#this is a big fucking twist but that doesn’t automatically make it good

[youryanderedaddy]

Are you still writing about Edgar?

Yeah but I yassified him (he's evil now) (well, more evil)

tw: female reader, non - con, cockwarming, snuff (watching), threats, captivity, abuse, hinted murder (not reader), degradation

My Ko - fi <3

You shudder, leaning back against his hard shoulders. You can feel the hot sweat sticking to your skin and you want to scratch at your body in a desperate attempt to feel yourself clean and proper again - but this isn’t an option when you’re so stuffed you feel like your insides are going numb. Of course this doesn’t stop the killing machine taking the appearance of a man from pounding into you even harder, short staccato thrusts that leave you breathless. You’re starting to notice the pattern - he’s slow in the beginning while you still have energy to keep up and gets meaner and meaner, bullying his way into your cervix as you get tired and sloppy.

“Keep your eyes on the fucking screen.” Edgar hisses in your ear with one meaty fist wrapped around your throat tight like a leash. Your legs are spread as far as they can go without dislocating, and despite all his hushed threats that leave you gagging, you still want them intact at the end of the torture session. You blink through the thick tears glued to your eyelashes and make an effort to focus on what’s happening on the small black and white TV. There is a girl. She’s screaming. She’s bleeding. A big buff guy with a chainsaw is taunting her - and you tell yourself it’s just a movie; it’s all fake. The blood, the cruel laughter, the scorching screams, the shivers they send down your spine. Such good actors, you think. Certainly better than you would be had you been in their shoes. 

“That’s the best part.” The killer whispers down your ear as his hand tightens around your neck, cutting your air supply for a good few seconds - and while you’re choking on your own spit, you can feel his member throb inside you, wet with pre - cum. Suddenly your heart starts beating faster inside your chest as if trying to break out of your ribcage, and you make the mistake of looking up. Perhaps you’re looking for some type of human warmth, for a smile, a reassuring glare, a dimple or even an automatic twitch of approval at the corner of his lips - but all you’re met with is the same old black porcelain mask along with a pair of cold dead eyes staring back at you, completely empty. Devoid of anything, but sadistic animal pleasure at your expense. 

“You’re not fucking looking, slut.” The man growls, agitated, reaching to slap you across the face. It stings, but you barely feel it, too overwhelmed to care about pain at this point. But eventually his deep, domineering voice registers in your head and you obey automatically, turning your head back at the screen. “That’s a good girl.” He coos at you, but such gentle words sound unnatural coming from him - he twists them. He fucks with them and messes them up, making a mockery out of the sweetness, manipulating intimacy in the way he knows would hurt the most, so when he hits you again, you can actually feel it.

On the tape you can make out certain blurry moments - there is a rather artistic close - up of the woman’s eye being torn out, making her chapstick - red lips curl up in an almost theatrical fashion, and if you didn’t know the creator of the film yourself, you would have fully believed it was just an overdramatic slasher movie meant to scare over - curious teenagers, locked in their mom’s basement. You can recall a long forgotten essay you had just started way before you were stolen away never to be seen again, about the objectifying sexual gaze in old horror flicks. You want to laugh, because it’s funny - but you don’t, because it’s also incredibly fucking sad. 

In the next moment his left hand is entangled into your shaggy, loosened locks, pulling at your scalp, and you moan, even when you know that to Edgar pain and pleasure mean all the same, look the same, sound the same - so how could he ever make out a difference? So you don’t blame him when he sinks his teeth into your throat and pumps himself inside you, bouncing your body up and down on his cock just like a toy, only slightly more human than a fleshlight. You can feel yourself growing wet and you look down just to make sure you’re still capable of such devine human feeling, but it’s yet another trap. 

It’s his fingers. They’re long and bloody, curling up inside your tight slippery hole. You hold back the sigh of relief, because it’s obviously not your blood - yet your eyebrows narrow. You can’t help but wonder who was the miserable fucker who died for you to not have a painful dry fuck for the first time in weeks, but you don’t let yourself dwell on the topic, because you’d rather die than let your captor see you cry for the second time.

“K-keep looking.” The murderer groans, short of breath, growing soft inside you - but of course he doesn’t pull out or even move away like the sadistic fuck he is. You’re not sure if he’s looking at you looking at the woman with her head decapitated and the knife sticking out her naked chest, or if he’s just blissed out and dissociating into space. Edgar pulls on his sweaty white shirt, and the only evidence of his humanity left - his lust, manifests as redness on his neck and white stars in his empty eyes. 

“You just twitched.” He purrs with a certain boyish giddiness to his usually husky voice, letting his hands grope at your open trembling thighs, caressing the old healed scars on your battered skin. “It’s because I’m fucking scared–” You try to argue, but the panic settles at the back of your throat like a massive, sticky lump of fear and you just can’t continue with whatever you wanted to say. Your voice is hoarse and tired anyways - why even try at this point? It always ends the same. 

“That means you’re getting used to it.” Edgar grins, stroking his chin as if he is deep in thought. Then he laughs with that nasty little chuckle that you now associate with pink razors and pins, and sometimes needles. “You used to fucking piss yourself at those helloween movies for kids.” He kisses your neck, pulling you closer into a bear hug, and you wonder if he’s intentionally squeezing all your vital organs in. “Now you’re getting off to my old tapes like a fucking snuff bunny. I’m proud of you, baby.” His mask falls on the ground, revealing his face. It’s the same as usual - evil and bloody. 

“Just don’t get too used to it, m’kay?” The killer smiles coldly, but his eyes remain just as lifeless as five seconds ago. He pinches your nose playfully, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Because soon enough you might just find yourself at the other end of it all.” He squints, his sides heating up with perverse excitement. “And I’d hate for you to make a boring actress.”

[ragingadhd]

Ok but can we talk about how well Flanagan managed to simultaneously pull off two of the most potentially annoying tropes in Halt’s backstory?

Like Halt is not only secretly royalty, but also has an Evil Twin Brother ™. Like I said, I both of these tropes have so much potential to be super fucking annoying as an audience member. It just screams of an author who doesn’t know how to write a good twist. But for Halt’s character? Muah. Chefs kiss.

For starters, it’s so easy for an evil twin to just be a shadow the hedgehog rip off. Edgy, pure-evil villain persona, dark and strangely powerful. But Ferris’ personality is not some edgy villain, he’s the golden child corrupted by greed and envy. He’s childish and stubborn and selfish, not the quiet, confident “I know I’m stronger than you” type. Not only is his character a refreshing contrast to most of the whole “secret evil twin” characters, but his character still manages to be the evil opposite of Halt’s.

I think this works so well at least in part because Halt is the “darker” of the two. He’s stern, quiet, mean or even viscous at times, hell, he’s even clearly not a big believer in following the law. But the thing is, he uses all of these “dark” qualities for good. (And the whole “light doesn’t automatically mean good and dark doesn’t automatically mean evil” thing is another thing I could write a 10 page essay on). Making Halt the “darker” one puts a creative spin on such a classic trope so that the trope is still recognizable without being cliche.

And as for him secretly being royalty? Done so fucking beautifully. Flanagan does such a good job with incorporating his past as a crown prince into his current personality, and doing so in a realistic way. It's so easy to take such a big detail like that and try to make every little action he takes influenced by that past, to the point where it feels like the character didn't have a personality before a traumatic event. But Halt clearly had a personality that existed before and was affected by trauma and circumstance. His darker personality is what made his parents favor Ferris, and certain parts of his demeanor and behaviors were reinforced or changed by what happened to him.

His association with royalty gives him a sort of "gotta know the rules before you break them" type of feel. He has a very good understanding of what laws are productive and which ones are less necessary, what crimes actually cause harm and which ones are harmless. He also has a very good eye for corruption in power, no doubt because he witnessed it so closely as a kid.

Anyway Halt's character is very well written. Go give him a kiss.

[thecolddeathfic]

Part 3

WinterIron, E, 2.8k - Horror, Body Horror, Brief torture

see blog's pinned post for a list of tags and warnings for the full fic

"What the fuck?"

“What?” Tony asks distractedly, not looking up from carefully highlighting a line in one of the many books spread across the small table.

“Tony," Ty snaps and Tony’s head jerks up, finally registering the anger in his boyfriend’s voice.

“What?” Tony asks again, shoulders hunching defensively and his free hand absently searching for his drink.

"The point of having our own offices is that you don’t spread your shit everywhere," Ty says, motioning pointedly at the books and loose graph paper all over the kitchen.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to- I’ll get it all cleaned up by tonight,” Tony promises. He finishes off his glass of whiskey and resists the urge to glance down at his textbook again, knowing that breaking eye contact will just make Ty angrier.

“Why are you not in your office?” Ty demands, continuing to stare at him, unimpressed. He’s straightening one of his big gaudy cufflinks-

“Are you going somewhere?” Tony asks, belatedly noticing that Ty is wearing an expensive suit, rather than his usual Tuesday night expensive sweats.

"We are supposed to be going to my professor’s for dinner, but I guess you’re standing me up again," Ty says flatly, and Tony winces.

“Oh, fuck, sorry,” Tony says quickly, his stomach dropping and twisting with guilt.

He looks between the clock and his own rumpled, sleep-depraved and pajama-clad form. Ty’s right, there’s no way Tony can make himself presentable before it's time to leave, plus-

“I - I’m really behind on this,” Tony says regretfully, tipping his chin down at the book on the table.

He starts to lift his glass again before remembering that it’s empty, and he starts subtly trying to look around for the bottle instead.

"Yeah, because you’ve been spending all your time obsessing over some stupid story," Ty snaps, tugging at the lapels of his jacket a little harder than necessary.

“You’re the one who told me to get a hobby that doesn’t involve robots,” Tony points out automatically, even though he knows it doesn’t do any good to snap at Ty when he’s in this kind of mood.

Sure enough, Ty turns away from checking himself out in the mirror by the front door to glare at Tony as he says, “I clearly didn’t mean getting obsessed with some stupid old urban legend about an ice army-”

“Winter Soldier-”

“Whatever,” Ty snaps with an impatient wave of his hand, keys jangling loudly in his tight grip. "I’ll go by myself, again, but I can’t help noticing that you always seem to have time for ‘Uncle Obie,’" He adds snidely, practically spitting out the name.

"That’s different," Tony snaps, shoving himself to his feet as his chest clenches painfully. He’s already so sick of this fight. "Obie is all I- He’s family," Tony grits out angrily, “not some snotty professor that you’re trying to impress.”

Ty’s expression darkens, and Tony swallows hard.

"I’m making connections," Ty argues for what must be the third time, “just because all you care about lately is getting drunk and chasing some damn ghost story-”

“That- That’s not true,” Tony interrupts, but his voice loses strength by the end because, well, it kind of is.

He has been falling behind on school assignments and missing social events lately, ever since-

And maybe he’s been drinking more lately, but Ty doesn’t have a whole lot of room to judge on that front.

It’s not like Tony doesn’t have a reason for all of it. A reason that has nothing to do with an urban legend.

Mostly nothing.

Ty shakes his head with a short, frustrated sound and says, "Just- clean this shit up before I get home. And use your fucking office."

The front door slams behind him.

Tony lets out a slow breath, left alone with the radio playing quietly in the living room.

It takes him a while to get back into the schematic he’s working on, and by the time he calls it a night he hasn’t accomplished nearly as much as he wanted to.

But he has located and finished off the bottle of whiskey.

He gathers up all of his 'shit’ that’s managed to spread itself around the kitchen and carelessly dumps it onto the already-overloaded desk in his office.

Then he pulls the office door firmly closed behind him and sprawls out on the couch to call Rhodey and pout.

"Okay, but when you say you ‘failed’ the test," Rhodey prompts once Tony has moved on from complaining about Ty to complaining about school.

"I mean I got a B," Tony groans miserably, flopping sideways on the couch.

“That’s not failing,” Rhodey protests with a huff, “in what world is that failing? The only person who would call that failing is-”

He cuts himself off with an audible click of teeth, and it’s been equal parts heartbreaking and endearing watching Rhodey try to navigate around his dislike of Howard since-

Since December.

“You’re too damn hard on yourself, is my point,” Rhodey finishes, like he hadn’t paused at all, and Tony loves him for it. "I still think you should take a break," he adds, voice softer with worry, and unfortunately Tony loves him for that, too.

