back what he was rightfully owed by the people who took it from him, or in this case, the descendants of the people who took it from him.

And mind, being heir obviously meant the world to Miklan if he took things that goddamn fucking far for losing his title. Defending Gautier and being its heir meant enough to him that being removed from it over not being born so lucky really fucked him up when he'd been raised to be heir until then (even despite the fact that his mother was pregnant with his sibling, who could've had a crest, which we'll never know because she died while still pregnant during a Sreng raid).

And yeah, I'm using Hopes as primary examples for him because he has significantly more content, but also because AG was actually well written overall, and Faerghus' cast was given the best of Hopes' writing. Edelgard's writing was more or less the same stuff she already had in Houses because she was put into such a similar situation as what she was in in Houses (whereas Dimitri and Claude's routes had substantial plot differences), so it genuinely separates their stories and can't use Miklan as a way to prove Edelgard's point anymore.

He's a valued and respected commander of Faerghus, and he's, by his own admittance, happy about it (he says he's "come to like it" so... by Miklan terminology it's the same thing LOL). He doesn't feel spite for his role or situation. Dimitri saw him being used as an Edelgard's Talking Point, yanked him away from it, fixed any possible indication that he could be an Edelgard's Talking Point, re-presented him to the world, and her talking point crumbled immediately.

For Miklan personally, it was never about the crest. It was about his value being trashed by his own father and by the political climate. In that regard, I can't blame him at all for retaliating, but I can blame him for retaliating the wrong way and against the wrong people. Edelgard is likely under the impression that Miklan solely hates the way crests dictate things, but that's not the case. It was never specifically about the crests.

Yeah, he came to hate crests because of that, but if he hadn't been devalued like that, he wouldn't have cared either way that Sylvain had one and he didn't. In his eyes it's less about the crest and more about how his father prioritized a crest's power over his value and competence. It wasn't the crest that insulted him, but his own father. If he regained his value, the crests don't matter in the grand scheme of things, which is true of his Hopes arc (he leads men with and without crests and doesn't really care who has what. He's just appreciating that that's not getting in the way of being allowed to do what he's worthy of doing).

While I agree they probably made Miklan's circumstance the way it is to prove Edelgard's point, we both know her point fails in both Faerghus and Fodlan at large. It's another case of Edelgard devjerking wherever they can. Still though, Miklan's story was written much better than hers. Similarly to Sephiran, everyone said shut up and make amends or die (except Sanaki, but she's a literal child even in RD who grew up with this man as a loving father, so she does genuinely get a pass for not feeling so strongly about that).

But also, even though the devs circlejerk for Edelgard as much as possible, the coherent part of the story, yeah, doesn't defend her so much. By her definition, Miklan would not have been a noble period, and would've been tossed to the streets for not having a crest. He remained part of their household, and in Hopes Sylvain says Miklan gave him a hard time as kids, but adds in even after we'd grown up", so Miklan was plenty involved in their family his entire life.

Idk how deeply involved in banditry he was while still a noble, because that would have a very bad look for Gautier in general, so it's possible his actions were less destructive (because I imagine action would've been taken much sooner had they been bad enough) until he was disowned. After that I imagine it was just free reign so he stopped giving a fuck.

That said, Hopes really hammered that while he did make a better path and name for himself, it was literally do or die. He was still responsible for his side of the problem. Matthias made a mistake (which he presumably understands in Hopes, because if he thinks he's been a bad father to Sylvain, I'm sure he has a significantly worse opinion about how he handled Miklan), but Miklan's retaliation to that was "well okay I guess I'll go try to kill my brother then". From there it just got progressively worse.

So yeah, while I think he was probably initially meant to be an Edelgard's Talking Point example, her argument falls apart anyway in Houses, but the pieces that already fell apart fell apart again in Hopes. If anything I'd say she probably also wants to get rid of Faerghus because its existence contradicts her propaganda.

Without proof that she's /incorrect/lying (as in, idk if she's intentionally lying or genuinely believes that crests are everything), nobody can refute her claims and she can just say it was the case and that she already fixed it so nobody can see it anymore. Even if she does genuinely think crests are the problem based on her experience and trauma, she's not even giving Faerghus and Leicester the chance to prove her wrong because she doesn't want to be wrong. She wants to do away with what caused her pain even if it doesn't exist elsewhere, and at the expense of others.

She suffered, so the world has to pay for it (and unfortunately it really is the world in this case and not just Fodlan being the whole world as she refers to it, including Brigid, Almyra and Duscur as examples). To her, that's solving the problem: removing anything that even remotely resembles what her own country did that caused her to suffer, including taking it out on other countries.

While she chose to try to fix the problem that caused it, while Miklan didn't try to fix it and just reacted in anger, she chose to hurt (read: kill) innocent, uninvolved people and call it fixing the problem (Miklan never expected his actions would fix the problem). She thinks it'll help less people die in the long run. She thinks bandits like Miklan will kill people and more will die in the long run if she doesn't kill these innocent people in the short term.

However, all Miklan needed was to be cared about and valued as a human being and not based on having crest. Give that to him and problem solved. No more people dying to his banditry. It required helping him and putting him back on his feet, not taking a bunch of uninvolved lives. Dimtiri didn't look at Miklan and say "we have to kill to fix this problem", he said, figuratively, "we need to help him to fix this problem".

She's not just no better than who Miklan became, but she's worse than him. She also never wanted to better herself or correct her mistakes. She wanted to be right, had to be right, and would kill anyone who made her wrong (i.e. Faerghus and Leicester, just be existing, already proved her wrong and so had to go).

Miklan didn't care about "being right" or hurting innocent people and claiming it fixed the problem. Which, yeah, I'd say killing innocent people and claiming that you've now fixed a problem is a lot worse than saying you killed them out of anger and hatred. Neither is good, but at least he's not saying "I'm fixing the problem you all started by killing people who have absolutely nothing to do with the problem".

But yeah, the thing about Faerghus is that... it's not just based on crests. Each territory has their own method of doing things. Gautier has valid reasons for needing its crest, but Matthias still shouldn't have said "welp, you're disinherited now bud". Sylvain's power would've been no less important if he wasn't officially given the title of heir. He still would've had that power, still could've used it to protect Gautier, and still could've had his brother as the heir while he handled the fighting with the Lance of Ruin.

Technically, this would've been the better option imo, because it wouldn't run the risk of the heir and crested individual both losing their life if it came to that, i.e. if Sylvain died, Gautier loses both its heir and crested individual (which... SB lol). If Sylvain wasn't the heir but died in battle, Gautier would still have its heir and leader and just have to wait until someone was born with the ability to wield the Lance of Ruin again. At least then, yes, they lose fighting strength, but they don't lose order and leadership.

Regarding Jugdral, yeah, the leadership is wonky there because it's similar to what our buddy ol' pal Ulki said: leaders chosen this way, i.e. by bloodline, can lead to incompetent leaders. In our cast of characters' case, specifically gen 2, it just goes to the firstborn male without question, which puts Manster in an awkward place when Altenna was raised with the same knowledge as Arion, and Leaf was raised with... the cool skill of knowing how to run for your life, for his entire life until he was fifteen when he was old enough to fight back and stop running. Boy doesn't know jack shit about how to rule and hardly knows how to run an army. That boy is my son and my baby boy, but damn if he can't run jack shit as a leader. Reasonably, Altenna should've been the heir.

The difference between Yuria and Celice is similar for me though. I'd argue he can lead a country better than she can, just based on what we know about each of them. She doesn't have the temperament to do so, nor does she seem to have enough knowledge about it, which makes sense. She was still very young when she was separated from her family, so she had less than ten years to even learn from her parents about leadership. Unlike Altenna, she didn't grow up with that understanding. Celice was forced to learn it but he did, while Yuria kinda just... didn't. If you were to go by major blood, yeah, she should get the throne, but if you go by the laguz's idea of inheritance, well, the laguz's way of running shit over in Tellius makes way more sense.

That said, if you go by major blood, then yeah, she should've had the throne, but they specifically go by firstborn male, and both can be a flop. Like... Leaf lmao. He's a flop in both aspects, both because he doesn't have major blood and he also never learned how to run a country. His adoptive father was a goddamn knight, so Fin knows jack shit about ruling as well lmao.

Tl;dr yeah, Jugdral's inheritance system is trash. Ulki will not be, at all, in his lifetime, moving to Jugdral.

Quick stuff for the tags:

#i also really disliked the "he became a bandit because he felt cheated from his inheritence' like no #that's not an excuse

I hope I technically answered this in my post because I tried to! He did feel cheated, but he felt devalued as a person as well. He felt his worth was decided by a crest because of it, and yeah, that's really unfortunate and means there were political problems that needed to be fixed. Like I said though, he's still responsible for what he did in response, so his banditry is all on him and he can't blame politics for becoming a bandit.

He was only a bandit out of anger and spite - not because he needed to eat. He was a noble with more food than any of the people he stole from and killed. He wasn't a bandit to survive, but because he was mad at the country's politics. It's not an excuse at all, but he's an example of "Edelgard thinks she knows shit about other people's lives and thinks she knows another country's politics like they're identical to her country's".

#in FE16 Yuri iirc mentions he heard things about Miklan's bandit group seducing women

From what the English localized version says (it may be different in French text), he says Miklan's group kidnapped women, which goes beyond seduced. The implication is probably rape, though it's not said directly, so I guess you could technically take it either way (held for ransom for example, which would make sense after Miklan was disowned and didn't have all the food he could possibly need. Granted, held for ransom doesn't mean rape wasn't involved).

Not sure what it says in the JP version and I can look eventually, but I need a break after all this writing LOL.

#this game really tries to ditch personal responsability to blame 'society i mean rhea BaD' instead

I hope I answered this properly too! In Miklan's case it was actually handled correctly, and Miklan tells Catherine and Shamir that Dimitri told him that the only thing holding him back now were his past mistakes. That could mean Miklan personally doesn't feel he's properly atoned yet (i.e. he's getting his humanity back and regrets his actions) and still feels held back of a full redemption.

People respected him and he was a leader, so who he could be was figured out and solved. All that was left was for him to cut his ties with his past (mistakes), i.e. being a bandit. If he could move on from his grudges and past mistakes, he would be in full who he was meant to be all along, so he probably was only held back at this point by his own feelings and needed to get past that anger.

The reason I use Hopes in this case too is because he didn't get the chance in Houses to take responsibility; so I don't think the game ditched him taking responsibility so much as he didn't have a chance to do so. Hopes changed that and proved it had nothing to do with Rhea. Maybe not a win for her, exactly, but it still crushes more of the Edelgard rhetoric and gets Miklan out of the "look she's right, it's all because of the uwu crests!" category.

You're a free man now, Miklan. Now she can get a taste of the respected commander she thought would be such a good idea by not being able to take Arianrhod!!! -kids cheering sfx-

#that's why in Nopes his story was a small improvment #even if i still find it kind of meh

I don't expect to change your mind or anything, or your opinion on the writing for him, but I hope you understand where I'm coming from better with him! Like, why I think the story did actually do a good job with him in Hopes and that it expanded it to better explain his situation, which set him far apart from being "Edelgard is right" bait, because they're completely separate issues imo by Hopes' handling of Miklan.

HOWEVER! You did not say Gonzales in that last tag and that makes me sad. :'(

@dimiclaudeblaigan replied to your post “About that Listhea and Edelgard dialogue on crest...”:

Miklan wasn't removed from the family for not having a crest actually. He was disinherited but still part of the family. He was disowned after years and years of trying to kill Sylvain and being a bandit.

​Yep!

I still don't really like how FE16 tried to "uwu" Miklan's story to make Supreme Leader have a point about the crust system - as you said, if possession of a crest, rather lack of, was the only reason why someone would be removed from family, Miklan would have been ousted from the Gautier fam the second Sylvain was born, but it wasn't the case.

Dishinerited yes, but not disowned, and we know several characters (Rufus, Ingrid's bros, Gustave!) who have "crested" siblings, and yet aren't kicked away from their houses or left with a loaf of bread and a glass of water.

But FE16 - at least the spoken lines by the characters, because Hresvelg Grey - completely elude this to harp on the "crust system", and as some people pointed out, between "first son gets the title" and "first child with a crest gets the title" rules, I can't really say which one is worse lol

we know how it happened in jugdral, in a verse where Azmur picks Seliph as the next king of Granvalle because he's Deedee's firstborn son regardless of his minor Naga Blood, without Julia, the world is fucked the second Manfroy reads the "Loptyr" bedtime story to Julius

[celestial-ringleader]

https://celestial-ringleader.tumblr.com/post/658246663116341248/mushroom-cookie-bears-send-me-a-character-and

Remy & Pietro??

@lucifers-favorite-child Buckle in y’all because this is gonna be a long one

Remy LeBeau:

favorite thing about them: So. Many. Things. I can’t decide on one so I’m just gonna list off my top three:

- His entire aesthetic is just so cool to me?? I love the idea of his character, just him being a thief (and an heir to an entire Guild on top of it) but I also like how he’s often seen as siren-like with how he can pull people in and smooth-talk his way out of almost anything. Also his eyes are so fucking cool idc what anyone else says. The black with red sclera is just so awesome.