“I told you platypus, I need to be doing something,” Tony reminds him, trying his best to sound okay. “Something that isn’t just sitting around that house or- or partying my way around the world.”

“I’m sure you’re still doing plenty of partying,” Rhodey teases lightly, officially letting him off the hook for now.

“Well, I am in college.”

“Yeah yeah, just tell your boyfriend to take care of you, alright?”

“I will,” Tony promises, even though he probably won’t, and then pointedly changes the topic to the latest book he’s been trying to get Rhodey to read.

After books, they talk about Rhodey’s new girlfriend, who sounds too cool for him, and then Tony spends a while poking for top-secret information just to see if he can get any.

By the time he gets off the phone, Ty still isn’t back.

Tony hesitates in the hallway for a second, then turns toward his office instead of heading into the bedroom.

~

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, Tony drags himself upright.

The shitty cot creaks beneath him and he shivers harder as the blankets piled on him fall away. Cold air tears at his throat-

 

Everything fades in and out.

 

He doesn’t stop.

Finally, finally, he can prop himself up against the cold stone wall.

It was probably a bad idea to move. His chest feels like it’s on fire, but-

 

He couldn’t just lie there anymore.

Staring at the ceiling- struggling to breathe-

At least now he can see around his small cell.

He’s alone again, as far as he can tell. The lights are off.

He has to work up the nerve to tip his chin down.

 

It’s only the second time he’s actually looked at the thick bandages wrapped around his chest- At the bright spots of fresh crimson and dark streaks of old, dried blood.

The sight of the- the wires emerging from between the layers of fabric makes his empty stomach churn-

 

Tony tips his head back- tearing his gaze away-

His eyes burn beneath his clenched lids, but he’s pretty sure he’s out of tears.

He has to take shallow, hitching breaths until he stops tasting bile- his throat painfully dry-

 

When he finally opens his eyes again he doesn’t let himself look down- At his chest, or at the battery he’s connected to-

 

Instead he looks around at his cell. At least, what he can see of it in the dark.

He hasn’t really bothered to take inventory until now.

These are worktables scattered with tools that he can’t identify at the moment. Crates with labels that he can’t read. Lots of stone wall and a solid steel door-

Tony knows what he should be doing, what he needs to be doing.

Getting up, checking what he has access to and making a plan-

 

But he’s stuck on the ‘getting up’ part.

Even the thought makes every inch of him throb with pain. Makes his breath wheeze a little louder on the way out.

Maybe if he can just make it to the closest table-

 

Something moves in the corner of his vision.

 

Tony whips his head to the left, then grits his teeth and blinks through it while his vision swims.

All he sees is the dark of the cave. Layers of shadows on shadows without any hint of motion.

His heart beats painfully in his chest as he squints, making sure-

 

He’s still alone.

When he slowly lets out the breath he’s been holding, it hangs in the air for a moment as a thin fog.

Tony feels his eyebrows furrow. It’s not that cold in here, right? He would feel it-

Wouldn’t he?

 

Movement.

He knows he saw it that time.

He stares, ignoring the clouds of his own breath, until he sees it again.

One of the countless shadows that fill the cell is moving.

 

It’s not Tony’s.

There’s no one else here.

 

But the shadow continues to move and it’s the clearly defined shape of a person. Broad shoulders and thick arms-

 

So there must be someone-

The rational part of Tony’s mind scrambles. Watching the shadow slide over a shelf and behind a table- Trying to figure out- if there was someone to cast it-

Where-?

 

Threat, his animal brain screams at him, threat, run-

But he can’t run, he can’t move-

He can only take shallow, rasping breaths as something moves through the cell-

Getting closer.

His chest screams in agony as his breathing gets faster. The bandages feel wet against his skin.

Even with his vision starting to blur, Tony tries to keep an eye on the shadow and the nothing casting it-

 

Until suddenly it’s not nothing.

The shadow passes behind a column of stone, and a figure emerges from the other side.

Solid-

Real-

 

Tony’s heart lodges itself in his throat, limbs going numb with panic.

He blinks rapidly, sure that he’s seeing things-

The man is still there.

Thick with muscle like the shadow implied. Dressed all in black. Shoulder-length hair falling forward and obscuring his face.

Still moving closer.

 

Something about him is almost familiar-

Some old memory is trying to make itself known, but his brain has come to a screeching halt and Tony can’t even try to piece it together.

 

This man doesn’t belong here.

He’s not dressed for the desert, for the cave. Tight black clothing, almost armor, tactical-

A soldier-

Tony doesn’t know where the thought comes from. The man isn’t wearing any kind of fatigues- But-

 

He’s still moving closer with slow, even steps.

Threat-

Tony can feel the shrapnel working its way deeper in time with his frantic pulse. His panicked breaths still hang in the air.

The cot rattles beneath him with how hard he’s shaking.

 

This- It can’t be real, right?

His brain is trying to insist that this isn’t real but-

The man is still approaching. Tony can see glimpses of pale skin above the mask that covers most of his face.

Tony can almost see his eyes-

 

“Anthony,” the man says, and Tony’s heart stops.

His voice is low, slightly muffled by the mask. But even the single word echoes oddly off the stone walls. Ringing- Haunting.

This isn’t real. It’s not-

”Anthony-“ The man says again.

A cloud of cold air accompanies the word, escaping from beneath his mask and rolling down his chest- Pooling around his feet like fog.

 

Tony’s brain is screaming that this can’t be real, but he can feel the sharp chill of the fog as it rolls closer, as the man-

The soldier-

-starts to reach for him-

 

Tony chokes out a terrified noise as his vision narrows on the soldier’s hand-

A strange silver color that gleams blue even in the low light-

It stretches all the way up his arm- To his shoulder-

Tony can feel the cold coming off the outstretched fingers- Like they’re made of ice-

 

Yinsen’s voice runs through his head.

“Do not take his hand-”

 

Tony flinches back, sucking in a sharp breath-

Only to cry out in pain when pressing himself back against the uneven stone wall has his spine arching, shoulders pulling back-

He hears something in his chest tear-

 

Blinding agony rips through him, whiting out everything else.

He can’t- His lungs feel hot and wet and he-

He can’t breathe-

 

The soldier’s approaching hand is just a blur.

He can’t-

 

~

 

Tony opens his eyes to find that he’s back in his old apartment.

It’s dark and silent again.

It hurts when he breathes and Tony doesn’t remember-

 

He doesn’t know why.

 

He doesn’t know why he’s dreaming about this place.

Why he keeps dreaming about it.

He’s standing in the hallway again, staring at the door of his office.

It’s the only closed door.

He can see a dim light through the crack at the bottom of the door, like he left his desk lamp on again-

 

“Anthony-” The familiar, haunting voice drifts through the closed door. “Open the door, Anthony.”

Tony’s breath freezes in his lungs. He tries to back away, but his feet won’t move- They’re too heavy-

 

No one should be in his office. Even Ty never went in there, especially toward the end-

 

“I’m waiting, Anthony.”

 

There’s a cold terror working its way up Tony’s spine and it- It feels familiar.

Like he’s stood here before. Listening to this same, strangely hypnotic voice-

Struggling to resist it.

Tony’s breath is coming too fast and it still hurts-

He’s shaking and he doesn’t know if it’s fear or the quickly dropping temperature.

That’s not good, Ty likes it warm-

 

"Anthony," The voice repeats, breaking into his thoughts.

Tony jolts- flinching-

He still can’t move, his legs stuck in place- More than heavy, like they’re fused to the floor-

 

A shadow breaks the line of light beneath the door. And then another.

Two feet. Stepping up to the door and then stopping. Facing it.

Waiting.

“Open the door,” the voice demands again, right on the other side of the thin wood.

The impatience is obvious but there’s also a desperation in the voice that has Tony tipping forward against his will.

 

He realizes that his feet are free again only when one of them slides towards the end of the hall, towards the closed door.

Tony tries to stop himself, but he can’t-

His feet continue moving without thought- Taking him closer-

 

The hallway is still getting colder.

Tony puts his hand out and catches the doorframe of the bedroom, yanking himself to an abrupt stop.

His rapid breaths hang around him like a fog and the air tastes strange, like rust and dirt-

 

Sand-

 

His legs are shaking so hard that he’s sure they’re going to collapse at any second-

“Come back in, Anthony,” the voice says, practically pleading now and something about it tugs at the hollow pit in Tony’s chest-

 

What-

 

His hand goes limp, slides away from the doorframe and then Tony is drifting again.

Helpless against the pull of that rough, dark voice.

He’s almost close enough to reach out and touch the doorknob- His hand is starting to lift-

 

A sharp sting spreading across his scalp has him stopping short, a startled gasp burning his lungs.

The pain of it feels-

 

Real.

 

More real than the hallway- the memory-

 

The apartment is fading around him. The closed door slides away into the gray distance as Tony is pulled backwards and he-

He doesn’t want to go.

 

He reaches for the doorknob, but it’s too late.

It’s out of reach.

 

“Anthony,” the voice says and it still sounds so close-

It sounds real-

 

“How much longer will you make me wait?”

 

~

 

The water is gritty in his eyes.

In his nose, and his mouth.

In his torn, scorched lungs-

 

The fingers in his hair tighter, then roughly haul Tony upright.

He gasps when his head is pulled out of the bucket. When he coughs up water it tastes like rust and sand, makes his chest scream in pain as the metal shifts.

The water dripping down his face is cold, but there’s a warmth slowly running down from his sternum.

Tony blinks against the bright lights focused on him.

Where-

 

Right.

 

The leader of the Ten Rings steps between him and the light.

“Awake now?” The man sneers while Tony continues blinking, struggling to focus.

Tony isn’t sure that he is.

The man doesn’t wait for an answer.

“No more resting,” he says sharply, "no more wait."

The familiarity of the word makes Tony flinch, a chill running down his spine that has nothing to do with the cold water.

Tony thinks he hears Yinsen’s voice somewhere off to the side, quick and worried- But he can’t be sure-

“Again,” the leader says.

The fingers in Tony’s hair tighten, shove him down-

He thinks he sees the shadow of a hand amid the chaos, reaching out-

 

Then the water.

[xzerosparrowx]

Third chapter of Stand and Deliver is now on Ao3. I am really appreciating the comments and kudos that I've been getting for this fic, it really means a lot to see people having any sort of reaction to something I've written.

Anyway, below is a little excerpt of a bit of writing that I particularly enjoy.

The man flashes a wide, goofy smile, the kind that’s rare on someone trying to be cool. It’s endearing, in a way. “I’m Ste-eeeee…” The words get caught in his throat as he hunches over the bannister, the sudden retching noise cutting through the air.

It’s automatic—the way Eddie reacts when someone’s too drunk. He’s been taking care of his parents since he was thirteen, coming home from school to find them passed out on the living room floor, barely able to remember their own names. Without thinking, Eddie’s by the man’s side, rubbing soothing circles on his broad back, the heat of him radiating through his shirt to Eddie’s palm… Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t. 

“Don’t sto-oooo...” The man groans, more bile spilling onto the bushes below. “It feels nice,” he mumbles, spitting out the remnants of his stomach, and Eddie continues the circles without hesitation.

“I was about to congratulate you for not immediately chucking up that half-bottle of champagne you downed,” Eddie chuckles, taking another hit off his joint, “but, uh�� seems pointless now.”

“Ugh, s’mean to me on my birthday.” Ste-something, whines to the bushes. “I’m not as drunk as I look.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his movements slow and uncoordinated as he tries to straighten himself. His eyes are a little brighter, a little more alert. “Champagne just makes me wanna hurl.”

“Then why drink it?”

“I did it once when I was fourteen, and now it’s like... expected? Tradition or something. If you go to a Steve Harrington party, at some point a bottle of champagne is getting opened.” He grins, like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m gonna be a dick for a second here, Steve, and say that your tradition sounds pretty fucking stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, you're stupid!” Steve laughs, pouting dramatically before throwing up in the bushes again.

“Fuck, you got me there,” Eddie laughs, earning a playful scowl from Steve.

“Look, it’s just—those people, back there,” Steve says quietly to the bushes, his gaze hardening, “It’s not just the champagne. It’s everything. You know how it is. People expect you to be a certain way.”

If someone had told Eddie that he would have something in common to a guy who was fed with a silver-spoon he’d laugh in their face and flip them off for good measure. But here he was, understanding Steve perfectly. The Munson name precedes him, everyone expecting him to be the bad apple cut from the same rotting tree... but damn, it’s weird to hear someone else talk about living under that weight. He wants to say something, anything, but every word feels like a cliche he’s heard in a movie. He doesn’t want to be that guy, the one who says the easy stuff that doesn’t actually help. So instead, he just rubs Steve’s back a little harder.

“It’s your birthday, and I’m an uninvited guest. As penance, I can offer you one of my pre-rolls. You want some weed?”

Steve looks up at him then, those big, doe-like eyes bright with excitement, swallowing him whole. Eddie’s heart stutters in his chest. Fuck, he’s a total idiot. Probably inherited it from Alan. With a bravado that doesn’t match the awkwardness twisting inside him, Eddie pulls a pre-roll from his pocket and holds it out to Steve, offering it like some kind of magic cure. Good for what ails ya.

“Shit, thanks, man,” Steve grins, plucking the joint from Eddie’s fingers and tucking it behind his ear. Eddie’s brain flashes to James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause, and he’s immediately thrown back to that stupid huge crush he had on the actor when he was fifteen. There’s no way he’s about to get a crush on this guy. He barely even knows him. But Steve’s smile is doing things to his brain, and Eddie’s seriously questioning his ability to think clearly.

“HEY!” a voice booms, Eddie spins around just in time to see a freckled brunette get in his face, “you sold me overpriced drugs, fuck head!” 

Ah, right. The AV Club on Sunday.

[dan-whoell]

holiday

Word count: 1548

two moments on holiday, 14 years apart.

Read on AO3

Jamaica, 2010 

The hall is dark, and they speak in low, hushed voices. Everyone else is asleep, will probably never have any idea about the clandestine meeting of two boys in the night. There might not be too many questions asked anyway, the whole world knows they’re close, and the (technically true) rumor has been circulating about Phil pushing so hard for Dan’s presence on this trip that someone else got kicked out. They’re friends, good friends, so of course they’ll take the opportunity to hang out as much as they can. 

But the way Phil reaches for him almost automatically, his fingers curling around Dan’s wrist like it’s second nature, the way he doesn’t even say hello just did you hear who lost their camera- it makes Dan nervous. 

He steps backwards into his room, and Phil follows blindly, no hint of hesitation in being pulled out from the open. Dan refuses to think about closets or parallels. “Will you get inside, please?” 

Phil presses against him, chest to chest, and the door is still wide open behind him. It all feels so fucking dangerous, even more when Phil opens his mouth. “S’your job, innit?” There’s alcohol on his breath, sharp and stinging. He knows Phil is not a big drinker, and yet. Because. 

“Shut up,” he says, breaking free of Phil’s grip and instead reaching for his sides, fingers twisting into the fabric of Phil’s t-shirt. He pulls harder this time, turning to move Phil out of the doorway. He kicks it closed behind them, unwilling, despite it all, to let Phil go as they stumble toward the bed. For everything that they are-but-aren't, this part has always been easy, instinctual. Behind closed doors there’s hardly ever been a moment that Dan has hesitated. There’s never been a need. He knows, always, that Phil will take his hand if he reaches. As sure as he is that the sun will rise in the morning, he is sure of them. 

“Why are you drunk?” he asks, hands wandering down to slip under the hem of Phil’s t-shirt. He’s spent the better part of two days trying not to stare, forcing himself to focus on palm trees and sand and anything but Phil’s exposed skin. Now, in the safety of his hotel room, he feels as if he’s been given a key to the whole world, and here it is beneath him. 

“M’not drunk,” Phil says. It comes out slurred and with the tiniest hint of laughter, like he thinks he’s getting away with something. 

“Yes you are.” He dips his head to kiss Phil, soft and sweet and above all, intimate. It’s a kiss that feels like exactly what it is- an ongoing declaration of love. “I can taste it.” Coconut rum and memories. 

“M’not!” Phil insists. “I just- it was a couple of drinks.” 

“For the world’s lightest lightweight.” 

“I was anxious.” The admission is the clearest thing he’s said, and a pit forms in Dan’s stomach. “About you. Don’t want you to be scared.” 

And he is so scared, so fucking terrified of where this all goes. This thing with Phil- this entire fucking life that he’s building in his mind- he's almost positive it’s going to give him an ulcer. But the fear has nothing to do with Phil himself, and everything to do with the outside world. Friends and family and what it would mean to them. What it would mean about Dan. It scares the shit out of him. 

Somehow, though, Phil makes him believe that one day, it will all be okay. “I’m not,” he finds himself saying. “I’m not scared at all.” It isn’t a lie. 

They fall asleep clutching each other, the feeling of falling in love curled around them like a shield. 

In the morning, they lie and say they were up late talking about video games, and Dan stole Phil’s room because Phil refused to get up, and everyone laughs at how ridiculous they are. It’s okay. They’ll be alone together soon enough, and the fear will dissipate. It always does. 

Turkey, 2024 

“Do we have to go out to dinner tonight?” Phil calls from the edge of the pool, his arms folded on the concrete and his chin resting sleepily on top of them. “Can’t we just order room service or something?” 

Dan sighs, looking up from his book. “We have a reservation. We’re not gonna get to go at all if we don’t go tonight,” he says, though he’s a little bit inclined to give Phil anything he wants, since- 

“The doctor told me to rest.” 

“You can’t rest at dinner?” 

Phil giggles, revealing his less than serious stance on the matter. “Not if I have to get dressed, no.” 

After marking his place with a bookmark and shoving the novel into their shared bag, Dan stands and makes his way over to the edge of the pool. “If we don’t go, you’re going to be mad that we missed it and I’m going to have to listen to you complain,” he says, crossing his arms. 

“I won’t,” Phil promises, voice bordering on a whine. “I’ll be perfectly happy without it.” 

“No, I know you, Lester, you say it won’t be a problem, but tomorrow when you suddenly decide you do want to go and we can’t, you’re going to pout.” 

“What if we call and postpone it?” Phil looks up at him with these big hopeful eyes, and it’s impossible to say no. 

“Who is we?” he asks, but he’s already pulling his phone from the pocket of his shorts. “If you want to call and speak to them, that’s your business.” 

“Fine.” Phil holds out his hand, as if there’s any universe where he’d actually volunteer to call a restaurant. “Give me your phone.” 

“Why, so you can drown it in the pool?” Dan raises it high above his head, wildly out of reach. “No, I guess if I absolutely have to, I will try. You’re lucky I love you.” He brings the phone back down, scrolling through for a moment to find the number for the restaurant. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea of lying in bed eating something that’s been delivered to them. 

“See if we can get an hour earlier, too,” Phil says as the dial tone rings in his ear. 

“Shh,” he admonishes, just as the woman on the other end says hello thank you for calling. “Yes, hi-” Christ, somehow he was unprepared for this. “Uh, my boyfriend and I had a reservation for tonight- it's under the name Howell? We were wondering if we could possibly move it to tomorrow night?” He feels droplets of water hit his exposed ankles. “Er- and also make it 7 instead of 8? I’m so sorry if-” he stops, listening to the hostess assure him that of course they can do that, it’s no trouble at all, is there anything else she can do for him? “Oh, okay, thank you so much.” 

When he looks back, Phil is positively beaming at him. “I told you-” 

“Yes yes, you’re always right, I don’t want to hear it.” But as Phil’s eyes close in laughter, a surge of affection rushes through him, gratitude that their life together gets to continue. He moves without thinking, navigating to his camera to snap a picture of Phil there at the edge of the pool. Dan never wants to let go, never wants to forget. Never in his life has he felt the fear he has in the last two weeks, and he cannot take this moment for granted. He clears his throat. “So, are you going to get out now so we can figure out what to order, or am I supposed to bring the menu to you as well?” 

Phil opens his eyes. “Get in.” 

“Really?” 

“Please?” Phil bats his pretty eyelashes, and Dan is putty in his hands. 

He rolls his eyes but tosses his phone onto the lounge chair, knowing he should be more careful but unable to walk away from Phil. He peels his t-shirt off and sinks into the water beside Phil, laughing when he only gets to enjoy it for a second before Phil’s arms are around his neck, their bare chests pressed together. Phil makes a big show of kissing him on the cheek, sloppy and not-quite-annoying. 

“Thank you,” he says in a sing-song voice. So fucking insufferable, but Dan loves him more than anything in the world. He holds Phil close in the water, always relishing in the feel of Phil’s skin against his own.  A tiny, distant voice in his head tries to tell him that this is dangerous, that being outside like they are means anyone could potentially see them regardless of how private this pool area feels, that he should be scared of what could happen if they were spotted. 

Dan finds he doesn’t care. They have been falling in love with each other for fifteen years, and it’s never going to stop. What the rest of the world does or doesn’t know is irrelevant to them. Let them have their opinions, their interpretations. He has Phil, here and now, and that means he has nothing to be afraid of. 

[girlscoutbrownies]

Fandom: School Bus Graveyard

Word Count: 1241

Summary:

What do people say again? Time flies when you’re having fun? They’d be right, except he’s not really having fun right now.

He’s not really having much of anything. He’s just… there.

Additional Notes + Content Warnings: Descriptions of disassociation, mild forest horror. Aiden is very much an unreliable narrator here.

This is not posted on ao3.

—

Aiden Clark does this thing where time flies sometimes.

That’s not really the right word for it, though, because saying that time is flying implies that he knows that it’s moving. He really doesn’t.

He blinks and he’s lost hours. He loses time. Yes, yeah, yeah - losing time. That’s the term.

( Actually, he’s been told that it’s disassociation. He doesn’t really care for those big words, though. )

Something’s off, he thinks, the first time.

His room is dark. It’s always dark in his room. Very, very dark. Dark, so that he doesn’t have to see the empty cans on his table and the stacks of cup ramen.

It gives off, automatically, the sense of someone is sleeping here, but they’re not living.

And maybe that’s corny, but is he alive?

He doesn’t feel alive right now. Alive people feel the mattress under their feet and the blanket over their legs.

God, his inner monologue is always kind of depressing. Seasonal depression, maybe? It is winter.

It’s always winter, though.

Maybe the seasons are changing, and he doesn’t know, because the sky outside of his window is dreary and sad and depressing and he’s not quite sure when the cold stops and the warm begins, because he doesn’t know what warm is like.

The monitor is dark, too. He thinks that sometimes, all he does is watch himself lay in bed, from inside some inner world where nothing can hurt him, the childhood monsters-in-his-closet latching onto him like some fucked up koala. No, koalas aren’t the ones that latch. Those are sloths.

He’s alive, actually. That’s kind of sad. Wait, no, it’s not. No, no, no, Aiden. Being alive is good.

( Sometimes he wonders what it’s like to die. It’s not in a suicidal way, though. Not really. )

He wonders if dead people still need to eat and live and breathe and order things at restaurants, except he’s seen enough movies and read enough books to know that the only dead people that do that are the zombies.

He wonders if zombies have to make eye contact and ask for consent before they bite people. But only alive people do that, because alive people know what it’s like to feel bad. Corpses don’t make eye contact.

Corpses don’t feel anything at all.

( If he thinks ahead, outside of this memory, he wonders if all of his intentional eye contact is just a weird way of him scrounging up whatever sense of identity he has left, a way of saying I am here and alive and you will have to look at me, or if it’s just another byproduct of never interacting with other people his age, not until Ben. Maybe it’s both, actually. )

He is alive. He feels his heart beating sometimes, a steady familiar song that he knows the exact tune to. You’re not supposed to hear your heartbeat, though, are you? Not unless you’re in a hospital, strapped to wires and stripped to the bone like a weird fucking mannequin on display.

That’s funny.

Well, it’d be funny, except he’s not laughing. That’s typically the baseline for something considered humorous.

He’s not doing much of anything. Right, what was he doing again? The blanket. It’s there. He feels the blanket, bunching it up in his hands. It feels fake, but he knows it’s real. The world isn’t advanced enough for something like that, not yet at least. It feels like something sheared too quickly and never processed and rough and it’s a disgusting horrible shade of gray and—

Right, what was he doing again?

Five senses. He can feel his veins twisting underneath his skin and blood flowing in an unending path to his heart to keep him alive. That’s not quite how you phrase it, he thinks.

He turns his hand. It’s pale and the blue lines stand out prominently, not faintly like a normal person’s would be. They snake under his bones like vines in a forest, grabbing hold of his bones and muscle because he can’t have anything, he’s surrendered it to rot in this room and he’s suddenly sharply thrusted out of this shitty memory—

( He doesn’t really like the forest. Maybe he did, once before, but a long, long time ago, he’d been told that bad parents send their children to the woods to die and that really, he should be grateful he has a house and a place to stay in.