- His powerset, omg people seriously underestimate what he’s capable of. Some think his power is just throwing explosive cards when it’s so much more than that. Like do you have any idea how useful it could be to manipulate energy?? He could literally make a moving object stop because he can just sap out the kinetic energy within it. On top of that he made a missile explode in Excalibur which I think was an interesting way of using his powers.  Also his goddamn reflexes are broken as all fuck, like he can sense a bullet coming even before anyone else notices it and dodge it perfectly. And if he’s quick enough he can hit it back at the person who shot at him. It’s fucking insane. And let’s not forget that in an alternate universe he was able to kill the Dark Phoenix and destroy his whole planet in a fit of his powers overloading. So.

- This is gonna be cheesy, but I love the way he talks. I like how no matter how much time has passed, he hasn’t changed how he speaks and is proud of it. Besides, his accent is just,,,so good.

least favorite thing about them: Aside from the moments where he’s characterized and portrayed poorly, I can’t think of anything.

favorite line: “I ain’t a thief, or an assassin. I’m an X-Man and I’m never comin’ back.” He said that to Belladonna in X-Men: The Animated Series and it stuck with me so much.

But also the line “You need ta get a life. Seriously.” is so good too. Just ANXF in general had a lot of good lines.

brOTP: Oh boy I have so many so I’m listing them off:

-Remy & Ororo Monroe

-Remy & Laura Kinney

-Remy & Anna-Marie (and before I get people asking, I personally don’t ship them romantically. Not saying no one else should, it’s just a personal preference.)

And some bonus crack brOTPs:

-Remy & Neena Thurman

-Remy & Felicia Hardy

OTP: There’s a lot here too,,,

-Remy/Pietro Maximoff (obviously)

-Remy/Fantomex

-Remy/Johnny Storm (this is more of a crack pairing, but I blame rping on discord for this)

-Remy/Kurt Wagner

-Remy/Warren Worthington III

nOTP: Honestly Remy is so shippable with a lot of people so I don’t really care all that much. Like,,sometimes I like people exploring him in toxic relationships (like with Sabertooth or Mister Sinister) so I really don’t care skjvbdkj

random headcanon: I like to headcanon that Remy has ADHD, which mostly shows itself through him having special interests, stimming, and having a bad case of RSD (Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria) because of past trauma associated with him being abandoned by those close to him. Also I like to imagine he uses playing cards to stim and his special interest is science fiction and space operas. Let him be a nerd.

Also he’s an Omega Level mutant. There I said it.

unpopular opinion: Okay, nobody get out the pitchforks and torches, but I don’t like this common headcanon that he’s a himbo and a narcissist. Usually a himbo is described as a character who is dumb while also being kind and beefy, but Remy just doesn’t tick all those boxes in my opinion. He’s incredibly clever and learns quickly, but he also doesn’t waste his time with knowledge that won’t help him. Like maybe he can’t do basic calculus but he understands how to get a lock to break based on it’s materials. Also because he was a physics teacher and I’d buy that he understands physics very well, especially since energy is such a big part of physics. So to me, he isn’t a himbo, he’s just a decent man. And as for the narcissism thing, he just doesn’t fit into the personality of someone with NPD. In fact, most of the time he talks down about himself and thinks himself less worthy....the exact opposite of a narcissist. Sometimes he’s just full of himself because he loves himself for once and that’s perfectly okay to me.  

song i associate with them: “Blood on my Name” by The Brother’s Bright, it has a southern gothic feel and it fits well into his backstory. Also “Poker Face” because why not. And also “Addict” by SilviaHound (yes it’s a Hazbin Hotel song but the vibes fit him so well)

favorite picture of them: I have,,,way too many I like. But these ones are just so good.

Also this one because it genuinely made me laugh

okay and now onto pietro

Pietro Maximoff:

favorite thing about them: There’s so much I love about Pietro so I’ll just list it off again ajkdbvkj

- His powers are actually really fucking cool. Like people think he can just run fast but forget that running fast is just one thing he can do. He can literally vibrate himself fast enough to go through walls, he has been shown to have some control over metal like Erik, he ran faster than the speed of sound (and possibly light), and he can leg press over 2,000 pounds. Also his superhero name is just so good, not even being ironic, the name Quicksilver is so badass.

- I love his relationship with Wanda, like sometimes it’s written really bad but other times it’s the cutest thing ever. Like he feels so protective over Wanda because of the environment they were raised in, but at the same time he learns when to let go of his own insecurities and let Wanda be her own person. Like,,their sibling dynamic is one of my favorites.

- His entire backstory is so tragic and I love it. He always feels like he isn’t good enough and tries to be as good as he can despite it all, but he’s also unabashedly pissed off about the circumstance he’s in. Like Pietro has every right to be bitter and I love seeing him call people out on their bullshit (especially in Quicksilver: No Surrender when he calls out people for marketing and appropriating Romani culture) 

least favorite thing about them: ...I literally can’t think of anything akjdbvkj

favorite line: Oops it’s all gamquick

Remy: Are you being difficult on purpose?

Pietro: What other reason is there to be difficult?

And also-

Pietro: Well, that’s a step up from a blow-up doll, isn’t it?

Remy: Did anyone ask you?

(Yes these are both from ANXF)

brOTP:

-Pietro & Wanda

-Pietro & Lorna Dane

-Pietro & Clint Barton (not MCU)

OTP: Okay I really only have two but I’m gonna gush about gamquick for a minute-

-Pietro/Remy LeBeau: I don’t even know where to begin with these two, I guess to start out with they both just look so good next to one another. They also bounce off one another banter-wise very well and while neither of them take bullshit from anyone, they still don’t mind messing with one another because it’s strictly playful. Also both their backstories are similar and lends itself to them finding solace in one another, they both recognize each other’s pain and will try their best to alleviate it as best as they can. They both understand what it feels like to be abandoned and abused and would never inflict that on each other, they both came from poverty and find it hard to fit into the “normal world”, but also Pietro usually never shows his softer side to anyone, but with Remy he’d make the exception because Remy wouldn’t hurt him like that. It’s also cute to explore them being able to settle down and get away from the superhero life for a while, but also them being a battle couple is A++

There’s just so much to say about them ajbdvkj

-Pietro/Namor Mckenzie: This became one of my favorite Pietro ships mostly because of @imperiuswrecked​ but also because apparently they were gonna be a couple in House of M?? Like that sounds so good to read about! Like Pietro is more carefree than Namor in some instances and it would be nice to see Namor relax a little bit more around Pietro. But also because I love imagining them being That royal couple and it’s so good.

nOTP: Pietro/Crystal. Just no. That ship is a garbage fire and it should’ve burned out ages ago.

random headcanon: Pietro has darker roots because his hair used to be the same color as Wanda’s before his powers manifested themselves. Also I like to headcanon/draw Pietro with darker skin.

unpopular opinion: Sometimes Pietro is seen as being misogynistic towards Wanda and I hate that interpretation of him. He’s protective over her, but he still allows her to make decisions on her own. Also people need to stop blaming Pietro for the events of House of M. For the love of god stop that shit.

song i associate with them: “Dollhouse” by Melanie Martinez

favorite picture of them: Need I say more? Pietro carrying his Cajun bf goes without saying

This was a lot of fun to write out and there’s so much more I can say but for now I’ll leave it here ajdbvkj

Ask Meme

[darkpoisonouslove]

No Time to Die Review

I am so glad that this is all over because I am so tired of ripping into these movies. Believe me, I do not enjoy it. I really wanted to like the movies but they just refuse to work with me on absolutely every front. This one not only remains true to form but also amps it up in the following ways:

The opening scene pissed me off beyond belief. I watched this one in the theaters with a friend and at one point the other people around us stared at us because we got a little loud with our disbelief and disappointment. The action was very unbelievable and, again, I know that a certain level of that is expected in an action movie but this was just too ridiculous. The explosion at the mausoleum barely seemed to affect Bond and there were some goddamn conveniences there. He should’ve died, like, five times. And what was more annoying about it was that he was so quick to blame Madeleine about being found. As if he didn’t learn just in the previous movie that Spectre reaches way farther than he ever thought and he’s a central obsession with them. It’s perfectly logical that they would try and be able to find him even without any help from Madeleine.

It was absolutely terrible how quick he was to throw her away. In the good scenario, it could have been used as a flaw of his character that has formed due to his espionage career and Vesper’s betrayal in the first movie but they didn’t really do anything to instigate character development and help him overcome that. They just threw in a child (which I will get to in a sec) to tie him back to Madeleine and it all speaks of the gigantic issues of this “romance”. Both characters jumped into it way too fast without knowing the other and seeing them fall apart over things that aren’t at all the insurmountable circumstances that the movie wants to present them as only shows how superficial that entire romance was.

Unfortunately, the entire movie sort of counts on that relationship to work as intended and it... does not. I’m sorry but if I wasn’t buying their romance in the last movie, that opening only made that stance even stronger. So the rest of the movie had no hope whatsoever of winning me over and I was rolling my eyes at how supposedly great their love was. They didn’t fool me for a second and the whole secret-child shtick was the worst. I’ve always said that when a writer has no idea how to end their story, they either kill off the character or they throw in a baby and this movie... did both. Wow, just wow. Talk about being out of ideas.

The villain... ugh, what was even up with him? He made zero sense. First he shows up into Madeleine’s house to kill her family but then he saves her life only AFTER she shoots him. What? And I know Madeleine was a freaked out kid but why did she not remove his weapon when she was dragging him outside? Even if you think he’s dead, precautions can never hurt. And then he just kills people ‘cause he’s “like Bond” but more “innovative” or whatever. Istg most of the villains were just villains because the movie needed one, not because there was any deeper idea to them. Like, they literally don’t have motivations that make sense. All this guy did was take out the entirety of Spectre because the writers remembered that they also have to deal with them and that was the easiest way to get it done.

Nomi was just there to be a supporting character in Bond’s story, just like everyone else. They could have shown her struggling or not to fill the hole in MI-6 that bond left but their writing focus doesn’t reach that far. They really had her there only to argue about the 007 and save Bond’s family. And really, if 007 was just a number, they should have let HER keep it. But no. Once again, the whole world bends over backwards for Bond even though the writers know they are going to blow him up about half an hour later. He wasn’t going to stay with the agency either way since he had a family now. They should have just let him give Nomi the 007 identification as a way to pass his legacy forward but that is too advanced a subplot for this male power fantasy.

I loved Paloma. She was great. Easily best two scenes in the movie. They should make an entire movie about her character. I bet you it will be 10 000 times more interesting than these Bond movies. I also liked Felix in the movie even though I was sad he died. That double crossing was kinda obvious but I guess they had to wrap up their loose ends (if you could call him that). God forbid, someone else get to exist as their own person in this entire universe.

I don’t have anything else to say and I am so happy that I am finally done with these movies. Now I can stop angry ranting and can focus on movies that I actually did like and that did not steal years off my life.

[joyfulhopelox]

Right now i don’t know if i want to kiss you or shove you off this building

Part 1 | Part 2(end)

A/N: I have no words really, just i needed to get this off my chest and i wrote it so quickly that part 2 is probably going to be out by the end of the week.

genre: fluff (x100), University! au/ College!au

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox do NOT repost or reblog

Stealing is a crime please do not steal, i do not cross post anywhere else only Tumblr

Pairing: J-Hope x reader (College!AU/ University!AU)

Word count: 4,000 words

Warnings: i'm still bad at writing fluff but here we go (i cried a lot inside whilst writing it)

There are few times in someone’s life when they would have to rush out of the house in the middle of the night. Most times, it involved an emergency of some sorts.The usual A&E rush, the cravings rush and most important of them all, the all nighter in the library rush.

You have been debating for over an hour now if you should make a dash to the library. Your exhausted body screaming at you to just curl up into a ball and sleep- or cry, whichever came first. However your consciousness, and the fact that your anxiety was at an all time high, was telling you to just suck it up and go get your books from the library. That coupled with your approaching deadline. And to be honest you knew exactly what you would end up doing. After all, your grades could not afford to take a fall. Not worse than what they’ve dropped to now. Anymore and you would flunk the year completely.

But do you really need that book? Your brain tried it’s last card on you. You could technically just stay in, bury yourself in your blankets like the Michelin man, and write your essay that way. Sighing, you rubbed your tired eyes and got up grabbing your prized pen, the one that got you through your first and second year of exams, a couple of pieces of paper just in case, and your laptop. A trek to the library it is.

The spring air was doing a good job of waking you up. The light breeze, warm enough to not make you die of cold, but cold enough to cool down your tired flushed face. The 10 minutes it took to walk from your accommodation to the library was enough for you to steel yourself against an all nighter of studying.

What you had expected when you went in was anything but a packed library with students quietly studying. The noises of scratching pens and the rhythmic click-clacking of keyboards creating a mellow background noise. Some were dozing off, and you could not blame them, but holy hell could they not have done that at home? Okay, maybe you were judging, but could anyone blame you? You were desperate for a space and by the looks of the rows of heads between the shelves, there was a slim chance you would actually get a seat somewhere. If needed, you knew you could just crouch in between the shelves near the section that housed the maps, but you did not feel like inhaling dust and sporting a cramped leg for the rest of the night.