The forest swallows up everything. It’s a wonder humanity hasn’t burned it all to the ground, honestly. Setting ablaze to his nightmares, the ones he has when it’s getting particularly bad and he sits in a dark clearing and watches nature reclaim its score. This was never their place to live.

It gets worse after the phantom dimension. Pillars of rock soaring into the sky, something that shouldn’t be possible because of the “laws of nature,” but nature follows its own set of rules, doesn’t it? It doesn’t care about us. He’d envisioned, the night after, when he’d finally managed to drift off, the forest grabbing onto Tyler and never letting go. Sinking into mud and dirt and decaying to the bone.

He doesn’t really like the forest. )

Right, he was doing… something…

Oh, he’s in bed. He’s in bed and the shutters have been pulled wide open, bright sunlight filtering through the glass. Wasn’t it just dark out?

“Aiden?”

His eyes snap towards the voice blocking the doorway. No, that’s not right. The voice near the doorway. His therapist told him to stop treating everyone like video game obstacles. Oh, well. Who was she kidding? It’s not like he told her anything, anyways.

Ashlyn is standing there, looking worried enough that he almost feels warmed by the concern. Almost.

They make eye contact, too prolonged and too vivid. He thinks he’s making her uncomfortable. That’s a shame.

Five senses. He can’t feel the blanket. It’s soft, isn’t it? He combs through his memories, knowing what it’s supposed to feel like. It’s silk or something, or maybe it’s fleece. He doesn’t know which one this is; they’re all the same colour, and he can’t feel. The texture is wrong.

It doesn’t feel like anything. He’s supposed to feel things. That’s his whole—pardon his redundancy—but that’s his whole thing. He’s the bouncy one, up and alive and too many feelings, to compensate for when the others are down.

Off topic. He’s getting off topic again. This isn’t a lecture, though; he’s not following a lesson plan. He’s just here.

“Um… are you… okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says with little hesitation. He thinks to himself that he really doesn’t care for speaking right now, but the familiar words roll off his tongue like…

He’s not that great with analogies. Similes. Whatever.

“You’re still in bed. It’s nearly two in the afternoon.”

Is it? He hadn’t realized time passed so quickly. Or, flew. Disappeared.

“Ben said that you were probably sleeping in, but, well…” She looks over, rather confusedly, at his unmoving form. He’s been sitting here for a while, hasn’t he?

“I’m hungry,” Aiden announces, pushing himself off the mattress. He feels it under his hands, which is good. It’s not the same softness as it should be, but it’s still there. It’s there, and this is real. He’s real.

“Do we have anything to eat?” The wood paneling is hard and cold under his feet. He wishes he’d gotten carpet.

It’s still cold in here.

[wander-wren]

today i am angry because lightlark keeps (kept? i think it’s dead) getting compared to the hunger games

i don’t know if tumblr saw the lightlark drama and i’m not interested in rehashing it especially bc some of it got uncomfortably personal towards the author at one point and also it was months ago so just! suffice it to say lightlark is a book by alex aster, it is a terrible book, and i did not put myself through the torture of reading it but i did watch a 7.5 hour video essay

(i think the essay could have been 6 or even 5 hours, and i think this person went a little too hard on the critique at some points, so that rubbed me wrong a little but it was also extremely thorough and i was bored.)

but anyway. one of the big things about lightlark is that it was marketed as “hunger games x acotar” which is….fine. but every time someone compares a book to thg i’m automatically suspicious because no one does it right.

and of course, neither did lightlark.

the book is a complete disaster so i will try to stick only to the relevant points but seriously. there’s so much.

the official premise of lightlark is that six realms in a fantasy world have been cursed for hundreds of years. each curse is (supposed to be) a twisted version of the realms magic, and the curses also cut them off from their main island of lightlark. except for once every century, when the island becomes accessible for 100 days and the six rulers travel there to try to break the curses via death tournament.

but then you get to the book and learn that the curses are only broken if a ruler dies without an heir, since their special ruler magic just transfers to the heir and no one gets anywhere. this was only a caveat so we could have a young protagonist ruler, i’m sure. ALSO, IMPORTANTLY, if a ruler dies without an heir, their entire realm also dies.

and obviously that’s bad so the rulers have to consider carefully who they want to kill, and they keep putting the killing off bc it’s not easy to condemn thousands of people to death.

so why, pray tell, the FUCK, are you doing a death tournament every century.

(they’re not, by the way. the first 50 days are dedicated to some demonstrations that are definitely hunger games inspired and meant to allow the rulers to forge alliances bc even though there’s only six of them they’re also required to partner up for some reason?? but there’s almost no fighting and almost all the fight scenes end very quickly with no real damage to the main character. it got really annoying really fast.)

but like, let’s pretend for half a second that lightlark IS about six rulers fighting to the death to break a curse. it’s still not even close to being like the hunger games.

the hunger games was about teenagers under constant surveillance forced to perform and then kill for the masses, many because they weren’t rich enough to buy their way out or into good training.

no one except the rulers and the essential staff is even allowed on lightlark, and no i don’t know why that is. and the characters spend the entire book trying to avoid killing each other as much as possible (well, minus two cases) bc they want to find another way to break the curses. i don’t understand why it’s billed as this big bloody dangerous battle even in-universe when everyone involved really REALLY doesn’t want to fight.

also, this isn’t related to the thg nonsense, but if i’m talking about lightlark i have to talk about That Twist. alex aster really loves her twists and is very proud that no one can see them coming but that’s because reading the twists is like watching the street for cars, then trying to cross and getting hit by an airplane.

as i said, the characters keep trying to find a new way to break the curse, even though it’s been 500 years and many of the rulers have been alive that long (no i don’t know if that’s normal or a ruler perk, it’s not explained) so they SHOULD have tried all of these fairly obvious methods by now but SURE, JAN. this book would make so much more sense if it was only the first century and everyone was still scrambling to figure the curses out. but whatever. alex aster wanted her protagonist to be in a love triangle with two 500yo men

(there’s nothing inherently wrong with that and i actually really loved grim, not for the reasons i was supposed to bc the writing was bad, but i liked him, until—well, put a pin in that.)

ANYWAY. THE POINT. our protagonist, who i guess i should say is named isla, needs to find “the heart of lightlark” which “blooms where darkness meets light.” everyone assumes they’re looking for a super special flower but they can’t find it. then, isla decides this random-ass bird that’s only almost gotten her killed twice is DEFINITELY going to show them the heart, so they follow the bird.

and at dawn, the bird lays a fucking egg. and it falls out of the nest. and cracks. and the yolk. floats. into the air. in time with the rising sun.

I CANNOT EMPHASIZE ENOUGH HOW MUCH IT IS A LITERAL FUCKING EGG

no foreshadowing. isla has an internal monologue where she thinks she always did see the moon as an eggshell and the sun as yolky, but the yolky sun description happens twice in 400+ pages and the egg moon description happens Never, so like. shoutout to aster’s copy editor??

i can’t take this book seriously bc it is a literal egg an EGG isla has to carry an EGG YOLK to break the curses. there are scenarios where i could accept that but this Serious YA Fantasy Book is not one of them.

and since i mentioned the one thing i did actually like, i will explain isla’s one love interest, grim. technically her only love interest bc nothing about the other guy struck me as romantic but idk maybe her inner monologue was yearning or smthn. anyway, grim.

grim is from the least trusted/most stigmatized realm. he’s described as a huge hulking nightmare of a man, a demon, every badscary description under the sun. but like. the times he is alone with isla? he takes her to a chocolate shop during their first meeting and hand feeds her truffles, which is a little weird and overly sexual but…still. chocolate. then he hides her from another ruler no questions asked even though he has every right to be suspicious. he opens up to her and shit. he calls her “hearteater” (it’s a reference to her curse, her people eat human hearts to survive, no that doesn’t make sense either) (also isla is magically not cursed so our protagonist doesn’t have to be scary and gross and worry about that during the novel haha!) (guess what else is never properly explained….)

anyway grim calls her “hearteater” but like, almost in a teasing/endearing way, which is fun, and when they start to fall in love he just calls her “heart” which is ALSO cute imo i’m weak for nicknames. he’s like. the narration and aster really really want me to think he’s the scary bad boy but he’s just such a soft dude.

and then. ohhhh, and then. one of the other hit-by-airplane twists is that the weird sexy dreams isla has been having all book about grim? they’re not dreams. they’re memories. the two of them used to be together for about a year before the book started, and grim erased her memories as part of a plot to betray her yada yada i was braindead by this point so i don’t fully remember all 17 elements of the betrayal. but like…..first of all that retroactively makes all of their interactions but especially the chocolate thing kind of weird and creepy? also WHAT was the FUCKING POINT pf making her forget she loves you if you’re literally just going to seduce her immediately anyway. like. the book makes a halfhearted effort at having grim avoid her but it really didn’t feel like he was purposely being mean to push her away. because every time they did interact he was so sweet! sir!!

anyway he betrayed isla probably mostly to keep up the ambiguity of the love triangle and so aster could brag about more twists and i hate that bc WHY. he was doing so well.

anyway. i got so far off track. lightlark is a wild fucking ride and i did not even scratch the surface of the plot-hole filled mess that this book is. my sister does own it and i did check a few things bc i straight up could not believe they were real (like the egg. i cannot get over the egg.) so.

also this book only got published bc it went viral on booktok so that kind of tells you everything you need to know. the good news is it does give me some measure of hope/an ego boost bc if lightlark exists in the world…..surely whatever i’m doing can’t be too bad.

[greenlikethesea]

friendsgiving excerpt, fair ithilien verse

i realized that i completely misadvertised this one -- it is not a fun fic, very very angsty, and is the catalyst for eddie leaving indiana and going to live with jonathan and argyle in LA for a few months before heading to san fran. here's a piece of writing i did that i'm quite proud of:

“There are only two doors on this fucking house,” Eddie starts.

Confusion flashes across Steve’s face, alarm, but he masks it quickly. He’s mean first, and fucking good at it when he feels indignant. Eddie wishes he didn’t know Steve so well. “I think I know the layout of my own house, Eddie.” 

“If you know the layout of your own house, Steve, riddle me this,” Eddie spits. “Say I’m in the backyard, smoking a cigarette, because no one gets to decide I quit except for me – am I going to go all the way to the front door to get back inside? A door that might be locked for all I know?”

Eddie can see Steve softening a little, the steel in his glare subsiding just a bit. “I suppose not.”

“So it makes the most sense for me to go in the back door, which is already open, because you opened it, I watched you do it,” Eddie continues. “But you and your wife seem to be having a tense conversation. And I don’t want to interrupt, or make noise, or disturb it. So that’s why I stayed put until the coast was clear. No offense, Steve, but I have more pressing matters on my mind than whatever you and your wife talk about when you’re alone.”

“Eddie,” Steve breathes. It’s so kind, and Eddie hates it. “Please, Eddie, I –”

Eddie laughs bitterly. “I don’t blame you for locking your front door, of course. Nice neighborhood like this, wouldn’t want anyone unsavory coming in. Take the trash out the back, you know how it goes.”

It’s fucking mean, a snarl from a wounded animal. He feels a pang of regret as Steve’s face falls, that beautiful face twisting in regret, any anger there now fled. But Eddie’s eyes hurt from keeping them anywhere but those two fucking moles on Steve’s neck, tantalizing and inviting above his crew neck collar. The skin there is probably soft from whatever expensive body wash he uses, a gift from Megan, maybe. Steve doesn’t drown himself in cologne anymore, but there’s something lingering – new clothes smell, or the air freshener that’s plugged into the kitchen outlet by the toaster oven. He wants to fist his hands in that crimson cashmere, wreck the collar from how hard he tugs it down, just to get his mouth on those two moles. Maul him, make a mess of that expanse of skin, so no one knows there are moles there by the time he’s done.

“How are you, Eddie?” Steve says. It’s impossibly quiet.

“I’m fine, Steve,” Eddie says, automatic. “I told you that before.”

“No, Eddie,” Steve says. He steps into Eddie’s space. “How are you, really?”