“Oh come on! This is a big library, there must be a seat somewhere” you whispered to yourself quietly, your eyes scanning the 3rd floor of the library. Aha! There. By the will of the gods, there was a seat, a lone corner at a table that was packed to the brim. You hastily made your way before anyone could spring out of nowhere and claim it, and slammed your butt down on the seat sighing in satisfaction. You’d made it. The first task done. Proud of yourself, you opened up your laptop and pulled the document you had been writing on. The bold letters at the top stating you NEEDED to get that specific book. A harsh reminder that the second task now would be even more difficult. Hunting for a book in this mammoth of a place. But what if you lost your spot? You needed your laptop to search for the book and to be honest you did not trust your laptop to not be stolen. You groaned to yourself, once again debating whether or not you needed the book

You finally decided that the book was non-negotiable and so you quickly grabbed your pen, with the promise to yourself that you would not get lost in the maze of shelves and interesting literature. Hastily writing a ‘will be back’ note, you slammed the pen down on top of the paper and rushed out of your seat.

The library atmosphere was quiet, despite the space being full of poor students who were rushing to meet a deadline or had exams coming up soon. Perusing the shelves, taking note of names that may interest you further on in your degree or even just as personal pleasure, you basked in the quietness and the dimness of the space. You loved the library at night, sure, but not when you were in a rush to finish a paper and not when exam and deadlines season pushed everyone and their mother to cram themselves in the space like sardines. Overall though, the space was dark and quiet just as you liked it.

Finally arriving at the area that was of interest to you, you stood in front of the row of shelves, a slow grin forming on your face. It was perfect, 4 rows of untouched literature. And you had all the time in the world.

Except...you didn’t. “Fuck” you cursed to yourself. You knew you did not have the time and you promised yourself you would not do this. Looking down at your watch, you let out another curse. “Fuck”. It had taken you half an hour to get here, the digital face of your watch showing 12.30am. “Oh man, I did it again” muttering to yourself, you turned your back towards the interesting titles that were calling your name and focused on the one book you actually needed.

Only to not find it on the shelf. Just your luck. “What am i supposed to do now?” dejectedly sighing you slowly made your way back to your seat. All you could think about was the missing book on the shelf.

How were you supposed to be finishing your paper now? Suddenly the quiet and calm atmosphere became gloomy and dark, this was not going very well for you. So lost in your thought you almost walked by your spot. Stopping right on time you looked to the side only to do a double take. It was not your spot anymore, the leather jacket as well as the mop of dark hair that could be seen occupying the seat was definitely not you. You double checked the area making sure you did not stray away again and somehow landed in the wrong spot but no. That was definitely the desk you had placed your note on.

It was just missing the note and seating another person now. Today was definitely not your day. The last thing you wanted to do at this time of the night, especially when you were in a hurry to finish and hand in your paper, was to be civil. But that was your seat. You refused to slouch in between the shelves and cram a seven thousand word paper tonight. You’ve done it enough times in the past for your bum and back to already be screaming at you in protest. Taking a deep breath in, you steeled yourself and approached the seat stealer.

The closer you got, the better the view of the seat stealer. Goddamn they were handsome. At least the side profile was something to enjoy looking at, but that did not change the fact that they had stolen your seat and were comfortably spread out onto the desk casually typing away at their laptop.

To top it all off, as if the scene was not enough to taunt your nerves, they were humming quietly to the beat that you could faintly hear coming from their headphones. And if you were to admit it to yourself, which you would not, they were very good at said humming.

“Uhm...excuse me” your voice cracked, having not been used for a couple of hours. You could not afford to seem meek in front of them, cute as hell and a great hummer be damned, they would not get the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. Truth be told, you hated confrontation. It was the last thing you resorted to under normal circumstances, let alone now when you were tired and stressed. Standing up straighter you tried again, “Excuse me!”

They made no move to acknowledge you or your shadow that cast now over the desk, as if you were both one and the same. Frustrated, you let out a huff and reached out to tap their shoulder. However, as if the fates had it out for you today, the humming seat stealer also came to life, moving his head towards your outstretched hand as they went to grab for their notebook and pen. That motion combined with yours caused a painful collision for the both of you. As it had not gotten a chance to change trajectory towards their shoulder, your unprepared hand bent awkwardly as it made contact with the side of the person’s head. A loud “oh fuck” chorused from the both of you, as both parties retracted as if burnt. Had you mentioned it was not your day?

“Is there a reason why I’m being assaulted at...1am on a Tuesday in the library?”. the seat stealer asked as he turned around to face you completely. He finally had a voice as well, and it was just as nice as the humming. Scrunching your nose in annoyance, you took a deep breath in prepared to tell him off. Not only was HE the one assaulting your hand but also your well deserved seat. Only to do the stereotypical double take. The mop of hair hid a very handsome face. High cheekbones and a pointed nose, your eyes trailed further down to his long neck and toned body. “Uh…” the stranger, seat stealer muttered, his hand going to scratch awkwardly at his long neck. Your brain agreed, “Uh…” you smartly copied snapping your eyes back at the face. You had clearly been caught staring judging by the smug smirk the person had on their face. Not only that but you had managed in a few minutes to smack a total stranger and display copious amounts of intelligence whilst trying your hand at a smart rebuttal to their question.

“So, now that I have your attention. Care to tell me why you are assaulting me at 1am on a Tuesday?” The tone of voice was less alarmed, more amused now. As if he clearly found your embarrassment entertaining.

“Assault? I have not assaulted you….you seat stealer!” You furiously exclaimed only to be interrupted by an equally stressed out fellow student“, Keep it down”. Only then did you become aware of the situation you are in. Three other rows of desks near the one you were currently at, and each of them seated a student who, like you, probably either had exams or deadlines. They were sleep deprived, hungry, and probably had too much caffeine running through their blood for their own good. And they were all focused on your form. To embarrass you further, the seat stealer even had the audacity to smugly smile and whisper “yeah, shhhhh.”

Getting redder by the minute, whether in mortification at being told off by the student a few rows away from you or from increasing anger at the seat stealer, you bent down, eyes narrowed “you….you...shush, and whilst you are at it, get out of my seat, you seat stealer”. You were unsure whether your shouted whisper would sound menacing enough to convey the mixture of emotions running through your veins at the moment. The stranger’s smug smile dropped instantly, a look of confusion replacing it, “seat stealer? What is that about?”

“You stole my seat!”

“I did not. The seat was free. If you passed by it, it was free and you didn’t sit down or leave your stuff on the chair; it doesn't automatically make it yours.” The stranger shrugged carefully, studying your expressions. What he saw must have really amused him because he started snickering to himself. Getting redder by the minute your rebuttal was weak, if only you’d have thought about it beforehand.

“I only have my laptop on me! And I left a note and my precious pen on the desk! A note which you have thrown out to steal my seat.” That is when it all went downhill. “you ‘strange seat stealer’!” the snickers coming from the handsome man got even more violent, to the point of you worrying about him choking- had you not been angry at him you would have asked if he was ok. Unfortunately, you were angry and nothing he did could have solved that.

The stranger abruptly stood up, so close to your face that you could see the numerous lashes that shadowed his dark eyes, amusement still plastered onto his face. He grabbed your elbow lightly, giving you a chance to break free if needed, but you were so stunned by his actions that all you could do was question how handsome his angular face was. “You’re cute, and that was a smart, if odd, alliteration you made there” He breathed, the action making a stray strand of hair blow away from your face, “but we’re making a scene”.

“Wh-” before you could process what he’d said, he trailed his hand from your elbow to your own hand and lightly gripped it with the intention of moving you away. The sudden jolt sprung your brain back to life and you tried fruitlessly to pull your hand away from his grip. Unfortunately, your brain decided to work a bit too late, as you were already past the rows of desks and shelves of books, closer to the lift lobby on that floor. “I am not making a scene, you are making a scene. Who are you to get me away from my seat not only once, but twice?!” Your feet firmly planted on the ground and finally got the stranger to stop. “I don’t know who you are” as he made a move to talk, you interrupted “and I don’t care, I saw that seat first, left a note on it to say I was going to be back and you stole it! I need the space!”

“Why?” The stranger calmly asked. His face showed no signs of anger or frustration, and it seemed like it belonged like that, serene and peaceful. And it made you wonder if anything could ever anger this man. Sure, you did not know him but you had been yelling in his face for the past minute. His demeanour and question threw you off so much so that your brain once again hiccuped.

“What do you mean why?”

“I mean why do you NEED the space, it’s clear that you do not have a bag or any belongings for that matter.” He gave you a once over to emphasize his words, his calm eyes lingering a bit too long on your form for your anger to continue overriding the flustered mess that you had become. “I- I do!” You don’t know why you needed to prove yourself to him, but it was a valid question he’d asked. So, you showed him the arm he was not holding, that carried a laptop. Realising he was still holding onto your hand, the sudden thought made you suddenly hot and clammy and before he could do anything about it you pulled it out of his warm hold.

Trying to ignore the loss of warmth the contact brought you, you looked away flustered.

“This cannot be happening. Look, I sat down there first, I put a note down because I needed to go find a book for my essay and….oh god...it’s due in like…..five hours”. Not looking at him the entire time you explained your situation to him, frustration and anxiety taking over your anger you missed the worried look he threw at your red face and the slight movement he made with his hands as if to grab your fretting ones. Instead when you looked back at him after a couple of moments of silence, what you saw was him studying the space behind you closely. “Hey! Are you even listening?” You got over your anger and tried to explain, (not that you needed to) somewhat logically to make this person understand why you needed the seat back and all they did was ignore you.

“Have you found the book that you needed?” He turned his attention back to you, a small smile forming onto his face. You did not know whether it was the fact that he completely ignored what you had said earlier, the untimely smile he gave you, or the fact that your heart sped up at the said smile, but your anger went through the roof once again.

“No! Now excuse me whilst I go reclaim my seat. If you want to waste time out here just staring at the walls, that is your issue, some of us have problems they need to fix.” Making a move to turn around you halted, realising you were going the wrong way. Mumbling to yourself you brushed past the guy and headed for the lifts. Calling the lift you tapped your foot impatiently. You could find another seat somewhere else, and if not, you were desperate enough to finish the paper that you would risk your own bottom and sit in between shelves. It felt like an eternity until the lift arrived and as soon as you got in you pressed the button for the floor above you thinking you may have some luck there. Surveying the corridor you noticed that the guy had left, and surprisingly a twinge of disappointment made you sigh. You just wanted to continue the argument, nothing else.

Right before the doors to the lift could close though a running form made its way to the lift sliding in between the door with swift grace, almost barreling into you. It took you a moment to realise it was the seat stealer with his bags packed up and his laptop in his hands. “What are you doing?” you hissed as you noticed he cancelled your floor and pressed the tower one instead. “Making up for stealing your seat”, he casually replied as he observed the numbers in the lift change.

“By not letting me go find another seat?” you huffed, “you could have just vacated the seat earlier and it would have all been fine.”

“But it wouldn’t have given me an excuse to talk to you for longer than three seconds would it? I’m Hoseok by the way.” He turned and smiled at you, the dimples in his cheeks becoming prominent. Rendered speechless by his forwardness, you did not know how to respond. So you settled onto clearing your throat and willing the blush that was taking over the apples of your cheeks away. Not meeting his eyes and refusing to grant him with the same grace and give him your name, you chose instead to ask where he was planning to take you. His response was just as cryptic as his previous one, “you will see”.

The rest of the way had been spent in silence, you having given up on trying to argue with the seat stealer...Hoseok. You repeated the name in your head multiple times, it suited him. For a brief second you wondered how it would sound if you said it out loud, but you squashed that thought away very quickly. You weren’t friends or even acquaintances so there was no reason for you to do so.

Whilst your brain was running a hundred miles an hour, throughout this time Hoseok took the time to observe you. Undeniably pretty, a smile made its way onto his face as he watched the different faces that you were pulling clearly lost deep in thought. You are cute. He knew that your argument couldn’t even be called as such. To his defense, the seat he had occupied had nothing on it. It was only when he ran back to gather his things and rush back to you that he noticed the note and the pen that were lying on the floor near the foot of the desk. In his haste he had grabbed both of them hoping that if his plan did not work he would have another excuse to approach you at some point. Now, those two items were weighing down in his pocket. Your name, which you had not freely given to him but it was written on the note, burnt into his mind. Maybe he did not need them after all. He would give you your pen back of course, but he would keep the note. It would be good memorabilia in the future.

The lift came to a halt and the doors opened .This time Hoseok did not even hesitate to grab your hand and lead you to your destination as he was afraid you would run away from him. Your heart thumping again at the gesture you let yourself be led by him too astonished to say anything. Who was this human being and why was he so friendly after you’d argued for the good part of an hour. Before you could panic about the time you had lost, Hoseok stopped abruptly.

‘We’re here’ he motioned with his free hand. The one that did not occupy yours.

Realising so you tried to inconspicuously free your hand from his, the astonishment at his behaviour quickly turned into amazement at the choice of space he was presenting you with. You were not a fan of the tower as heights were a bit of a stretch for you but the cosy alcove with window seats and the view of the night time sky it provided were enough to make you forget that. “Woah, how did you find this place?”’ You mumbled and quickly went to the window observing the lights of the city behind you. For how late it was, the scenery down below was surprisingly animated. Not getting a response you turned around thinking he had abandoned you there. What you were not expecting was the bashful look he was giving you whilst rubbing the back of his neck. “Uhm, by mistake really, I just happened to wander here one day and yeah...thought it was quiet enough and...well, I needed to make up for the fact that you did not have a seat in the end and you said you needed to finish your paper and…yeah’

Him reminding you of the paper that was now due in less than three hours made you jump in panic. Without thinking you threw your laptop onto the little table space that the alcove offered and sat down. Typing your password you opened the document you were working on. Whilst waiting for it to load you hesitated, bit your lip and looked up.