Unlike a lot of people, Eddie actually knows what it feels like to be eaten alive. He knows what it feels like to have some malevolent force not even wait until your heart stops beating to tear into your flesh. But this glass barrier between himself and everyone else, the long, endless days he spends at the trailer, or on the road, or dodging people’s phone calls – this barrier that he himself created? He’ll take the demobats over this any day. At least with those things, he could immediately identify what was causing him harm. Razor sharp fangs, tail like a whip designed to strangle prey, rough scales where skin is supposed to be – no wonder I feel like I’m going to die! But the vice grip of loneliness is harder to qualify, a pain so big that to speak it into existence would make it real. Inescapable. 

What does Eddie say to Steve? He doesn’t know how to talk about this emptiness that permeates every part of his existence. It would be so easy to rebuff him, to head back into the dining room with everyone else, where they’ve all no doubt dismantled the dessert table. But Steve’s looking at him like it’ll kill him if Eddie doesn’t tell him what’s wrong. And Eddie wants to believe it’s a lie. He wants so badly to convince himself that Steve doesn’t care about him, that now that he has a wife, he doesn’t need anyone else. Doesn’t need Eddie. But Eddie can see that this isn’t true. That Steve’s just the same as he’s always been, caring to a fault, big enough to see when he’s miscalculated, and that just makes the pain worse. 

“I’m…” he starts, but the words get caught in his throat. For the first time this entire conversation, he looks away from Steve. It’s too hard, too close –

[bxriles]

Fuck it. If Gege pulls a deus ex machina to kill Sukuna and keeps on with the bs about how ‘he wasn’t even giving it his all’ in the fight with Gojo, we can validly say JJK has gone down the toilet. It won’t be reaching, it won’t be delusional or biased, it will be legit criticism.

Am i nuts for thinking that at this point JJK needs to end tragically for it to be a satisfactory ending? Because good stories set expectations for how they will go. Sure, there can be some good twists, but there’s still a basic understanding of what kind of story it’ll be. Like Naruto and Avatar: The Last Airbender were set up so that the audience could tell that they would end with the protagonist saving the world and having a mostly happy ending, and that didn’t take away the quality of the writing.

But JJK isn’t set up for a happy ending anymore. People who valued kindness and/or had no ill intent are dead - Nanami, Haibara, Yaga, Riko, etc. Or there was Geto, whose kindness turned into something ugly and hateful. The most powerful character who was the cornerstone of the Good Guys’ movement was killed. And even worse is that Gojo makes his grand declaration to Ijichi that he’s going to change society and make things better, but in the end he didn’t accomplish that. He ended up killing the higher-ups anyway, told Gakuganji to continue the very same system just with different people, and he doesn’t beat the strongest force of evil that he was foreshadowed to defeat. That’s not a good twist, it’s disappointing.

If there’s a ~bittersweet~ conclusion it is going to come across as poor writing. The Good Guys have been steadily losing and losing and losing, jujutsu society hasn’t been changed, and a lot of interesting/good characters are dead.

At this point let Sukuna win. Uraume can cook all the surviving humans for him and then Sukuna can save his beloved chef for last to cannibalize.

Sorry this ask was long oops you don’t have to read all that

tl,dr - Gege is on the precipice of ending JJK quite poorly and Sukuna should win

YES!!! Literally yes to ALL of this!!! This sums everything up so perfectly. You said everything that needed to be said and took the words right out of my mouth. More unhinged ranting below the cut:

You are SPOT ON with the Naruto and ATLA comparison. I am not kidding when I say I am now Team Sukuna. Why wouldn't I be? With the way the narrative is right now, I would feel so cheated if he didn't win. Does Gege really expect us to believe that the remaining Good Guys can beat Sukuna when the singular character who has been set up to defeat Sukuna since chapter 2 couldn't do it? Does he really expect us to be satisfied with Yuji (ily bby but wtf can you actually do rn?) killing Sukuna when Gojo Satoru, the strongest, could not?

I saw a post the other week that compared JJK to Naruto. The whole point of the post was that with other shonen manga (Naruto, OP, DBZ, etc.), we KNOW the protagonist is always going to win, even if it feels like a cop out. So when Kid Naruto beats tf out of a very powerful Orochimaru, we're all like "yeah okay, makes sense." But JJK has done the opposite. JJK has told us that just because someone is the protagonist does not mean they're going to automatically win. I mean, we've seen Yuji get the shit beat out of him so many times because of this. So JJK set up this pretty legit power dynamic and told us that the only person who can defeat the big baddie is Gojo Satoru and we have been given no reason to think otherwise. So when Gojo dies and Yuji somehow defeats Sukuna with an ass-pull, we're all going to be pissed because we were promised otherwise. If we saw Yuji beating special-grades left and right from the first few chapters, then it would probably be fine. But that is not what Gege wrote!! He wrote the opposite of this ffs.

And your whole point about all the people who valued kindness being gone is another thing that makes me even more frustrated. If we're going for a straight up tragedy, FAIR ENOUGH. But if Gege wants to turn this into a bittersweet ending or if he wants Yuji to beat Sukuna, it'll feel cheap.

Let Sukuna and Uraume kill everyone and everything. Any other ending will be bullshit.

[livlepretre]

I love Bekelena and it’s a damn shame it never happened in the show. I have to be honest with you, I’m not a big fan of the TVD series. I only enjoyed the first 2 seasons. I actually like the books better, although some people may want to fight me on that😅.

My analysis:

Prior to chapter 63, after the way Rebekah has been treating Elena, she should just dump her and move on. But it’s not as simple as that. Elena loves Rebekah and will be forever grateful to her for sticking up for her at the manor and bringing her back into the outside world. And she went 3 years without love, affection, and attention. So when she falls in love with Rebekah, she gets all those things but it doesn’t come without a price. Elena doesn’t want to be a vampire but Rebekah wants her to become one so they can be together forever. So her not agreeing to that is basically her saying “I don’t want to be with you forever” and we all know that when Rebekah gets hurt or angry, it’s never a positive thing, especially for the one she loves. So like the typical undead teenager she is, she lashes out in hurtful ways by doing (well we don’t know for sure do we😉) thing that would force Elena to doubt her relationship. And that’s the last thing she wants, since it’s practically all she has left. It’s a very cruel thing to do since she knows how it makes Elena feel. Well Elena couldn’t leave but she could call it quits with Rebekah. But even though she should since she hasn’t been treating her right, she doesn’t actually want to because she said it herself in chapter 63, she won’t give up the only love she has. And in chapter 50 when Elena and Klaus were on the rooftop and he basically told her she’s not as beautiful as she used to be which we all know was just Klaus being horrible and malicious. I believe that she may have internalized that since she is 3 years older than the last time she saw him while he hasn’t aged a day. And she even said to Elijah that she knows her face isn’t what it was. Obviously, Elena can have anyone she wants but she doesn’t feel like she can because she thinks she lost her magic looks. Also I just have to say Klaus is a fucking moron, how can you tell her she’s not as beautiful as she used to be, but you’ll make out with her TWICE??!! Seriously dude grow the fuck up. 🙄 So even if Rebekah did cheat on her with Stefan (which would be a really fucked up thing to do since this is the girl you claim to love), I don’t believe Elena would automatically say “ok we’re done”. She would be angry obviously and maybe she would break up with her (and that would be really awkward since they live together), she wouldn’t want to give up what could be her only chance at true happiness even if it hurts which it shouldn’t. I can imagine her saying “Well, I made out with your brother so we’re even.” Rebekah has been in a sexual relationship with her brother for who knows how long and she fell in love with a guy only to have to share him with said brother. She probably doesn’t really know what cheating really means. Even though she kind of experienced it when Stefan kissed Elena twice at the manor they were all living at first. She knows that it hurts and it makes a person angry. Elena is most likely her only stable romantic relationship. And she’s doing a pretty good job of wrecking it all over the fact that Elena doesn’t want to do what she wants. And you said in a post that weeks have passed since chapter 63, so that little drama queen Klaus kept them apart for weeks. He knows the damage that Elena’s isolation did to her and yet he’s still twisting the knife!

This story depresses me, angers me, saddens me, puzzles me, and kills me.

BREATHTAKING

YOU ARE A GOD

Absolutely unreal how dead on this analysis is.

I'm actually extremely emotional that you put the time in to analyze this fic like this and then to write it all out for me 💖💖💖💖💖💖 thank you for sharing, this is like a perfect thesis on exactly what is up with Elena and Rebekah

[burning-bubble-tea]

Just saw an unfortunate post where someone was trying to be nuanced but ended up surrounded by Zionists in their comment section.

They were an Iranian person criticizing its regime and stating that they’re tired of being unable to critique Islam without being seen as Islamophobic which is fair but unfortunately their comment section is now full of Zionists saying that they support her and that they’re going to get rid of all Muslims and like woah. I’m sorry, no matter how “bad” or “backwards” a culture is genocide isn’t the answer.

Like we cannot ascribe some cultures as “better” or “worse” all the time. In relation to each other sure but like cultures all have odd practices that do not always make sense to outsiders.

The issue here is instead of allowing these cultures to be self sufficient or whatever, imperialism treats them as lesser and creates a moral panic about it and now it’s a twisted mess.

Like the person used an example of someone criticizing art made by an Iranian woman that portrayed women in hijabs berating a woman not in one and the art was a caricature and the women in hijabs were drawn as “conventionally unattractive” and like two things can be true here.

The artist is clearly expressing how they disagree with being forced to wear a hijab. And that’s great.

And the person critiquing the art is pointing to a real issue of caricature where Islamophobia often characterizes women in hijabs as ugly and evil.

Is perhaps the person critiquing the art missing the point that it’s art coming from someone critiquing a culture they grew up in? Sure. But also unfortunately the art looks a lot like propaganda that we see here in the so called west.

The issue is that we are ranking cultures against each other and using that ranking system to deem who is good and who is evil.

I live in a country that has better lgbt rights. But that doesn’t mean a country that has anti lgbt laws is evil and horrible and therefore must be destroyed.

Some countries have repressive laws towards women. But that doesn’t mean these places are evil and backwards and here’s the other big thing, it also doesn’t automatically mean they are good and perfect!

We have to stop thinking in the binary all the time. I have plenty of Muslim friends who hey, haven’t tried to force anyone to wear a hijab and also critique and complain about elements of their religion and culture all the time. They are physical embodiments of their culture and religion and they can work to make changes if wanted/needed. If we fucking bomb all of them, then of course they won’t have the ability to make better rights for women, lgbt etc, they’re too busy being fucking bombed and war torn! And wars leave already vulnerable people even more vulnerable.

Like the core of the persons video is fine, the solution to Islamophobia is not the see Islam as inherently better or good jusy because propaganda has told us it is inherently evil and worse. Islam just is. Religion exists. But I cannot deny that in a western context, Islamophobia is real and making sweeping generalizations attracted the wrong people to that person’s comments because unfortunately the words they used, despite coming from a different position, was far too close to the rhetoric of genocide.

[mylordshesacactus]

This got long so it’s become its own post.

I explained this to my seven-year-old cousin once when she expressed distaste over anyone possibly enjoying horror movies, and she understood perfectly, so adults have no excuse: 

People read dark fiction for the same reason they ride roller coasters. 

It’s a simulation of danger without anyone actually being under threat. It gets the brain worked up, releases a bunch of adrenaline into your system, you experience a whole rush of emotions and excitement and fear; but a safe kind of fear, where you know the danger isn’t real and there are dozens of measures in place to protect you. And then it’s over and you can get off the ride.

That doesn’t mean everyone is obligated to ride roller coasters. I, for example, am scared of heights, and most coasters are scary for me in a way that isn’t fun. The fear isn’t that I’ll die, the fear is of experiencing more of the ride and thus it’s not a safe fear, because it’s real and I have no control over it. As such, I don’t ride large roller coasters. But the fact that large coasters are not mentally or emotionally safe for me to ride doesn’t mean they should be illegal, or that there’s “something wrong” with anyone who enjoys them.