“Are you not going to sit down? I assume you also have work to do since you are here?” Without looking, you motioned to the seat directly across from you. This could end up being the best decision of your life or your worst... but you came to the conclusion you wouldn’t know unless you took a chance. Hearing him shift his feet and the feel of his knees close to yours as he sat down was enough to make you blush again. Here it goes, now or never.

‘I’m Y/N by the way’ you looked up in time to see him smile.

‘I know’

[perkynurples]

... May I ask you about the slow excruciating progression from Meng Yao to Jiggy?

also paging @holdmycaffeine and @cadencekismet, who asked me for the very same, and @acutebird-fics, who is my partner in crime deep philosophical discussions about these characters, and a great deal of this messy essay is informed by those

Tl;dr: JGY is a multifaceted character and the author struggles not to lose her mind trying to find the right words to describe that. Literally every single point of this rant is up for discussion, begging for it even, so please don’t hesitate to engage me, but, like... tomorrow, maybe. After I sleep it off.

Meta I used or referenced: THIS ONE explaining how JGS deciding to give him the name GuangYao is all kinds of wrong | THIS ONE talking about the red bindi-like Jin forehead dots, among other things | THIS ONE about his capacity for evil and his own recognition thereof

-

Alright, without any fancy preamble, here goes. Honestly, whenever I think about JGY for more than three seconds, it becomes painfully evident that there are two wolves inside me at all times - one wants to spend tens of thousands of words exploring his narrative, his choices, his abilities and his failings, his capacity for violence as well as his capacity for love...

And the other one just likes to call him a gremlin in chief in a fancy hat, and doesn’t want to go much further than that. I’m going to try and feed them both.

The thing that pisses me off about Meng Yao is just. The fact that he doesn’t stay Meng Yao, and we get to watch it happen in slow motion. You get a tiny little twink-ass kid who suddenly finds himself adopted into the Nie by the Sect Leader himself, and this is Meng Yao, the son of one of Jin Guangshan’s many mistresses, who doesn’t have a whole lot going for him aside from that, at that moment - his cultivation, weak. His opportunities, nonexistent. His dick, small. His political savvy, only just starting to show itself.

And this guy gets the chance of a lifetime presented to him on a Qinghe-silver platter. Like, we can argue about book canon and try and decide if he did anything at all to make NMJ notice him, but show canon makes it all the more hilarious (again, please refer to this gem of a post for a level of humor I’m sorely incapable of) - you’re seventeen, and the Batman of the cultivation world picks you up and elevates your status across swathes of societal norms, to a level you previously could have only dreamed of.

It’s interesting to me to try and imagine if this was the moment that Meant Something - in the grand scope of things, of course it did, because it started MY on the road to JGY, but also to Meng Yao personally, in terms of what he believed he could comfortably achieve. I do not for a second believe he started out wanting to murder people to reach his goal, or that he even had a good goal to begin with - being accepted by his father, maybe. Murdering the (at the time) greatest villain in the world, becoming a renowned spy, landing an incredibly beneficial sworn brotherhood, et cetera et cetera? I mean, the kid has wet dreams, but no way do they reach this far at this point in his life.

But so many things about him are unclear. Show canon changes his timeline, in that he met NMJ before he met Lan Xichen, and even accompanied NHS to the Cloud Recesses. Either way, his stint with the Nie is incredibly personally important to him. I firmly believe he loved and admired them, in his own way. He certainly flourished under NMJ’s tutelage and approval, but in the end, his motivations, his entire raison d’etre, clashed with NMJ’s too much. To Meng Yao, who’d gotten kicked down those infamous Koi Tower stairs for daring to ask for his father’s attention, murdering a guy for slandering him and his mother was a natural outcome of being slandered his entire life, and finally having had enough - to NMJ, it was unforgivable.

But this still isn’t where Meng Yao becomes Jin Guangyao, and it begs the goddamn question - how much of what JGY was perfectly willing and capable of doing to stay in power, had been present in Meng Yao that entire time? You see him make excuses that someone who isn’t NMJ, with his incredibly staunch morals and black-and-white view of the world, might have even accepted, but instinctively, you know - making excuses is just how it’s going to be with this guy.

Because Meng Yao, as well as Jin Guangyao, lies, and he is damn good at it. He is so good at it, that he lies his way to the very top of the Wen, all the way to Wen Ruohan’s side. His lying is what enables him to become Jin Guangyao. And like any good liar, he doesn’t only lie to the people around him - he also lies to himself.

And I can’t blame him, because - been there. Lying to yourself becomes absolutely necessary, when you want to keep everyone else around you believing in a mask you wear. You need to start believing it, at least a little bit, at least sometimes, for it to work.

At this point, you’re probably wondering - but Annie, what about the time he spent a year sheltering Lan Xichen? Did he lie then? Was he not just Meng Yao, a poor but cunning bookkeeper, then? I’m getting there, I swear. Slowly and in a roundabout sort of way, because honestly, I don’t know how I can start talking about the LXC of it all, without it turning into a novel.

Because whichever way you twist it, whatever canon you choose to follow, one constant remains - A-Yao’s feelings for Lan Xichen. I’m deliberately not calling him Meng Yao or Jin Guangyao, because it’s these feelings that divide the two, but also ultimately unify them, fatally so. But we’ll get there.

In one version of events, Meng Yao travels to Cloud Recesses at the behest of NMJ, and falls in love with a statue made of jade there. In another version of events, they meet during something LXC only describes as ‘the shame of a lifetime’. Both of those events lead to Meng Yao sheltering LXC, hiding him, saving his life and those precious Gusu Lan texts.

Whatever version of events you choose to see as the right one, one other truth also remains - Lan Xichen offers freely and without asking that which Meng Yao has had to struggle to attain, that which has been denied to him time and time again, based only on the circumstances of his birth: respect. Lan Xichen never looks down on him, never brings up his origins, and instead extends him respect and dignity in a way only he is capable of - no fucking wonder Meng Yao admires him. No fucking wonder, when this amazing guy, this perfect pristine handsome number one young cultivator, looks at him, smiles at him, and actually sees him, son of a whore or not.

No fucking wonder Meng Yao loves him, and Jin Guangyao continues loving him. No fucking wonder he never means to hurt him, but does so anyway.

But here’s the thing - lying to yourself to make things work only gets you so far. Do I think Meng Yao spends restless nights in cold sweat dreading who he’s becoming, thinking about all the lives he’s taken to further his goals? Absolutely not. Do I think he does good things, often even great things, because it helps him feel better about himself? Do I think he both loves Xichen and keeps him around because it’s beneficial to him, having the Lan Sect Leader in his pocket, but also personally speaking, having someone who so firmly believes in the goodness in him? You bet your overly adorned murderhat I do.

And frankly, reducing Jin Guangyao to one or the other - coldblooded murderer or a man plagued by his own insecurities, helpless and trying to be kind in a world that’s so evidently against him - is doing a character like him a huge disservice. You have to consider all sides, if you want to truly understand him. Hell, I myself am by no means claiming to truly understand him! He pisses me off daily, and I’m writing this stream-consciousness-y thing because he simply won’t shut up in my head.

This kid makes Choices, and here’s the catch - he doesn’t regret a whole lot of them. If anything, I’d like to think he regrets going along with his father’s plans for so fucking long before finally realizing that avenue won’t bring him what he seeks. Killing Jin Guangshan, by the way? Very sexy of him, that I’ll admit. Guy was a pig.

But even the obviously Good Choices he makes? Building those damn watchtowers? Letting Mo Xuanyu stay at Koi Tower? Seating Qin Su by his side at that same throne where his shitty father entertained concubine after concubine? (Frankly, please make up your own mind as to whether he was lying or telling the truth about learning about Qin Su being his sister before or after they’d consummated their marriage, I’m choosing to believe that he hadn’t known.)

How much of it really happens out of the goodness of his own heart, and how much of it happens because he wants to improve his own reputation, kintsugi away the minuscule cracks in his own image until he’s once again a perfect picture of Jin gold? Is he himself even capable of telling the difference, recognizing where his good intentions end and his desire to look out for number one begins? When you spend so much time crafting your own perfect mask, in your own head as well as others’, the lines blur real fast.

I think ultimately, he craves respect as much as he does pity, and those two never mesh well - the cultivation world never truly accepts him, his father certainly never truly accepts him, but Jin Guangyao is not Wei Wuxian, he can’t just look at all of these perceived injustices and slights, all of this gossip and slander, and say ‘Whatever’. No, Meng Yao takes one look at the world standing against him so very vehemently, and decides to fight it, fight tooth and nail for his place in it, until he comes out Jin Guangyao on the other side, gilded and pristine, ascending the stairs of Jinlintai to exact his revenge on anyone who dares not accept him.

The Guanyin Temple, in a way, is a perfect little vignette of his character - we observe him wildly oscillating between seeking out the aforementioned respect and pity, confessing boldly and laughing loudly one second, and pleading on his knees and clutching onto Lan Xichen’s robe the next. To him, that night, and everything leading up to it, is a series of footholds - the ground begins crumbling under his feet when he learns of the letter, and he has to act fast. 

He buys himself time, excuse after excuse, thinking on his feet, and here’s the thing - he’s not necessarily the best at that. Anymore. Up until that point, until the letter and Qin Su and WWX turning up, everything is going according to plan, and his plan at this point is, frankly, correct me if I’m wrong, sitting pretty at the top of his golden tower and making sure the truth about him never comes to light, which... Well, we all know the truth has a nasty way of coming around when it’s least convenient for you. 

And I think Jin Guangyao (not Meng Yao) is, at that point, unused to being inconvenienced. Everything he ever does, he calculates, he twists the public opinion of himself, he twists individual people’s opinions of himself, to suit him - nothing unexpected ever happens anymore, because he’s played the game long enough to foresee most things. Nie Huaisang beats him at that same game, not because he has a huge plan spanning decades of his own, but because he’s good at improvising, kicking the hornet’s nest and then knowing where to direct the fallout - but that is another essay all of its own waiting to happen.

For now, I feel like I need to wrap this up before I lose my mind. Personally (and please feel free to challenge me on this any time), I don’t feel like there’s a single defining moment, or even a handful of them, traumatic or otherwise, that irrevocably turns Meng Yao into Jin Guangyao. Sure, being kicked down the literal stairs leading to a better place for you a handful of times will have you feeling some kind of way. Sure, serving a maniacal warlord while playing an impossibly high-stakes game of spy poker will leave a mark or two. Sure, your sworn brother spitting in your face the very insults you’ve been hearing your whole life and never learned to shake off, will make one more vestige of patience inside you irrevocably crumble to smithereens. But.

Your whole life, you work very, very hard. You know to put your head down and get your hands dirty, but you also know that sometimes, the best way out of a hairy situation is turning on those puppy eyes and appearing just a smidgen weaker, a smidgen more frightened and helpless, than you actually are. And if, when you actually tell the truth and people still don’t believe you, lying becomes easier, becomes, eventually, so easy it feels as natural as breathing? Well. Might as well use that particular skillset to sneak your way through a war, am I right? Might as well use it to build yourself a nest among the very vultures who resent you, and whom you resent, and make sure that they have to respect you.

In the end, to me? Jin Guangyao is the guy who jumps from person to person, from callout to very personal callout, there in the Guanyin Temple, just to stall for time, just to regain some sort of foothold in the situation - he’s the guy who probably views losing an arm as a necessary sacrifice, shakes it off and still gets to work from there.

Meng Yao is the guy who wants to take his mother with, and who asks Lan Xichen the one question he’s dreaded knowing the answer to his entire life - not ‘will you stay and die with me?’, but the one that hides beyond that.

Is this what devotion is? Respect? Love? Is there, at this moment in time, enough of all of those things in your heart that you will, in fact, stay and die with me?

When Lan Xichen says yes, without words but still loudly enough to be understood without a doubt, Meng Yao is relieved, while Jin Guangyao is vindicated.

When Lan Xichen says yes, neither version of A-Yao needs to hear any more than that - the seventeen-year-old boy shooting a shot way above his station and loving a statue made of jade, who wants Lan Xichen to survive, and the man wearing the wrong name and the title of the first Chief Cultivator of his generation, who wants Lan Xichen to live with the weight of all his mistakes and misgivings, are both, for once, in accord. They’re both happy, and they both make that final push to save him.

In conclusion, if there even is one to this jumble of random thoughts... Jin Guangyao and Meng Yao are one and the same. Aspects of one can be found in the other, but neither feels remorse about his choices. Both of them, in turn, are capable of amazing things. Both of them are, in fact, capable of decidedly horrible things. One builds a wall around the other so thick, so impenetrable, you only catch glimpses, and only the ones he allows you to see. One learns very quickly that vulnerability is dangerous, unless employed proactively, and the other one perfects the craft.

Both of them believe they are perfectly justified in their actions. Both of them believe their own line of reasoning, their own excuses. Both of them want to be loved, for very different reasons, or for the very same ones, at the end of the day.

Both of them aspire to greatness, Meng Yao some vague idea of it instilled in him by his mother teaching him to believe his own worth, Jin Guangyao a more concrete vision of it, always one step ahead, one step higher up those gilded stairs. Both of them are willing to excuse a whole lot to reach it, too.