Similarly, sometimes accidents happen. Sometimes people have conditions they don’t know about until a coaster aggravates them in the worst possible way because they didn’t know to avoid it...and that’s no one’s fault. People have died or been injured in coaster accidents, and those accidents are pretty much always the result of human error, carelessness, laziness, or poor communication. It’s the responsibility of the amusement park to make sure that basic safety features are built-in and maintained--or at the very least (mangling the metaphor somewhat because this would obviously be illegal in real life) to make it clear that those features don’t exist! I feel like most people would avoid a ride clearly labelled “HAS NEVER HAD A SAFETY INSPECTION! NO RESTRAINT BARS! RIDE STAFF HAVE NOT BEEN TRAINED AND THERE ARE NO EMERGENCY SERVICES ON-SITE! OPEN FLAMES!” but if you click on a fic clearly labelled “author chose not to use warnings” you know the risks and they’ve met their obligation to warn you of them. And sometimes the people providing this content don’t perform that basic due diligence, and people get hurt as a result--but that’s on those specific bad actors, and doesn’t mean we ban all roller coasters. It also doesn’t mean every single ride operator on earth should be tarred with that brush, especially when they’ve openly spoken out against such practices! Furthermore, if you KNOW you have a heart condition and willingly get on a ride that says it is not safe for people with heart conditions, you cannot then blame the amusement park!

What makes roller coasters safe for me? Well, for one, the fact that I’m an adult now so my family has finally stopped trying to force me onto them. Pressure was a constant part of interacting with coasters for me for YEARS, and THAT fucked me up. There was “mild” teasing, frustration when I refused, anger if I changed my mind, and a lot of guilt-tripping about how it was my fault that they couldn’t go on the rides they wanted to because of me. That shit was not okay, and anyone trying to force someone to engage with content they don’t want to is obviously in the wrong.

The OTHER thing that helps me is content warnings the heroes who upload on-ride video of coasters I’m interested in trying. Knowing exactly what to expect--being able to see for myself all the drops so I can judge if they’ll be too much for me, and know in advance where they are so I can brace myself--can turn a ride that otherwise would have been a miserable and stressful experience that I chose not to subject myself to into a really good time. These are especially valuable, because what’s safe for ME is not automatically safe for everyone else. The only thing that makes a ride too much for me--my only hard limit--is extremely tall drops. I love inversions, fast twists and turns, I don’t mind rough coasters, it’s just drop height. But I’ve known people with medical conditions that made rough jolts dangerous, and plenty of people like tall drops but find tight turns and high speed overwhelming. Do I wish more coasters were designed to have the elements I enjoy without the ones I don’t? Yes, and not being able to find many frustrates me. But that doesn’t mean I expect everyone to have the same limits, or that I think people who design tall coasters with big drops and lots of airtime are malicious.

By this logic, actually, darkfic is much safer than roller coasters--once you’ve committed to a coaster you have to ride it out even if you change your mind. But the moment a dark fic or horror movie takes a turn you don’t like or becomes suddenly too real, you can turn it off and walk away.

And if you think enjoying roller coasters means someone will conclude that it’s okay to fling people off cliffs without their consent, then, well, in that case you’re just ungodly fucking stupid. Sorry you had to find out this way.

Have fun on those hypercoasters, you crazy bastards. Keep uploading ride videos for me.

[dontfeeltoohot]

i would love to see some more eddie indulging nancy

Ah! Sorry it’s taken so long to get to this, I’ve kind of been jumping around on prompts. I hope you enjoy!

This is a sort of but not really sequel to this fic, though I realized that he and Steve being boyfriends may not be the best for anything more intense than what the last fic was, hence the kind of but not really for the sequel. 

XXX

In the span of four months, Eddie has been in Nancy Wheelers bedroom twice, and it’s two times more than he’s ever thought he’s be. The musician is able to pay more attention now that he’s here right side up, without the fear of Vecna and demobats looming around every corner. Looking around, he notices the few papers that have random words scribbled down for her newspaper job. He sees a few bottles of perfume on her dresser, notes a couple of hair ties and brush by her bedside, along with some books and reading glasses. Nancy Wheeler in reading glasses- cute.

The door opens and he spins around from where he’s been crouched, looking at the titles of the books. Speak of the devil, Nancy walks in, her tight curls framing her face. Eddie remembers when she’d had long straight hair, and now, well…they almost match with their curls and bangs, aside from length and how his own aren’t quite as coiled as hers. Gotta love perms.

“Hey, sorry, was saying goodbye to my parents and Holly,” she explains, only making the guitarist smile.

“It’s all good, sunshine. I was just looking at your impressive library,” he gestures to the stack, rings glinting in the light. 

Nancy blushes, and Eddie can’t stop his grin. He once again can see what Steve saw in her, and though his crush for the man knows no bounds, he’s almost sad at the idea Steve won’t get his happy little six nuggets with the woman. At least they’ve stayed friends. The woman sits on her bed, prompting him to do the same, hand running absentmindedly over her soft quilt. He wonders if he should even be sitting on the nice material, it’s probably expensive. 

“What’s the game plan?” 

Brow furrowing, she looks at Eddie like she doesn’t understand. 

“Oh, don’t look confused. I’m following your lead. I know you enough to know you’ve day dreamed about this kind of thing, know you’ve planned things out in your head, even if you don’t want to admit it.” 

A blush appears on her cheeks and he squeezes her shoulder gently. 

“I’m following you. What do you want, Nancy?” 

“I was thinking I could induce you this time, instead of using perfume,” she says, her voice more confident than she seems. As if she’s read his thoughts, her shoulders straighten and the air around her seems to be in her command. Oh he’s so fucked. 

“Okay, that’s cool. I don’t know what you mean, but yeah, I’m down for whatever.” 

He watches her with his big brown eyes while she leans over, plucking a tissue from the box on her other bedside table. She takes a corner of the tissue and twists it into a fine point, which makes the musician cock his head curiously, resembling a dog. 

“What’s that for?” 

“I told you, I’m going to make you sneeze,” she laughs a little, and it puts any hesitancy Eddie’s had lingering, to rest. Seeing straight laced and uptight Wheeler look far more relaxed than he’s witnessed, he nods, still a little confused. 

Leaning forward, she takes the tissue and slowly inserts it into his right nostril, which makes the long haired man scrunch his nose up, head shifting back. 

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t...wasn’t expecting it, we can uh, try again,” Eddie rubs his nose a little and then leans forward with a grin, jutting his neck out to make his face even closer to Nancy’s, suddenly playful since he now knows what to expect. 

Gently, Nancy moves the tissue back, moving it just enough that Eddie’s nostrils twitch and he fights off a cough, eyes watering already. 

“Okay?” 

“Y-Yeah, it uh, it tihhckles,” his voice is breathy, and he physically has to hold his hands together in his lap so he doesn’t automatically rub at the itchy appendage. 

“Mm, yeah? Think you can hold back for me?” 

Jesus Christ. Something about the tone that Nancy speaks in, her gentle touch, it makes him feel kind of fuzzy, a feeling he’s only used to giving, not receiving. Swallowing thickly, Eddie goes to nod but the tickle flares when he feels the point of the tissue rub a certain way. 

“IhHGKtschhuhEW! hah’IHKSCHew! Fuck Nahhncy, hh!” 

Nostrils twitching desperately, the musician goes to rub his nose but a smaller hand stops him. 

“Hold it back Eddie.” 

“Tuhh-snf! Trying....hhH! ehh, Nahhncy...hu’IGKSCHuhEW!” 

He barely last five seconds, sneezing into Nancy’s shoulder, pulling his head away. He just barely makes out the small noise the other makes, something between a moan and a whimper. 

“Guh, sorry,” he lays his sniffle on thick, wanting to tease her. “My nose just couldn’t hold it back. Too strong.” 

Nancy squirms. Perfect. 

“Still kind of itchy Nancy, can you h-help? SNF!” He makes sure to look at her innocently, doe eyes as big as he can make them. 

“Fuck...yes, sure, of course...” 

Another set of sneezes follow, and Eddie wonders if Steve would like this kind of thing too. He’ll test it out tonight, as long as his nose isn’t rubbed raw by the end of the night. 

[wontbyers]

I don’t know why anyone would not want Will to have powers. I’ve been on this train since the fucking start. He is the central character of the whole story, along with El. It all starts and ends with them. He is so connected to the Upside Down. He was the first one taken, hunted but not killed by the Demogorgon.

Remember it killed the scientist and Barb without hesitation, it didn’t bring Barb’s body to a secondary location (the library, apparently the center of town where the gates all converge in s4) and put a vine in her throat for purposes still unknown to us. Why was Will treated differently? I’ll note it’s possible that the vine is just the temporary stage for the demo-larvae incubation, which we know Barb’s body must have been subjected to as well with the slug coming out of her mouth later. We don’t actually see that process (thankfully) so we can’t be sure how it works and if that’s the only reason Will had the vine at that time.

But S4 shows us how the hive-mind and all the vines are connected to Henry/Vecna/One and how he absorbs people’s powers by either killing them or with the hive-mind, like the meat flayer biting El in s3 to steal/copy her powers. So it’s also possible that had something to do with the state Joyce and Hop found Will in. And in that case, what exactly was taken/borrowed from Will when he had the vine in him or when he temporarily died in the Upside Down in 1983?

He follows the “came back wrong” trope wherein even after he’s revived and brought back home, he had a connection to the other side. He was experiencing flashes into the UD (shadow-walking or what have you) when he wasn’t even possessed yet. In fact, the Mind Flayer (which we know now to be Henry’s tool) was specifically hunting him, stalking him, beckoning him, chasing him down.

Thus Henry either 1. opened the doorway for him into the other dimension (not a gate-doorway, but whatever that shadow-walking was—the “flea and the acrobat” but Will is the flea) so that he could possess him with the Mind Flayer, because he wanted Will in particular as his host for some reason.

OR 2. He chose Will as his host because Will could already shadow-walk (unintentionally/uncontrollably) and happened to make himself an available option for possession by being an accessible body in the UD, in which case Will is the one with the special ability.

Like, either he was chosen for a reason (we don’t know yet) or he was chosen for convenience because he was doing something supernatural on his own. Either way it’s fucking suspicious, no? What more do you people want??

Will also maintains his connection to the Upside Down hive-mind AFTER being exorcised of the shadow/flayer particles. He can sense that shit in s3 and s4 (once he’s back in proximity/in Hawkins.) He gets the same neck tingles he did BEFORE he was ever possessed, while he was possessed, after he was freed.

(And of course, Henry focuses on his vendetta against El because he has a personal beef with her, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t also have a secret motive for targeting Will, trying to use him for whatever purposes. The reason he hasn’t spoken it is to keep it a surprise—why would the Duffers show all their hands in the second-to-last season and not leave any more surprises for the big finale?? What other twist is left, unless s5 is just “they’re gonna have to fight him again until El finally puts him down for good, the end, nothing else unique or interesting or new to understand here.”)

IN ADDITION. The UD is frozen on the day Will was taken (November 6, 1983 is also the day El opened the mother-gate, but remember this was the second time she opened it so clearly it was not her influence that—either imprinted a flashbulb image of Hawkins as it was on that night onto the formerly untouched UD dimension, or froze the dimension in its progression of time if the UD was already existing as a dark mirror of our world at that point.)

This has Will written all over it, but everyone automatically assuming it only comes back to El is such a good misdirect that people who are not as invested in theorizing will be shocked to find out how deeply connected Will is with all of it. Everyone assumes El is the only main character but she and Will’s stories have always been so intertwined.

I swear, I’ve been waiting for the ultimate reveal of Will’s importance to the core storyline—not just “he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and then again idk”—for years. Since I first watched this show. Seeing people say he’s not is SO BIZARRE TO ME.

Some are just people who don’t care for him as a character and therefore refuse to see how central he is, even with all the evidence in their face. Some do like Will but are El super-fans who want her to be the only special one and think we’re trying to take something away from her by suggesting Will also has importance to the main supernatural storyline and has powers. Couldn’t be me, I’m a Willel Wonder Twins truther from day 1, fuck you. They’re equally central to the plot. They’re two sides of the same coin. They’re (platonic) soulmates.

But also seeing people who love Will and ship Byler say they don’t want him to have powers because “oh but Mike’s superhero complex, it’s not good for their romantic storyline because—” blah blah I’ve been a Will Byers stan before Byler and regardless of Byler. I love them, I need them to have their happy ending together, but Will Byers having powers and a connection to the Upside Down has ALWAYS been the plot and neither that nor the Byler plotline cancel each other out or cheapen each other!!! (Will being gay and getting the boy is not his only character arc. Controversial???)

My personal favorite theory: I think it makes so much sense if Will had an unknown ability to shape the Upside Down into a version of Hawkins—because we do get to see how the realm appeared before he was taken (when Henry explores it) and we know that it was frozen on the date he was taken.

The Duffers have literally stated that season 5 would address those questions, that they included that bit in s4 but didn’t explain it—which means that the answer CANNOT simply be that it’s the date El opened the gate and that’s why. That’s already the information we have. If that was the answer there wouldn’t still be a question.

Plus Will is paralleled to Henry—Henry was said to be a “sensitive” boy and had some artistic interest: he drew his spiders and the unique spider-adjacent shape of the “Mind Flayer” which we see him form out of the shapeless cloud of particles in the UD. Will also being an artist and having the unexplored ability to shape an imprint of his hometown on the foreign dimension he was adbucted into? More likely than you’d think.

Also, the idea that it’s maybe too late to show that he has powers, that he (or we as an audience) should have known by now? They did a whole entire plot-line in s4 where El had repressed memories due to trauma and was able to recover powers that had been stolen from her. Is it truly impossible that we’ll see a “plot twist” (it’s not a twist for genius Will-has-powers-truthers who have predicted it but I digress) where Will unlocks latent abilities that he didn’t even know he had?

He doesn’t have to specifically have powers to have shaped/frozen the Upside Down, I just think that makes a lot of sense. I also thinks it makes a lot of sense that he’s connected to the Upside Down without even being attached to the hive-mind, because he could sense it before/after the possession. Inarguable, actually that part’s just canon.

Speculation: maybe we’ll see him wrest control of the hive-mind from Henry and bring peace back to the Demogorgons and their home dimension. (Return it to being unspoiled by mankind.) That’s my ultimate pipe dream, but I probably won’t get everything I want.

Anyway, Noah Schnapp and the Duffers have all stated multiple times that Will is gonna be a big focus next season, fans are going to be shocked and pleased, it all started and will end with him etc etc. Whether you like it or not.

Get on board losers!!!! I don’t care if I’m mean, you are the most boring person ever if you think Will Byers doesn’t/shouldn’t canonically have powers in Stranger Things.

[anyoneseenadam]

we all know azriel is one kinky mf 😂 what about the reader introducing him the mortal basic sex toys and him ‘experimenting’ the whole bdsm thing on the reader because he thought only bondage was the only thing that existed

pairing: azriel x reader (acotar)

warnings: this is filthy, pet play, dom az, sub reader, slight breath play, overstiulation, orgasm denial (lemme know if i missed anything)

a/n: ummmmm i may have over done this but im horny and lonely so leave me alone lol, lemme know what u think <33

--------------------------------------------------

Azriel knew you were into a lot of stuff. Fuck he was too. But your world was completely different to his so when you approached him with a box and the cute smile you always wore when you wanted something, he knew you were taking it a step up.

It wasn’t as if your sex life was vanilla. Azriel revelled in looking after your every need and you fell so easily into a submissive nature that it worked perfectly. But the two of you had rarely ventured past light bondage and the spoken aspect that came with your power dynamic.

He sat facing you now, watching as you bounced cutely in excitement with the box secure in your lap. He had never seen the box before, but you had recently returned from a trip home to the world you were born in, so he presumed that was why.

“Are you going to open that bunny?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips when you scrunched up your face.

“I need to explain it first,” you said, and he tilted his head, wondering what it could possibly be. “It’s just- while I love our sex and all, like top-notch, ten out of ten I have no complaints.”

Azriel laughed as you spoke, “Out with-it bunny,”

“Well actually, it’s about that.” He raised his eyebrows in question, and you moved to explain, “Bunny.”

“What? Do you not like the name?” he asked, growing more confused by the second.

“No I love it!” you were failing at articulating your thoughts, so you slumped your shoulders before pushing the box to him.

“Can I open this?” he asked, wanting to be sure he wasn’t crossing your boundaries smiling when you nodded. Inside revealed dozens of foreign objects, small rubber tools, handcuffs, rope, but what caught his attention was the fluffy rabbit tale attached to what appeared to be a plug and the matching ears. He looked up at you with a smile as he picked it up.

“Bunny huh?” he asked, and you felt your face heating up, nodding shyly.

“Yeah I was wanting to try it out,” your voice was quiet, and he reached for you, pulling you tightly into his lap.

“What does everything else do?” he asked, and you smiled, picking up a small tool and pressing it against his palm, flipping a switch on the other side as he felt vibrations run through his palm. You then talked him through other things, your voice getting smaller and shyer with certain objects in the box, namely the leash.

“I also got this,” you said at the end, reaching to grab a bad he recognised, the fancy lingerie store that was located near the old house. He reached in, eyes widening when he pulled out an intimate lace two piece with matching stockings and a garter belt. And upon further inspection he found the thin panties were crotchless, looking up at you with dark eyes.

“Tonight, you are going to get dressed up nice and pretty for me, tail and ears included, and then we’ll really see how some of this works. Okay bunny?” you gulped as his voice lowered in pitch.

“Yes daddy.”

--

You were sat on your knees. The floor was cold and hard, pressing against you roughly but you didn’t dare move. You had nothing on but the white lingerie you had purchased and, the headband holding fluffy rabbit ears. You shifted slightly, the plug that was wedged deep inside of you, shifting as you whimpered. You didn’t know how you hadn’t dripped on the floor yet, your pussy soaking and pulsating with need.

Azriel was standing in front of you, his eyes impassive as they raked over your features. He bent down slightly, tilting your head via the collar he had secured around your neck and kissing you deeply.

“Such a cute little bunny,” he whispered against your mouth as he pulled away, smiling when you chased his lips. “So desperate for me, aren’t you bunny?”

You nodded desperately and he slapped your cheek lightly, “Words.”

“Yes daddy,” you whispered, voice shy as he smiled down at you. He was so tall you felt even smaller than usual as he towered over you, standing back to his full height. His wings and shadows made it all the more intimidating, crowding you in until all you could see was him.

He had already discarded his shirt and you watched in awe as he undid his trousers, pulling his impressive length out and running the leaking tip over your bottom lip. He smiled as your tongue darted out, licking away the precum that was left on your lips as he gripped your hair.

“Keep those hands behind your back,” he ordered, and you moved them, pushing your breasts forward as a result. “Open wide, bunny.”

He pushed into your mouth gently to start. He was big and he knew it, and he didn’t want to hurt his bunny to early. Although his composure was slipping as you sat at his feet, all pouty lips and doe eyes. Looking like the epitome of innocence.

He pushed in further, tip hitting the back of your throat as you willed yourself to relax around him, sucking lightly as he started to thrust slowly into your mouth. He started to lose himself in the thrusts, and moved faster, going deeper into your mouth as you gagged around him, tears falling and smudging your makeup.

He looked down and looked at you, his cock in the back of your throat with tears streaming down your face as you gazed up at him with eyes full of adoration. He felt himself get impossibly harder and thrust particularly hard into your mouth, your hands moving to balance yourself on his thighs automatically.

He growled and your eyes widened as he roughly pulled himself from your mouth, “What did I say bunny?”

You stayed quiet, eyes wide as he grabbed your collar again, tugging harshly as he pulled your face up to his.

“Bunny…” his voice was low, and you spoke quickly, afraid of your punishment.

“To keep my hands behind my back daddy,” he gripped your chin in one hand,

“And what did you do?”

“I moved them, I’m sorry daddy,” you whined as he pulled away, not daring to move when he walked away, rustling in something behind you. You flinched when you felt his hand on your wrists, securing them behind your back with the baby pink handcuffs you had bought.

He moved to stand in front of you again, moving his cock back to your lips and pushing into your mouth, even deeper this time. He smiled ferally when you gagged, “Awe can the little bunny not take it? Is it too much bunny?” he mocked, and you moaned around him as he started thrusting again.

His thrusts got sloppy quickly, too turned on by the sight of you underneath him. “You’re so pretty bunny,” he moaned, stroking one of your cheeks as his other hand held the back of your head. He sped up again when you moaned before pulling you flush against his base, one hand moving to rest around your throat where he could feel himself as he spilled inside of you.

You moaned as he came, some of it spilling into your mouth and coating your tongue with the salty taste as he pulled back, tucking himself back into his trousers as you caught your breath.

“Good bunny, you did so well,” he praised, and you smiled up at him as he brought you to stand, your knees aching. He went to sit on the bed, pulling you to sit onto his lap as you rested your head on his shoulder, his hands moving slowly as they stroked your back.

“Fuck bunny you’re so wet, can feel you through my trousers.” He swore and you whimpered as he shifted you, so you were straddling on thigh, leaning back on his hands as you tried to remain balanced with your hands behind your back.

“Go on baby, fuck yourself on my thigh,” he commanded, and you felt your face heat up. “Well get on with it, you don’t need me to do everything for you, do you? Such a dumb bunny.” He smacked your thigh lightly and you started grinding down, letting out a whiny moan as he degraded you, your pussy dripping onto his thigh as you ran your cunt over him.

The friction his trousers creates on your clit was fogging up your mind and you struggled to stay upright as you moved, balance thrown off with nothing to hold onto. You started moving quicker, desperate for release. Azriel was watching you intently, a lazy smirk on his face as he watched you struggle to move on his thigh.

You found a rhythm and started grinding down harder onto him, moaning with your head back. As you neared your release, Azriel gripped your hips and helped pulling you down harder against him, your wetness making it easier to guid you along his leg. You were almost there when suddenly he lifted you completely off his leg, causing you to shriek as you fell forward in his grasp.

“Not yet bunny,” he cooed as you looked up at him with wide eyes,

“But, but daddy I was almost there,” you whined, and he glared at you.

“Are you talking back?” he demanded, and you shook your head fervently, “Good bunny. Daddy always knows what’s best doesn’t he?”

You nodded quickly and he smiled, dropping you onto the bed and turning you onto your back, pulling your hips up and pushing your head down.

“Oh you’re such a cute bunny,” he muttered, twisting the plug secured in your ass, laughing when you moaned loudly, not used to the sensation. He tapped the end of it a few times as he got his hard cock back out, dragging the head through your folds.

You shivered at the sensation, still shaking from the orgasm that was ripped away from you. He pushed the head of his cock into your entrance slightly, one hand still stroking the white tail between your ass cheeks.

“Daddy please!” you whined, trying to push back as he moved his hand to grip the cuffs you were in.

“Such a desperate bunny,” he mocked as he watched you struggle to push him into your entrance, hips moving on their own accord. He decided to put you out of your misery, gripping your cuffs tightly as he pushed in, pulling you back to him.

You moaned loudly, never prepared for the intrusion of his monster cock. It always felt like he would never bottom out but soon enough he was pressed into the base, leaning over you to press dizzying kisses into you neck as he allowed you a few seconds to adjust to him. He reached a hand underneath you, pressing into your stomach where he could feel a slight bulge, groaning into your ear.

“Fuck bunny, you’re so small I can feel myself all the way in your cute tummy,” he cooed as you whined, tears falling already, even though he was yet to move. He pulled his hips back completely, leaving you feeling empty for half a second before he roughly shoved himself back in, groaning at the sound your achingly wet pussy created.

He sat back up, holding your hips as he began thrusting roughly in and out of you. You simply laid there, allowing him to use your body as he liked as you moaned into your sheets. He was so deep inside you, you could feel him hitting your cervix, the pleasure far outweighing any pain.

He was groaning above you, eyes focused on where your bodies met, and the cute tail protruding above it. Unable to stop himself he reached for it, tugging it gently as your whole body shook, moaning loudly.

“Are you going to cum bunny? Huh? You’ve been so needy all evening, just needed my cock so badly.” You couldn’t even reply, too cock drunk to form a coherent sentence. He slapped you ass, enamoured as it rippled under his palm.

“C’mon slut, speak up.” He spanked you again and you screamed out, seconds from your orgasm.

“I need to cum so badly daddy, please! Please let me cum,” you begged as he laughed behind you, delivering another particularly hard thrust before pulling from you completely, grinning when you swore. Your body was shining with sweat in the low light and Azriel kissed your shoulder lightly, tasting the salty skin.

“Hmm sorry bunny, not quite yet.” He muttered as you cried, pushing your hips further up, presenting yourself to him.

“Please daddy please, I need to cum,” you begged but he just laughed.

“Oh you will my sweet bunny,” he whispered, standing, and moving to the box and you watched with fearful eyes as he picked up the vibrator. “But I want to see how this works first.”

He moved back behind you, pushing into you slowly as you groaned in tandem. He started thrusting slowly making you shake, moaning when you heard the electrical buzz of your bullet vibrator. He pressed the small tool against your clit, hips speeding up as he flicked the switch higher, feeling the vibrations on his cock from where the vibrator was pressed against your clit.