And when Jin Guangyao finally stands in Koi Tower, properly this time, wearing that coveted golden peony, wearing that red zhushazhi and a much nicer version of the hat his mother always told him to wear, but also wearing the wrong fucking name, one that barely gives him a spot in the family he belongs to by blood?

All he needs to do is take one look in the mirror to see Meng Yao staring back, always there with him, always ready to remind him where he came from. He’s seventeen years old, and he just buried his mother, and somewhere out there, the rest of his life awaits. His smile is all dimples, and that, too, they have in common.

Time to get to work, Meng Yao suggests, and Jin Guangyao agrees.

[cblgblog]

You know what I think about a lot? The dinner scene in 1X05 where Mildred asks Gwendolyn to the dance. More specifically the, “I was very in love with a girl,” bit from Gwendolyn.

Now this is a Murphy show, so I don’t expect proper follow-up on this, but I do wish for it, and I am endlessly fascinated by it because there’s so much character stuff there, on both sides.

Like on Gwen’s side of it, when did she meet this girl? How and where? We have almost zero Gwendolyn Briggs backstory, and I need it, okay? More specifically, when did this woman die? How recent is that scar when she starts to pursue Mildred? It could’ve been anywhere, roughly, between 1942-1945. Show is in ’47 so, there’s a pretty big range there. How healed or not healed was she when she started falling for Mildred, and had those advances rebuffed so many times?

And then there’s her marriage. She says in 1x03 that it was her idea, that it’s been a 3-year arrangement. Which would mean 1944, roughly. When did she lose this woman, in relation to her marriage? She says it was her idea, was it her idea before or after this woman? Did she lose this woman and then approach Trevor with it? In her grief, did she com up with a plan for safety, security? Security in the world that had been upside-down for years at that point, and then took away the person she loved? Or was she already married to Trevor when it happened? Did she have him around to console her? Did she have him around to unintentionally make things worse, since we know both of them were sleeping with other people? Did he have anything serious going on while she was mourning? Hell, did he have his own soldier boy who was off to war at the same time? Was Gwendolyn married and working for Wilburn when this went down? Did she have to endure the casual hey, how are you and your husband doing, oh great, glad you’re so happy, comments from well-meaning people at work? Did she have to listen to Wilburn and all his grossness, the way he talked about women, while mourning someone she loved? Did she even get to attend the funeral?

Again, 98% of this, at least, will be unanswered, because it’s Murphy and it’s non-essential, and there’s so much else happening at any given time. But it interests me.

And Mildred. Jesus, Mildred. First off, let’s talk about the awful circumstances that led up to that scene. To recap, she pushes Gwen away, multiple times, like Gwen says. Then she essentially blames Gwen for the hitman being dead, you were the intruder, Gwendolyn. And then, when Gwen is obviously screwed up from that very screwed up situation, Mildred comes to her in that vulnerable moment and hey, I just want to make sure you’re alright, you want to have dinner with me after I’ve treated you horribly and now blamed you for a horrific death? Like, it’s horrible, guys. How they got to that dinner scene is horrible. How Mildred got Gwen to that dinner scene is horrible.

To be clear, I fucking love this ship. They live rent free in my brain now, always. Mildred means it when she says her feelings for Gwen are the truest thing in her, and I don’t think she means it to be a manipulative thing, when she goes into that car and asks Gwen to dinner. She is genuinely wanting to make sure that Gwen’s okay. Thing is, no, no Gwen isn’t okay. She couldn’t be after that. And she’s not okay because, again, Mildred essentially put that death on her. Which, Mildred didn’t do that to hurt her. She didn’t. She did it because they were in an impossibly fucked up situation and it was the only way she saw at that moment to survive it. So much of her life has just been about basic survival. She’s had to struggle with that for so long, that at this point she’ll do almost anything just to keep going, for herself and for Edmund. Because that’s how she’s been forced to live, it’s what she knows. She didn’t go into that car, with Gwen at a vulnerable moment, with deliberate attempt to manipulate, but it was a manipulative move. And I don’t even know whether or not she realizes that, which makes it that much more interesting.

So fine, it’s been a long, twisted road, now they’re at dinner, the dinner scene is truly lovely, truly. Gwen says the thing about her dead lover, Mildred says, “Isn’t it funny then, that I’m a nurse?”

So, she isn’t, technically. That’s the first bit of manipulation there. But it’s almost overshadowed completely by her adding that comment at all. She didn’t need to. She wasn’t saying anything Gwen didn’t know already, or think she knew, since again, not technically a nurse. She could’ve just said I’m sorry, that’s awful. She could’ve been silent and just held Gwen’s hand. She did neither. In another vulnerable moment for Gwen, a moment of openness that Mildred arguably doesn’t deserve after how she treated Gwen previously, she draws that direct line of comparison between herself and this person that obviously still has a place in Gwen’s heart. And again it’s such a manipulative thing to do, but that’s not what kills me about it.

What kills me here is that she absolutely does not need to.

Gwen couldn’t be clearer regarding her interest in Mildred. She risked herself terribly on their first goddamn date by taking Mildred to that bar. She risked herself terribly and she had to know that, but she did it anyway, such was the level of her interest in Mildred. The fact she even came to dinner with Mildred after all that bs speaks volumes. And at that point in the conversation, Mildred has already confessed her feelings, Gwen has already agreed that yes, absolutely, we will do this however you need. Only then does she add the bit about her lost love.

Gwen was so gone on Mildred already. And I don’t know if she thought consciously to add the, I’m a nurse line or not. But what kills me is the implication. It could just be that she doesn’t even recognize the irony, the lie, that she doesn’t even register that technically she’s not a nurse, so it’s a bit of a weird line to connect. But it also seems to me—and both of these things could be true at the same time—that she added it because she felt she had to. That she felt she had to draw Gwen closer to her, making that connection, because otherwise, somehow, Gwen might not want her or like her enough, so let’s make this connection to someone she most definitely loved. And it’s so damn sad, if that’s the case, and so telling. Even the possibility that, after all Gwen’s shown her, Mildred still thinks she has to add that detail to keep Gwen interested? It’s just, incredibly sad.

Anyway, it might seem like I’m trashing Mildred here, with all this talk of manipulation, but I’m not. She hurt Gwen in earlier eps because she was confused and scared out of her mind, not out of malice. The stuff pointed out here that comes later, most of it, I don’t think even registers with her as questionable or problematic. Which is what makes it so fascinating character-wise. She’s had to lie and manipulate so much to survive that it’s second nature at this point, as Gwen says in 1x07. She’s not lying about her feelings for Gwen, not the way Gwen says when she says those words. But Gwen’s still right, in the sense that Mildred is draped in so many lies and manipulation that sometimes they don’t even register with her.

She goes to Gwen with actual honesty, for once, after so many lies and half-truths and manipulations. But one of the ones that gets me the most is still the, isn’t it funny that I’m a nurse. Because it’s so telling, and so sad, and so indicative of Mildred’s state of mind.

Mildred was enough on her own. She’s always been enough on her own, as far as Gwen’s concerned, but she couldn’t see that. Not then, at least. Here’s hoping she can now, that those 3 years together got the message across.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 03

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i love writing ingenue readers, it’s my absolute favourite thing. i hope you enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

The contract.

That goddamn contract had haunted Y/N throughout the whole night. There were several points that not only made her even more scared of the myth that was the mob boss Sebastian Stan, but made her fear for her own safety if she were to slip outside those rules. On the other hand, several other points stated and talked about terms she’d never really heard of. It made sense to her why no one dared oppose him, if she was being completely honest, she didn’t feel like opposing him. Things were different in his family than the tight knitted Forrests, more technical even, all held up by blood contracts that made it sound like she herself was selling her soul in order to serve him.

This was not the way things had been taught to her. No. She had always been treated as almost a foster daughter of Mr. Forrest, going to the same prestigious schools as his daughter, attending the same events, being cared for the same way with only the price of making sure Gwen kept her feet on earth and was safe enough by constantly having her by her side. The Stans had an almost hierarchic way of doing business with the family itself being at the top while the employees stood right at the end of the pyramid. She couldn’t blame them for that, after all, they had held the highest rank in all of the families for over a century, but it still wasn’t free of criticism. 

Gwen had returned from her date with the mysterious guy with a spring on her step, and purple hickeys on her neck and collarbones. She had just sighed at the sight, rolling her eyes at the very much engaged woman’s behaviour. Y/N didn’t want to blame her or shame her into at least trying, fully knowing it was common for mistresses and affairs to occur in the mafia. However, Gwen was her friend and she’d rather have her try to at least be friends with Sebastian. Nevertheless, that probably wouldn’t happen and she should probably prepare herself to discuss the contract with someone who could possibly kill her and make it look like an accident. Could she even amend a contract? She didn’t know, but she was gonna try.

With all the might she could, she strutted towards his office, taking a deep breathe in. You’re a powerful woman, Y/N, she told herself. Powerful woman, Catherine Tramell levels of power. With all that, she knocked on the door, mumbling his name and wondering if she could run away had he not heard it. Sadly he did, telling her to come in. She opened the door, shaking like a leaf on a windy night. There he was, sprawled over his office chair like a king in his throne, slightly unbuttoned dress shirt.

     - Miss Y/N ... - her name rolled off the tip of his tongue just like honey, sickeningly sweet. Sebastian observed her too, her sleep filled eyes from what he guessed due to waiting for Gwen and her oversized baby pink dress which he was sure probably had belonged to Gwen too. - How can I help you?

     - I’m here for the contract. - she walked to his desk, contract in hands.

     - Did you sign it? - he questioned, pointing at the chair so she would sit down instead of spending the whole time on her feet. Not that he didn’t enjoy to see her standing.

     - Not really, I have a few questions. - she bit onto the skin of her bottom lip, placing the contract on top of his desk. - I also don’t agree with some points of this agreement.

    - It’s a contract, Miss Y/N. You sign it or you don’t sign it, we don’t discuss it because I have better things to do. - he put both his elbows on top of his desk but she instead opened the contract, pointing at one of the first bullet points right at the top. 

    - The subject will not pursue any legal action. Why would I pursue any legal action and why would I not be allowed to pursue it? - Sebastian chuckled, leaning against his chair with the most unnerving grin ever seen. 

    - Well, angel, if you were to pursue any legal action against me you wouldn’t win and considering your prior employer didn’t pay you ... I don’t think you have enough money to get good enough lawyer to fight mine. Even if you did, I own the jurors, whatever you did, I would still win.

    - I would still like the ability to sue you. - she crossed her arms. - Please. 

    - No, that stays. 

    - If that stays then this point ... - she changed to a different page, looking for the sentence she had highlighted the prior night. - The subject is to carry a firing weapon and receive training if untrained. This point leaves. 

    - That is also a hard no. It’s for yours and Miss Forrest’s protection.

    - Isn’t that what the weirdly suited man’s for? - his name was Christian and he constantly followed Gwen and Y/N around. Based on what she had noticed, he had at least two guns in his belt and was constantly annoyed at something. 

    - Alright, angel. How about you do the training and I don’t force you to carry around a gun? - he took a pen from his perfectly organised pen holder filled with the same matte coloured black pens. That type of organisation and colour matching was only seen in office supplies magazines. He turned the contract to himself, crossing it out and writing the newly discussed point. - Anything else?

    - When you said that all your employees must be submissive to orders ... how would you describe submissive? - Sebastian took a double look at her, wondering if she was teasing him but no. She had the most confused look he’d ever seen on someone’s face and he wondered how sheltered she was from the world she lived in. - Mr. Stan? 

    - Pardon me. - he woke up from his thoughtful state. His early morning brain did not dealt well with the words submissive followed by Mr. Stan in the same sentence, specially coming from her. - I think I would describe it as the dictionary describes it, Miss Y/N. Additionally, I believe I told you to call me Sebastian.

    - Yes, sorry. I just ... I don’t wanna, I don’t feel comfortable with the idea that I have to do everything you tell me to do. 

   - With all due respect, Miss Y/N, you are a handmaid. You’re a female servant and being a servant means you do everything you’re told.

   - Means I do everything Gwen tells me to me and even with that, it goes through some critical thinking. My loyalty does not lie with you until you’re married to Miss Forrest. - in any order circumstance, he would’ve had her punished for that snarky comment. However, this was Y/N and not only would the Forrests take it as an insult, he did not want to hurt such a precious little innocent thing. - So I would like that removed. 

   - I must say, Miss Y/N, you’re a good negotiator. - he crossed the point out, wondering if he’d ever regret it before handing it the pen back to her. - Now, would you please sign it?

   - Oh, alright. - she put the pen’s top up to her mouth, mindlessly bitting on it as she read the contract all over again, something Sebastian choose to advert his gaze from. His gaze only returned back to her as he heard the scribbling pen being put back on his desk. - I have a question. 

   - When don’t you have a question, Miss Y/N? - he put the pen back in its holder, filling her contract along with the rest of his staff. 

   - Can I decorate my room? - she played with the hem of her dress, back again to bitting her lip. - Not that I don’t like your taste I ...

   - I didn’t decorate it myself, Miss Y/N. You can do whatever you please with your room as long as it doesn’t disturb its safety and over wall construction design. 

   - Thank you. - she gave him that cheek to cheek smile, getting up from the chair and moving it back to its initial state.

   - I hope to see you at the engagement party tonight, Miss Y/N. That is, if you’re not covering for Miss Forrest’s affairs. 

   - It’s a party, I’m sure she’ll attend. 

She closed the door behind her, letting go of the air she had been holding in like a nervous little kid. Her hands flew to her cheeks which were severally heated up, but at least she had gotten half of what she wanted and that was worth the whole nervous scenario that would probably haunt her during sleepless nights. Nevertheless, she had gotten her way and right now she had enough strength in her to go awake up a very grumpy sleeping Gwen. 

Y/N walked into her bedroom, opening the door quite harshly to see if it would wake up sleeping beauty but she remained still in her slumber, as if the very loud noise wasn’t even there. Annoyed, Y/N grabbed the remote from her dresser, pointing it towards the windows so they shades would give way for the natural light to enter in. That seemed to do the trick as Gwen hissed like a cat, hiding her head under the duvet which Y/N unceremoniously pulled away from her. 

    - Rise and shine, Gwen. - she held the duvet in her hand as Gwen raised her head, giving her the scariest glare she’d ever seen. - Next time don’t stay out until 5 AM. Don’t you have an engagement party to get ready for?

     - Shopping does sound like a great idea. - she sat down on her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. - How do the hickeys look?

     - Like you were mauled by a bear. What do you even do with those boys that gets you looking like a TV hero after a fight? - they were fresh hickeys and just like any bruise they looked very red, starting to turn purple. Y/N might’ve never gotten a hickey but as a rather clumsy person, she did understood bruises very well which meant in a few hours that same hickey would start becoming very ugly. - Can’t you act like an engaged woman?

    - Can’t you act like less of a prude? - she grabbed her phone, turning it on to check for messages. 

    - Hey, I’m not a prude. - Y/N whined like a child, taking her phone away from her too. - Please go take a shower, put some makeup on those hickeys and get ready for lunch.

    - I wanna go shop for a new dress, Y/N. We can probably go and have lunch somewhere in the Upper East. - she wrapped herself in one of her countless satin robes. - I’m sure you can convince the Big Bad to allow us to go.

     - No. I covered for you last night and he caught me. I’m not gonna ask him for anything, you ask him, you’re his future wife.

     - C’mon, Y/N. What’s the worse he can do to you? - she could think of several things he could do to her that all ended up with her at the bottom of a lake sleeping with the fishes or whatever method of deposing he preferred. - He can’t kill you, that’s bad practice. 

     - No Gwen, you talk to him. I’m not gonna ask him anything after he caught me lying. - Y/N pulled the duvet back onto the bed as Gwen stepped into her wardrobe, looking at what to wear. - I’ll go grab my bag, I guess. 

     - I’ll talk to Sebastian, stop being such a scared little sheep. - Gwen screamed as she walked out and into her bedroom. Y/N eyes immediately scanned the room from side to side, wondering if someone had heard and thankfully no one had heard such thing.

She returned to her bedroom, taking note of a few things she would’ve grabbed from the shop to make it a bit more homey, maybe a nice dusty pink throw and some nice pillows. Yeah, that would make it look so much better.

Y/N grabbed her bag, putting her purse and phone in it before going down the stairs where a very annoyed Gwen was standing next to Sebastian who constantly had the same stoic look that made anyone want to immediately bow down.

     - Sebastian is coming with us. - Gwen shot him a glare for which he didn’t mind too much. 

     - If you’re gonna behave like a child, I’ll treat you like a child. - Y/N just followed them onto the lift, exchanging an uncomfortable look with the chauffeur as Gwen huffed, understanding she was not gonna have her way with this. 

The journey to the Upper East Side shopping street was even more uncomfortable. Everyone was mostly quietly, Gwen unhappy with not getting her way which was foreign to her, the chauffeur who barely spoke to begin with, Sebastian in the front looking over some papers and Y/N trying to turn invisible. Soon enough they were on the street with Y/N following Gwen into Prada, her favourite shop, along with the security guard while Sebastian took off to go somewhere else.

Going into expensive stores was something Y/N was used too but it still made her feel wildly out of place. From the clerks handing them expensive champagne to Gwen going over several newly in. She walked out in a red bodied dress that flared out from her waist, giving a little twirl.

    - Does this dress say forced engagement or not? - Gwen asked, shaking her hair a bit for volume. - I need a matching mask.

    - I thought you said covering your face was sacrilege. - Y/N leaned against the comfy coach in the changing room.

    - It’s a masquerade party. It’s really in right now, besides, a man in a mask is always entrancing.

    - Please don’t make out with someone at your own engagement party.

    - Alright, Y/N ... - she turned around. - I really don’t need your criticism right now.

    - I’m ... I’m sorry. - she bite onto her lip, getting up from the coach, picking onto the skirt of the dress. - I’ll wait with Amos outside. 

Gwen crossed her arms, watching her leave. Y/N knew for a fact she wasn’t being critic out of meanness alone, she just didn’t want her friend to be gossiped about in mob circles. She was a smart girl with capacity to take over her father’s place if it came the time to do so, however, Y/N guessed maybe her opinion wasn’t called for. 

She stepped in outside to stay with the very silent security guard. Did his contract say he couldn’t speak? Y/N didn’t know, at least it was better to be there without having Gwen wanting to have her head on a plate.

    - Found a dress already? - she turned to where the voice was coming, finding Sebastian waiting by the parked car. 

    - Oh, no. I have a dress at home, besides ... Gwen will probably buy two so if she doesn’t like the one I choose, I can always wear the one she doesn’t. 

    - Do you always let Miss Forrest pick what you wear? - he cocked his head to the side. - And you had an issue with being submissive to orders?

    - It’s not the same thing. - she crossed her arms, rolling her eyes.

    - Did you just roll your eyes at me? - he chuckled darkly, noticing how one of her hands came to rest upon one of her heated up cheeks. - Have you ever had a piece of clothing that wasn’t a hand out?

    - My school uniform was mine, I still have it, very soft dress shirt. 

    - Come on. - he snapped his fingers for one of his security men to follow him. Y/N scrunched her face, holding her bag as she walked behind him until he stopped in front of a store front which Y/N recognised as one of Gwen’s favourite shops to go in. Oscar de La Renta. - We’re getting you first new piece of clothing. 

    - I can afford a napkin from Oscar de La Renta. Much less a dress.

    - Consider it a gift from me. 

    - I can’t ... - she was interrupted by his phone ringing. He took it off his pocket, face lines intensified as he noticed the name on it. 

    - Stephen, make sure Miss Y/N gets a dress. 

    - Wait, Sebastian, I don’t need ... - he picked up his phone stopping her mid sentence. She stood there, watching him walk down the street on the phone. Biting her lip, with a little naughty smile, she entered the store with the security guard behind her.

Time to buy a dress. 

taglist: @sideeffectsofyou​ @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee​

[bribe-the-door]

On A Summer Evening

The one where it tastes like strawberries and it’s the end of June

a/n: i’ve been out of the writing game for a while, but with Watermelon Sugar dropping tomorrow... I couldn’t help myself ;) 

Time moves in slow-motion on nights like this.

The warmth of a summer night wrapped you up in its arms even though the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, and a hazy red-orange made it seem as though you were watching the world through rose-colored lenses. A green glass bottle (well, two, actually) sat empty on the table beside you, another “half-full” somewhere amongst your friends.

Laughter echoed off of the rooftop patio and likely annoyed the neighbors, but how were you expected to pass up a night like this? The sun had warmed the air all day, no clouds in sight (save for the wispy ones, now bleeding with sunset), and the best wine had been on sale.

“Hey,” you giggled, the laughs floating up through your chest a hint louder than you would have normally expected. “Give me that.”

You motioned toward the bottle being held hostage by your best friend, Harry. His grip tightened and a playful eyebrow rose in response. The bottle slowly rose to his lips all while maintaining strict eye contact. Your brow furrowed and you reached out toward him, an attempt to swipe the bottle poorly miscalculated.

Harry shook his head and took a delicate sip, making sure to make a scene out of licking his lips and accidentally dribbling some down his chin.

He was such a bastard when tipsy.

“Give it!” You sat forward on the bench, ready to pounce.

“Why should I? Think you’ve had enough, love.”

Love.

You felt your cheeks burn though that name meant nothing more than any other greeting when it came to Harry. “Please?”

Harry shrugged, considering your plea. Another sip from the bottle… another unnecessary lick over his (now wine-stained and very red) lips…

You fell back against the bench and sighed, instead looking straight out toward the setting sun. It was dangerously low in the sky and hardly had any hues other than purple. A few houses were lit up in the distance and the street in front of yours was illuminated by the harsh glow of fluorescent lamp posts. It was quiet for a Friday night in June. 

Something cold touched your lips, and you startled back to reality.

“Drink.”

You turned to see Harry intently watching your face, gesturing with his head to the bottle outstretched in front of him. He touched it to your lips again, and when they parted, tipped the wine into your mouth. It was anything but graceful and you had a similar experience with wine dripping down your chin, to which Harry let out a few bubbly laughs. 

The wine wasn’t chilled anymore, and this bottle was strangely sweet compared to the others. You reached up to your lips to wipe the wine from your face, but Harry beat you to it. A single swipe of his thumb ran over your (still) parted mouth, collecting the stray alcohol. His eyes had an impressive amount of focus in them as he made sure he didn’t miss any, then finally rested his hand on your chin, offering the rest to you. 

It was a tender moment between you two. If it weren’t for the constant drumming of your heart under your ribs, the only sounds would have been a passing car on the street below, or a hushed conversation across the patio between your friends. You hadn’t noticed them for a while, though, and took his thumb between your lips, licking it clean. 

“Good?” Harry asked, a giddy smile. He’d won this fight for now.

You nodded, “Tastes like... strawberries?”

He affirmed your guess with a low “mhm” in the base of his throat, and happily took another drink from the bottle. The both of you fell into a comfortable silence, watching the now-set sun color the night sky with a deep purple. The wine in your system glued you to the bench you sat upon and there was an indescribable contentment in your chest. A light breeze continued to blow over the patio, only now it was much less pleasant, being it was much past 10 PM. 

“You okay?” Harry asked, somehow closer to you now. You found yourself slouched over, leaning embarrassingly close to his side. 

You sat up abruptly, tucking your leg under the other. “Yeah, no. I’m fine.”

“Sure?” He questioned, not quite convinced. 

“Promise.” 

It was an outright lie, but you couldn’t circle back now. The breeze picked up and raised the hairs on your arm. You attempted to conceal a shiver but failed; it couldn’t have been anymore cartoon-ish, and you were sure your teeth would begin chattering soon. Harry turned to set the wine bottle down and soon pushed up from the bench. 

“Where are you going?” 

“To get you a blanket, y/n.” His face looked as though he wanted to add a “duh” at the end of his remark. 

It must’ve truly been late, because your other friends decided to make their way down with Harry to begin the walk home. You waved them off and grabbed the bottle from Harry’s side of the bench before curling back up in your corner. There were only a few more sips left and you downed them without issue. Your head swam with the sudden intake of alcohol but the warmth was nice. 

Moments passed before Harry emerged on the roof again, this time adorned with a hoodie and blanket in hand. He tossed the blanket at you, a shit-eating grin on his face as it smacked you directly in the forehead, and plopped down beside you. 

“Bastard,” you muttered under your breath before setting the empty bottle on the ground beside you. The blanket was a welcome addition to the bench and you took little time to wrap yourself up in it. The dark grey fleece smelled like Harry; a hint of his cologne and coffee, but a surprisingly... fruity-scent, too? Nonetheless, you could feel your feet again. 

You felt Harry’s eyes on you again. Peering out of the corner of your eye, you caught his gaze: a pitiful pout over his lips. 

“Share?” He frowned even more, doing his best “puppy-dog eyes”.

You laughed, again, louder than you would’ve expected, and clapped a hand over your mouth in surprise. His composure broke almost instantly and a fit of giggles was shared between the two of you. The kind where you pause for a moment and catch each others’ expressions, only to continue to laugh even harder. 

“Share?” He asked again, inching himself closer to you. Harry snaked his hand under the edge of the blanket to where you sat cross-legged, palm resting over your knee. When you didn’t answer, he began tracing his fingers over your thigh, moving from their initial place. If you thought you’d had goosebumps before...

Your heart began to thud in your chest again, but moved the edge of the blanket to cover part of his legs, too. His hand stayed put, splayed over your thigh, and his gaze never broke yours. It was overwhelming, being so close to him and surrounded by him, but you didn’t think you minded much. Even with the wine, even with the intimacy brought on by being out in the dark. It was wonderful. It felt warm. 

Harry bit at his lip and you yours, spending a painfully long while studying over each other’s faces. It was as if you’d never seen each other, though surely you had. There was a newfound magnetism in the space separating you both that worked to bring you closer. And closer. And closer. 

His lips were sweet with the strawberry wine from earlier, and you imagined yours tasted similar. Harry was gentle in the way he moved; his lips, the hand on your thigh, turning ever-so-slightly toward you on the bench. He kissed you first but in no time at all, you were kissing him. The hand that’d once helped share the blanket was intertwined in the curls at the nape of his neck, keeping him close and causing his lips to part in curiosity. 

The hand on your thigh moved to your hip instead, pulling you in. He wanted you closer. You wanted him closer, too, but there wasn’t enough room on this goddamn bench and the blanket was getting tangled up between your legs and then–

His forehead was resting on yours, a series of shallow breathes shared in the silence of the rooftop patio. You willed your heart to slow down, but to no avail. The both of you sat like this for some time, catching your own breaths and trying to configure a coherent sentence. It wasn’t an easy task, but especially not in these circumstances. 

Harry spoke first: “I... I’m just thinking out loud, here,” he started.

You felt him pull away and met his gaze. His cheeks were even more flushed than they’d been earlier in the night. Looks of nervousness and a hint of innocence showed across his features. You waited for him to continue, signaling with a nod and reaching your hand toward his. He took it gladly. 

“But, that wasn't... weird, right?”

You shook your head “no”. 

A look of relief washed over his face, a weight lifted from his shoulders. “Oh, good, because I was convinced you’d say ‘of course, Harry, we’re friends, that was horrible’ or blame it on the wine, which would be fine because I’d feel terrible if you hadn’t wanted it–!”

“Harry.”

He looked up, pausing mid-sentence. 

It was your turn to stutter over your words, wine making you ramble more easily than normal. “I liked it, I promise. I did kiss you back, yeah?”

Harry laughed, shrugging his shoulders playfully to agree. “Definitely not just a peck, if you will.”

You threw a shove in his direction, “Don’t be cocky.”

“She likes kissing me!” He sang into the darkness of the night, “Did y’hear that, world? She likes kissing–!”

He was right, but you couldn’t let him get away with it just yet, and you planted another one on him. This time, it was more of a peck. A very sloppy, wine-influenced, peck. Harry was the type to truly sing his heart out to the entire universe if you’d let him. 

“See?” You challenged. “Kissed you back, again.”

He smirked, “I know.”

Harry leaned in close, pressing a sincere kiss to your lips. “...’m glad you liked it. Not sure I could ever go without doing that again.”

______________________________________________

note to readers: ... yes it was a typical best-friends-to-lovers (?) trope, but I couldn’t help myself. this was a short one and I’m hoping that maybe I’ll get some more posted, too. let me know what you think and thank you (thank you THANK YOU) for reading. also, thanks for being patient with me. it’s been a while but so so good to be back :) LOVE YOU ALL TO BITS

[thatsamericano]

The Unawesome Assumption

Characters/Pairing: Awesome Trio (Denmark, Prussia, and America), with America having an obvious crush on Romano and established Gerita. If you squint, there might be mild implications of one-sided Pruita and Prumano. Also mentions of Spamano, but that’s pretty much all in America’s paranoid brain. (Note that America does rant about the idea of Spamano in an anti-ish way, but it’s based on jealousy. I have nothing against Spamano shippers.)

Summary: The Awesome Trio is enjoying a day out at a carnival when America gets a phone call from “Little Italy” and acts strangely during the call. Believing that “Little Italy” is his brother’s boyfriend, Prussia warns America that Italy is off limits and gets a response he wasn’t expecting.

Rating: Teen for some crude sexual humor, cursing, and mentions of violence

Word Count: 1971

Notes: Credit to @bitchapalooza for the idea of what the Awesome Trio would do when hanging out together, including some specific details that got mentioned in this story. This will be posted on my AO3 account soon, if you’d rather read or comment there.

America took a bite of the snack he had just purchased from the carnival booth and made a satisfied noise. “Damn, these things are good. I swear, deep frying an Oreo just makes it better.”

Denmark grinned at him. “Try dipping it in that huge Slurpie you’re holding.”

America dipped his deep-fried Oreo into the Slurpie, took a bite, then closed his eyes and moaned in a way that was, quite frankly, obscene. “Holy shit! It’s like a flavor orgasm in my mouth!”

Prussia laughed at him. “You like having orgasms in your mouth, Al?”

America’s face turned red as Denmark joined in on the snickering too. “Shut up, dude! You know what I meant!”

Prussia reached over and ruffled America’s hair fondly. “Of course we do, kiddo.” America wasn’t really a kid anymore, but he was younger than Prussia and Denmark, and not just in physical age. And as far as Prussia was aware, America had never been in a relationship or done anything that would involve orgasms in his mouth. Maybe he just wasn’t into people that way, Prussia mused.

America rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What do you guys want to do next?”

Denmark glanced around. “It looks like there’s a petting zoo over there,” he said, pointing with his index finger. “That could be fun.”

“I’m up for it,” Prussia agreed. They’d already done most of the rides anyway, and seriously, who would pass up the opportunity to pet a cute farm animal? Not Prussia.

America nodded too, and they all started heading towards the petting zoo, which was a fair distance away from the deep-fried Oreo booth. Right after they finished up their deep-fried Oreos, an old-fashioned song began to play. Old-fashioned as in more than 50 years old, but still played often enough that most people could recognize it from the first line.

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore

Prussia looked around in confusion, wondering what could have been playing a Dean Martin song over carnival music and kids running around and screaming with delight. “Does this place have an Italy-themed booth?” Prussia wondered aloud.

“I think it’s coming from America,” Denmark replied. When Prussia glanced at him, America was scrambling to retrieve his cell phone from his jeans pocket and trying to shift a giant inflatable alien he had won at the bottle shooting booth into his other arm at the same time. In the process, his cell phone bounced out of his pocket and fell to the ground, but the screen didn’t crack. Denmark swooped in to pick up the phone before America could bend down to get it.

His eyebrows lifted in amusement as he read the contact name on the screen. “Little Italy is calling you?”

America scowled, face flushing just as red as it had earlier when Prussia had been teasing him about his accidental sexual innuendo. Prussia felt a strange, foreboding sense that something just wasn’t right. “Give me back my phone, Denmark.”

“Sure.” Denmark handed the phone over. “Wouldn’t want to keep little Italy waiting, huh?”

America shot Denmark an irritated glare as he answered the call. But as soon as Italy started speaking to him, America smiled fondly and took a few steps away so he could speak to Italy without Denmark and Prussia overhearing everything he said.

“Well, that was weird,” Denmark said.

Prussia’s eyes narrowed as he watched America talking to Italy. “Ja, it was.” America had a lot of customized ringtones for his cell phone, and it made sense that he would have one for Italy. But Prussia had never heard America’s phone ringing with a love song before. And America’s demeanor was strange too. Prussia had spent a lot of time around America, and he wasn’t normally this quiet. He smiled often, but it was a big, bright grin, not the small, almost shy smile on his face now. Did America have a crush on Italy? If he did, Prussia couldn’t really blame him. Both of the Italian brothers were cute, and Italy was especially sweet and adorable. But Italy was Germany’s boyfriend. Everyone knew that. America knew that.

America giggled in response to something Italy said. “Aww, Vene, you worry too much! I doubt I’m gonna get sick from the carnival food. But if I did, I wouldn’t mind having you nurse me back to health. I know you’d take great care of me.”

“Dude. Isn’t Italy dating your little brother?” Denmark whispered in a worried tone of voice.

“He is,” Prussia answered, nearly growling out the words. “And if America keeps talking to him like that, I’m gonna have to beat him so badly he won’t be able to walk for the next two weeks.” America was clearly picturing Italy “taking care of him” in more than just in a medical way. He was flirting with Ludwig’s boyfriend, and that was an incredibly stupid thing to do right in front of Prussia. Gilbert would protect his baby brother with his life, and he would not allow anyone to hurt him by attempting to lure Feliciano away. Not even one of his closest friends.

America talked to Italy for a couple more minutes, but Prussia didn’t overhear anything else he said, other than the goodbye that was way too affectionate for a friend. America hung up the phone and walked back towards Denmark and Prussia with a content expression on his face, and Prussia immediately began to question him.

“What the fuck were you just doing?”

America’s eyes widened. “What do you mean? I answered a phone call?”

“We saw you trying to flirt with Italy over the phone,” Denmark explained. “Your attempt was so cheesy I doubt it was effective, but it was also really obvious. Iceland’s puffin could have picked up on what you were doing.”

“What? Dude, that’s crazy! I don’t like Vene that way.” America wheezed with phony laughter, and he shifted his gaze around like he always did when he was attempting to lie. America was a notoriously horrible liar, and that’s why Denmark and Prussia usually got the beers for Alfred if they wanted to hang out in the US and drink together. America might have an excellent fake ID that said he was 21, but no bartender would believe Alfred when he showed them his ID with such a guilty expression. And Prussia didn’t believe him now.

“Listen, I don’t care if you’ve got some silly little crush on Italy,” Prussia told him. “That’s something you can’t help. But you can’t talk to him like that ever again. Italy is off limits.” Gilbert thought he was being incredibly reasonable, given the circumstances. The fact that America wasn’t lying on the ground bleeding was a goddamn miracle.

But apparently, America didn’t see it that way. He scoffed and put his hands on his hips. “Off limits? Why? Because you’ve got a thing for him? You can’t claim dibs on a person, Gil. That’s not how it works.”

“What?! No, this isn’t about me!” Why the hell would America even think that?

“Oh, I see. This is about Spain.” America’s lip curled into a disgusted sneer, but before Prussia could interrupt to correct America’s bizarre assumption, he continued, launching into a tirade against Prussia and Spain. “I guess he’s your real friend, and I’m not! It doesn’t matter how I feel, because Spain has a permanent claim on Vene just because he’s known him for longer. Well, you know something, I think you’re full of shit! And I think it’s up to Vene who he wants to be with! Maybe he wouldn’t want to be with the guy who fucking raised him from the time he was a toddler! But guess even considering that makes me the crazy one!”

Prussia was aware of some nearby humans turning to stare at them in surprise, and many of them seemed almost as shocked as the lady who guessed people’s ages had been when Denmark told her his real age. But he was pretty startled too, because America was much more bitter than he had been expecting. Prussia was also startled by the realization that his righteous anger had all been based on a ridiculous misunderstanding.

“Really, Spain too?” Denmark murmured. “I don’t get it. Is Italy emitting some kind of magic love pheromones or something?”

Prussia shook his head without taking his eyes off America. “He wasn’t talking about Italy. He was talking about Italy’s brother. Romano.”

America’s face cleared in understanding. “Oh… oh! You thought I was talking about North Italy! No wonder you got so mad at me!”

Prussia nodded and chuckled a little, at both himself and the situation. “You didn’t exactly help when you started calling him ‘Vinny.’ I thought that was short for Veneziano.”

“No, dude, that’s based on his human name, Savino. I started calling him that back when we lived together.” America sounded pretty damn nostalgic, and Prussia felt a little silly for assuming Alfred had been talking to Feliciano. He’d sounded nostalgic about the 1920s before, but Prussia had assumed it was just a friendship thing.

“Did you come up with the Little Italy thing around then too?” Denmark asked.

“Yeah.” America smiled, and his eyes went all soft, like he was staring at the world’s most adorable kitten. “It’s not just ‘cause he’s little compared to me, though he is. It’s ‘cause most of the people who lived in those neighborhoods were from his part of Italy. It would feel pretty weird to call North Italy that.”

Prussia rolled his eyes as all three of them started walking towards the petting zoo again. “Right, and we’re supposed to believe you don’t have a crush on him?”

“I don’t!” America insisted. “I swear.”

Denmark snorted. “Okay, then why’d you pick that song to be his ringtone?”

“Well, it mentions Naples. It’s a nice song, and it reminds me of Romano. Honestly, you guys should’ve known I was talking to him based on the ringtone alone.”

Prussia exchanged a smirk with Denmark. “He knows where Naples is, but I bet he couldn’t locate either of us on a map.”

“That’s not true! I know for a fact that Prussia is East Germany. Denmark is directly to the left of Finland and right above Norway.”

Denmark burst into a fit of raucous laughter, and Prussia did too. America sounded so confident about Denmark’s location even though he was completely off, and it was hilarious.

America pouted as they all got in line behind a group of children. “You guys are mean.”

Denmark shoved America’s shoulder playfully. “Cheer up, Al. We’re just teasing you a little.”

“Yeah. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about with Spain,” Prussia added. “I mean, sure, he might go overprotective on you if you try to date Romano, but I don’t think he’s into him like that. So, you’re in the clear there.”

For someone who had denied having a crush on Romano twice in the past few minutes, America looked incredibly relieved that Spain was not going to be romantic competition for him. But then, the guy running the little petting zoo announced that the next person in line would get a chance to milk a goat, and Denmark pushed past multiple children to the front of the line, so Prussia naturally turned his attention to that. The man running the zoo had a flabbergasted expression on his face as Denmark ran up to him and the goat, and both America and Prussia found it hysterical. This carnival was turning out to be one of the most awesome things Prussia had done in a while, and he was glad he got to hang out with his friends today and make entertaining memories like this one.

[ragnarachael]

Battle Of Wit

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Word Count: 3,053

Summary: Stephen realizes after your most recent battle that he can't lose you, no matter the circumstance. He's just... terrible at expressing his feelings properly.

Author’s Ramblings: thank the single cup of coffee i drank that drove me this fucking wild to write all of this at 3 am the other day,, i really owe it to u Folgers Coffee (and lest we forget the OBCR album of Natasha, Pierre, and The Great Comet of 1812 for being there for me to scream)

Warnings: kinda angsty at the beginning,, but then soft!!! you just gotta push through the fighting!!

MASTERLIST !    FEEDBACK !   AO3 LINK

“I had it under control—”

“No, you didn’t, actually,” Stephen seethed, cutting you off smoothly as he opened a portal that led into one of the Sanctum’s rooms that was designated to hold the Eye of Agamotto. “You didn’t have anything under control.”

You scoffed as you walked through the static ring, Stephen soon following after you before the portal snapped shut. He was quick to send his cloak flying off his shoulders to the door that was open leading into the New York Sanctum, walking ahead of you to properly place the Eye where it belonged.

So what, you’d gotten in on his fight? Sure you ended up with a few scratches and bruises, but you won, didn’t you?

“I think you’ll find I did, Stephen. Who was the one who was out of commission because they were helping Wong?”

You knew it was a low blow, but you’re trying to make a point here.

Stephen turned his head to look at you over his shoulder, letting his gaze zero in on your form. “I had it. I just had to get Wong to help with a—”

“You can make all the excuses you want!” You exclaimed, holding your arms out in exasperation. “You just don’t want to admit that I helped you out.”

You watched Stephen tense up as he turned his head back to the task he had in front of him. The Eye was officially off of his body and in his hands, held in mid-air as he stopped placing it on it’s small podium to hear you speak.

“Me, someone with mediocre skills in the Mystic Arts but exceptional skill with defeating arrogant, asshole doctor’s who don’t seem to know how to admit they need help.”

The laugh that Stephen was emitting made your stomach twist with fear, but you stood your ground. Your words and his laughter lingered between you two for a long time as he took his time placing the Eye on it's small podium. You tried to brace yourself for what was to come.

You knew what you did was stupid. You've understood that at this point, having the guilt start to claw its way up to your throat to take back what you said. But you had to keep reminding yourself that you were also right. Yes, you were running on pure adrenaline when you finished the fight—which you didn't expect to do. Your hand is still pulsating with pain from the final blow for chrissakes! You're shocked you even put some of your fighting to use—

"If I needed help out there," Stephen started lowly, finally turning to face you completely. His jaw was clenched tightly due to his rising anger, you assumed. He looked... terrifying in this moment. You know you shouldn't feel this way about your significant other ever in a relationship - but this wasn't a normal relationship. "I would have asked."

His voice was almost like cleaning your wounds. Painful, stinging pain that made you flinch the second it touched the open skin. Almost like you were grinding salt into it.

Stephen wasn't happy. Not at all.

"Really? You would have?" You questioned rhetorically. "Because out there, just 20 minutes ago, you didn't."

"Because I needed Wong to do the spell to finish Doom off!" Stephen shouted. You couldn't help but take few steps back, squaring your shoulders as you took a deep breath. Stephen watched you closely as you stopped to breathe before he just let out a harsh sigh and let his hands run through his hair.

His hands stopped shy of the top of his head to tug at the roots slightly.

"I needed Wong for the spell. I had to step away, that's why I knocked him down. Then you—" Stephen pointed at you accusingly while his other hand pinched the bridge of his nose "—you came in and beat him to a pulp! I'm not saying that I wasn't grateful, as a matter of fact, it was amazing. But you can't just do that!"

"And why not?" You shot back, your own voice starting to rise in volume. "Why can't I? I was saving your ass. Do you want me to just let you get killed?!"

"No, but—"

"He had already blocked your powers once in the fight, Stephen," you seethed, keeping your hands balled tightly at your sides. "What could you have done then?"

You watched Stephen try to find the words to reply before you held your hand up in front of your neck, making a sort of cutting motion in front of it, "nothing. Not even your hands would be able to help you then. I don't even know what Wong's capable of, but we both know he was out of commission after Doom hypnotized him. I was the last resort. I was the one who had to do something to be sure we all didn't end up fucking dead in the Mirror Dimension!"

Your throat ached once you were finished shouting, overworked easily from the emotion that's been bubbling inside of you since you stepped foot in the Sanctum. The tension was thick enough between the two of you to cut it with a knife. You hated these moments with Stephen. You truly did, but the idea of Stephen dying in the hands of Victor von Doom was enough nightmare fuel to keep you up for a few nights for sure. You didn't need to question that.

Taking in a deep breath you tried to calm down the stinging in your eyes, tears threatening to spill over your waterline. 

"If you're going to blame me for saving you, then fine. Whatever. But do not think for a second—" you stopped momentarily to try and steady your voice, swallowing thrice before continuing "—that I'd just sit in the sidelines and let you and our friend die."

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, ignoring the searing pain from your wounds you'd sustained from the fight as your face contorted. Stephen wasn't even looking at you now. He was looking at the ground, jaw still clenched. It was like he was thinking. He reminded you of a character in a video game who has been left idle while the player went out of the room to get something. Regardless, you knew you somehow got through to him. If Wong weren't back at Kamar-Taj getting taken care of after being taken over by Doom's power, he would be on your side. You knew he would, because he wasn't as stubborn as your lover. He knew when to admit defeat, and wouldn't be determined to do it himself.

"You're not alone, Stephen," you started slowly, gently. A few careful steps towards him made you realize that his anger had dissipated a substantial amount. "You can ask for help. I would be there in a heartbeat."

Stephen all but twitched when you finally decided it was okay to place a gentle hand on his forearm that had the fabric of his robes clinging to him.

It was in this moment you realized that the battle was one of the hardest the three of you had attempted to date. None of you had been prepared for Victor von Doom in the slightest. You were flying blind for the most part. Hell, Stephen and Wong didn't even know about Doom's ability to successfully perform mind transference until it happened.

"You.. You..." Trying to find the words you were wanting to say started to become hard. You were quiet for a while after you said that, trying to pick apart your brain to actually speak. "You can pass the weight of the world on your shoulders to me. To Wong. We've both signed up for this Mystic Arts gig just like you."

Stephen stayed silent. You didn't blame him. Now that your anger has dissipated, you really dug into him and the guilt that was absent from your throat had returned in full force. 

Regret, you realized. That's what you were feeling. Stephen was a capable sorcerer. He was so goddamn smart, he knew what he was doing. Well, for the most part. You do think what you had done was necessary in the end still, since Doom was already getting back up on his feet as Stephen tried to see how to help Wong.

But everything you'd said definitely felt as if you were belittling Stephen.

You let out a wet laugh, the tears you were holding finally making it past your waterline dreadfully fast. You were just as quick to sniffle and wipe the tears with the heel of your hand, reminding yourself to breathe.

"Could you say something, maybe? I... I feel like I've been talking to a brick wall for the past few minutes, honey."

The nickname is what pulled Stephen out of his... whatever it was. His eyes looked how they usually did when he started crying—glassy, red-rimmed and swollen with tears that had been rolling down his cheeks freely.

You've seen Stephen like this few times in your relationship. And in this moment? You thought it was because of you. Your words you used in the heat of the fight, cutting the man you loved—which you have never openly admitted—deep enough to make tears pull from his tear ducts and roll down his beaten and bruised face.

As if he wasn't hurt enough after this fight.

"S-Stephen I—"

"I love you."

You stopped dead in your tracks. You were about to apologize for most of the things you said, maybe even cry yourself. But.. he just said those three little words that you'd both been toeing around since last month.

It felt like your heart stopped. Then exploded. And then stopped again before slamming hard against your chest. "You.. You what?"

"I," Stephen started again shakily, his hands moving to cup your cheeks in his shaking hands, "love you."

Your heartbeat continued pounding in your ears. 

"W-Wait," you cleared your throat and let your hand that was on his forearm fall, carefully tilting your head up to finally make eye contact. "This isn't a joke, right? You're not... You're not just saying this because you and I just had some kind of-of.. of a fight?"

Stephen sniffled quietly then, shaking thumbs swiping at the tears that were still descending down your face gently - almost as if he were handling glass. "I'm serious."

"You love me?" You asked softly. Quietly, filled with all of the emotion you'd held back just mere minutes ago to stand your ground. Stephen was never one to mix work and play—and you thought this was no exception.

"Yes." Stephen's watery laugh filled your ears then. "I love you. That's—That's why I was angry. You.. You risked your life for me and Wong today. It made me realize how easy it could be to lose you. And I don't want that to happen; I never want to lose you."

If this were a normal conversation—between a man and a woman who have been together for a year and a few months—you wouldn't be giggling like an idiot with your vision being clouded with tears. Okay, maybe you would. It just seemed inappropriate to giggle in this moment. You were giggling. Stephen Strange just admitted he loves you. After you've just yelled at him after a battle that rendered one of your friends back in the hands of the healers back at Kamar-Taj.

And he said he loves you.

"You are such an—"

"I know, I know," Stephen said quickly, cutting you off with a dull chuckle as he leaned forwards to press his forehead gently to your own, not caring about the cut on his skin. "I'm an idiot. Your idiot, however."

You let your shoulders droop, finally relieving them from the tension you were still carrying. One of your hands easily cupped Stephen's while the other slowly wrapped around his wrist, trying to get your emotions together to properly respond to your boyfriend's confession.

"You are." You knew your face contorted into a fond look as you squeezed his wrist gently. He huffed out a laugh as the blanket of silence enveloped you comfortably unlike earlier.

"Aren't you gonna say you love me back?" Stephen teased quietly, his eyes flicking down to look at your lips. You snorted and let your eyes fall shut as you leaned some of your weight against him.

"Well—"

"Oh god, here we go," Stephen quipped.

"Hey! I'm trying to pull a I know on you here," you complained playfully, snapping your eyes open to glare at Stephen.

"Sweetheart, as much as I love you, I don't think you'd pull a Leia on me."

You jutted your bottom lip out into a pout, your brows slowly scrunching up as you did so which caused your forehead to bump into Stephen's. He was quick to hiss, pulling his head back from your own to bring a hand up to hover over where his cut was. Your hands were quick to fall from their spots. 

"Oh god, I'm sorry!" You exclaimed, laughter trying to cut through your words. "I-I didn't think I would hit it!"

Stephen couldn't help but start laughing with you, trying to hold you back slightly before you went all "doctor mode" on him as you usually would after missions like these. "You're fine! It's fine."

Eventually, your laughter died down into gentle wheezing before you forced your way into Stephen's arms, now cupping his face in your hands to mainly inspect the damage on his face. He had the cut on his forehead that was surrounded with bumps and bruises, as well as a few little scrapes. You sighed gently.

"What am I going to do with you, Stephen?"

Stephen didn't hesitate to let his hands wrap around your waist slowly, as if to test the waters, letting out a hum. "I can think of a few things."

You rolled your eyes then, letting your hands clasp together behind his head to rest on the back of his neck, pulling him impossibly closer once more. You wanted a kiss more than anything at this point, even if you had a bit of a cut lip. A kiss from the man that loved you.

"Stop it. If you think anything R-rated is happening between us tonight, you're dead wrong," you admonished. "We've both got injuries, Stephen."

"C'mon," Stephen urged gently, his hands sliding to flatten at your sides, squeezing your curves under his fingertips, "you've never turned down the shower stuff before."

"Well then today's the day I'm turning it down. Because I'd rather hurt now rather than later."

The face Stephen pulled would have made you laugh if you weren't looking at him so fondly, your mind reeling back to what he said what felt like seconds ago. Those three little words he said were replaying in your head again. Your heart skipped a beat by how giddy you were becoming just by the mere thought of Stephen saying those words to you. It hadn't occurred to you that you were zoned out completely then, Stephen gently saying your name as he shook you a little.

You were quick to blink a bit, letting a smile bloom on your face before you let go of your hands to slide them to his shoulders. 

"Say it again," you demanded softly, letting your nails dig into the fabric under your fingertips. "Please."

Stephen definitely didn't get what you meant until your eyes moved from looking up into his own, to looking at his lips. You were thankful he decided to grant your wish when he gently said your name, easily pressing the length of his body against yours.

"I love you."

"I love you too," you replied immediately, your whole heart basically evacuating your body through your words. You loved him. Stephen Strange. The Master of The Mystic Arts. Who ever this man was before, and whoever this man was now, you loved him. That much was evident to the both of you in this moment.

Stephen took a moment to mutter something under his breath before he leaned forward and captured your lips in a searing kiss. As intense as the kiss was, his lips were soft against your own, despite the fact that yours were most definitely weathered from the battle. One of his hands found their spot back on your cheek as Stephen tilted his head to deepen the kiss in the moment before started to pull away to giggle again.

"What?" Stephen questioned quietly. You just shrugged as you kept your eyes shut, feeling Stephen's gaze trail over your face.

"My lips probably feel terrible to you—"

Stephen groaned playfully then, holding back a chuckle. "You need to stop with these one liners when we're having a moment, sweetheart."

"You love me for it!" You exclaimed, opening your eyes now to finally catch the fond look Stephen was giving you.

"I do."

"Does this mean we can get patched up now? As attractive as you look all beaten and... rugged, you should really get cleaned up before something gets infected," you explained, pulling back until Stephen's arms stopped you, gesturing to his whole get up. "I don't need you getting sick again on me."

"Fine. As long as you're the one patching me up, I don't care," Stephen sighed dramatically, letting you go but making sure to grab your hand with his own gently. You grinned at the fact that you didn't have to try and push the offer to him any more than you already did.

You were quick to get up to his height momentarily, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before starting to lead him to the open door that led you two home. In the back of your mind, you knew you would have to have a more adult conversation about earlier once the two of you have rested and cleaned up a bit later in the evening. This wasn't just something you could ignore easily after a heartfelt confession. But you weren't as afraid as you were when the argument started.

Because he loved you. That's all you needed to remember as you headed into this new stage of your relationship with Stephen Strange.