“Oh fuck bunny, that’s powerful,” he groaned as you moaned, desperate for release. “You can cum bunny, don’t worry. Cum as much as you like.”

Too distracted by your orgasm you missed the change in tone as he kept thrusting into you through your orgasm, not pulling the vibrator away or finishing himself. Your legs shook violently as you rode through your orgasm only to feel another building just as quickly.

It only took a few more thrusts and you were coming again, screaming into the covers on your bed as Azriel groaned behind you at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his cock. But his thrusts didn’t slow, only growing sloppier as he threw you straight into your third orgasm, suddenly realising that you had maybe bargained for too much as he moved your body roughly.

Your legs were numb, and you were shaking all over, sobbing from the pleasure as Azriel started slowing, groaning behind you.

“Give me one more bunny, and I’ll fill you up, I promise. Last one bunny, c’mon I know you’ve got it in you.” He pleaded as you moaned, knowing you would anything to please him. You felt your fourth orgasm build and moaned lowly, voice hoarse as you came again, barely able to make a sound.

You vaguely heard Azriel moan behind you, filling you as you shook from the force of your orgasm, your body slumping as you lost consciousness.

When you came to less than a minute later, Azriel was hovering over you, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“I’m sorry bunny, I was too harsh, are you okay?” you reached up and smoothed between his eyebrows with a soft smile growing on your face.

“I love you so much,” you muttered, and his shoulders relaxed, moving so he was laying on your back, pulling you into his arms.

“I love you more bunny, you’re perfect,” he kissed your head gently as you giggled.

“You’re going to have to carry me everywhere for a week or two though.” You joked as Azriel sat up and went about removing the plug and lingerie, wiping your sweaty skin down with a cool cloth.

“That was my plan sweetness,” he replied, eyes bright. “I also think you need to take me with you next time you go back, and we need to have a look in that shop.”

[thornedrose44]

Prompt: "Do it. Take a chance, I'm begging you. You don't want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been."

Read on AO3

“What is it?” Kara huffed out, her frustration finally reaching critical mass.

“What’s what?” Alex replied, playing dumb by pretending to study the DEO’s monitors far too intently considering Kara had literally just dispatched the rogue villain of the week.

Kara crossed her arms, hip cocked forward slightly as she leant against the central console, blue eyes observing her sister's profile closely.

“Whatever you’re not telling me because you think it will upset me.” The superhero clarified bluntly, her social hesitation and uncertainty having dampened over the last few years.

She had learnt the hard way how important it was to never shy away from the truth and avoid speaking around the heart of the matter. It was a lesson she had absorbed completely, and it was one she refused to forget - needing to prove she had evolved, had bettered herself from the version that had required teaching in the first place.

“I’m not…” Alex refuted, shrugging dismissively but keeping her gaze trained forward, “There’s no-“

“Look, I’m asking you out of courtesy,” Kara cut in, “but you and I both know that I could just as easily ask Nia, and she would fold almost instantly.”

Alex grumbled irritably under her breath - Nia still had yet to build an effective resistance to Kara’s puppy dog eyes and this particular weakness had caused no small amount of trouble for Alex over the last five years.

“It is Lena related, right?” Kara checked, though it was completely unnecessary.

For Alex to actively try and keep a secret from her, it couldn’t be about anything else. And it had been more or less confirmed by her sister's reaction to her threatening to go to Nia.

“Just because I’m keeping a secret, doesn’t automatically mean it’s to do with Lena.” Alex tried, though the conviction behind her statement was weaker than wet tissue paper.

The redhead side-eyed her and Kara merely had to arch an unimpressed eyebrow in return for the DEO director to deflate.

“Okay maybe it’s a little to do with Lena.” Alex admitted with a wince, rubbing the back of her neck in defeat.

Kara threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s been over five years, okay? I’m fine!”

Her bellowed declaration of stability, made the nearby DEO agents look over with a mix of curiosity and concern. Kara grimaced at the reaction and as such didn’t resist when Alex grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the central room and into her private office.

Alex turned to face her fully, lips pressed tight together and hands firm on her own hips (it had always annoyed Kara that Alex managed to make her signature superhero pose far more intimidating than her own attempts).

“Yelling I’m fine, definitely helps your case.” Alex retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Kara had the good grace to look suitably embarrassed for a moment before launching into the same variation of the speech she gave every time there was a morsel of Lena news to be had. “I screwed up, okay? Big time screwed up - ‘regret it for the rest of my life’ screwed up!” Kara declared prompting a beleaguered sigh from her sister who knew the blatant lie that was coming next. “But I’ve made my peace with it. I won’t spiral into another depressive episode when I hear how happy she is.”

Alex shook her head, not even remotely convinced - not that Kara could blame her, the last time Alex had been pestered into telling her a Lena update, Kara had spent a weekend on a drinking binge that had successfully proven that there were limits even for a kryptonian.

“I don’t think-“ Alex began.

“What is it?” Kara demanded. “Is she getting another medal from the president?”

Alex shook her head, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Kara, you don’t want to know this.”

“Her and Kal save the world again?” Kara barrelled on, her lips curling into a jealous snarl. “The greatest Luthor and Super duo continue to make the world a better place?”

That particular news article had been printed and burned by Kara’s heat vision more times than she dared admit to anyone.

“Kara, please-“ Alex begged, expression crumpling as Kara relentlessly pushed.

“Tell me, I can take it.” Kara proclaimed, voice coming out high pitched and strained. “Is she dating someone again? Another famous actress? That Olympic male gymnast? What-“

“She’s getting married.”

A bomb must have gone off, Kara thought to herself.

A kryptonite bomb.

It was the only thing that could explain the ringing in her ears, and the way everything just… hurt.

A shard of kryptonite must have pierced her chest and cut her heart into jagged pieces. That was the only thing that could explain it.

“What?” She questioned, barely above a whisper. She didn’t quite recognise her own voice - it sounded shattered and unfamiliar. She also didn’t know what she was asking.

Didn’t know what ‘what’ was all about.

What just happened?

What did you say?

What post-apocalyptic reality are we living in now?

“Next week, she’s getting married.” Alex explained, giving Kara answers she no longer wanted. “Sam, Ruby, Kal and Lois are invited.”

She knew it should sting. Not being invited even though they hadn’t spoken in nearly five years. That she should feel something about the fact that Lena had omitted Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn as well - it further reinforced how Lena believed them to be Kara’s friends and never hers (which was one of the things Kara regretted most - how her poor treatment of Lena had infected and destroyed everyone else’s friendship with the youngest Luthor).

“To who?” Kara asked, tone cold, hollow… empty.

“Kara,” Alex murmured softly, reaching out to comfort her sister, “this clearly isn’t good for you.”

Kara jerked backwards so fast that the papers on Alex’s desk shot into the air, fluttering down around the sisters like snow.

“Just tell me!” Kara ordered, hands turned into white knuckle fists at her sides that would be capable of tearing through the strongest of metals. Her eyes heated but she managed to stave the fire in them as she glowered at her sister.

Alex slumped back, leaning heavily against her desk, running a frantic hand through her short hair. “Does it matter?” Alex muttered defeatedly, brown eyes filled with pity and sympathy as she stared up into Kara’s eyes.

“Of course it fucking matters,” Kara snapped in outrage before she had a chance to stop and think , “because it’s not me!”

The admission hung heavy and rotting between them. It wasn’t a revelation to either of them, though the fact that the intensity of Kara’s feelings hadn’t dampened despite the separation of half a decade was.

“Kara…” Alex breathed, standing back up and moving towards the blonde with the obvious intent of hugging her.

“I should get back to CatCo.” Kara mumbled, cheeks a fiery red with shame. She stepped hurriedly away from her sister and was already halfway out the door before she halted, turning back to call out a sad yet sincere. “Thanks for telling me.”

Xxx

“I genuinely don’t get why you love these films so much.” Lena remarked, hands cupping her just made cup of cocoa, nose adorably scrunched up as she snuggled back down on the sofa beside Kara, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her best friend’s shoulders.

“They’re sweet and romantic.” Kara replied with a happy sigh, turning to nuzzle into the side of Lena’s head for a fleeting moment as the film’s lead started her joyful march down the aisle. “It makes me hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” Lena repeated curiously, leaning away slightly so she could meet Kara’s blue eyes.

Kara shrugged, ducking her head bashfully, “It’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Lena murmured gently, freeing a hand from her mug so that she could interlace her warmed fingers with Kara’s, “you could never be stupid, especially not about something like this.” Her best friend asserted, before asking seriously, “You want the classic big white wedding?”

“Uh…” Kara blushed, cheeks pinking as her mind struggled to kick into gear.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that the reason she loved weddings more than any other event is because they so closely resembled Kryptonian Bonding ceremonies. That the exchanging of rings, polished everlasting metal, reminded her of wonderfully crafted bracelets clasped on wrists. That it was an occasion for family to join together across generations, for the rare flashes of art and music on Krypton to take centre stage over cold science.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that after being alone, abandoned and lost - ripped away from her home in the cruelest of ways - that the idea of belonging to someone else, of having a home in someone else regardless of time or location was what Kara wanted more than anything else.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena because it would require admitting the truth of who she really was, it would require taking accountability for years of lies.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena without losing her forever.

“Yeah.” Kara coughed awkwardly, “I want the whole thing. Beautiful dress, surrounded by family… the love of my life at the end of the aisle. Everything.” She shot Lena a side-long glance, “I’m guessing you don’t?”

“Never really been my thing,” Lena admitted readily and Kara’s heart twisted at how Lena didn’t hesitate to bare herself, how she gave all of herself when it could be argued that Kara - at best - only gave half, “probably because I can’t imagine I have enough people in my life to invite and feel ‘surrounded’.” Lena pursed her lips thoughtfully, “I also don’t get the need for the spectacle. Just the idea that there’s someone out there that would want to…” Kara watched her best friend deflate, expression wistful and pained, “be with me, love me like that… that’s more than enough.”

Kara’s eyes stung with barely suppressed tears at how little Lena thought of herself. Whoever had the privilege of marrying her best friend would be the single luckiest and most fortunate person in the universe and Kara wished Lena knew that, wished she believed it. But when she opened her mouth to say it, to proclaim it, her breath faltered and her courage abandoned her… like it always did with the youngest Luthor.

“So no white dress?” Kara muttered instead, voice meek and lacking the lightheartedness that should have carried the question.

It didn’t matter, though, Lena let out a quick exhale that resembled something on the edge of laughter. Kara’s escalating heart rate settled at that, however, it did little to alleviate the pang of regret that was steadily accompanying all her interactions with the CEO.

“Well, I guess I could be convinced by someone special.” Lena teased, shooting Kara an overtly salacious wink that wouldn’t - on the surface - be considered genuine.

“Anyone that marries you will have to be special.” Kara replied, the statement tumbling out instantly.

It wasn’t the heartfelt confession that Kara wished it to be and it wasn’t quite light enough to be dismissed as a friendly reassurance. Instead, it was yet another thing that fell into the ethereal greyness that lied between them, something to tuck away and think back on late at night when they tried to work out if the other meant it the way they wished they did.

“Yeah?” Lena whispered, piercing green eyes studying Kara’s face closely.

Kara swallowed thickly, “Yeah.”

Xxx

Lena found out less than six weeks after that movie night. They defeated Lex and Kara had been on the edge of breathing easy, of being able to simply relax back into her life when it all came crashing down.

They had been at Games Night and Kara had been antsy, waiting for her best friend to arrive. The thought of pulling Lena into a hug had been what she had been looking forward to most all day.

Kara was at peace, laughing and drinking with her friends - her family - when Lena had arrived. Kara had beamed up at her immediately and for a second Lena’s entrancing green eyes lit up in return before turning dark and distant.

Kara’s smile faltered, crinkle appearing between her brows when-

The wine bottle smashed into the wall behind Kara’s head.

Deathly silence fell over the area.

Kara looked into hollow, emptied out versions of her favourite green. She would have preferred anger, fury, rage… the defeated nothingness staring back at the Kryptonian was far worse.

Lena turned and left, grinding Kara’s heart to dust and taking the sand particles left with her.

She knew.

She knew because Lex had told her.

She knew because she had gone to stop her brother, intent on saving the world like always only to find out that those she was saving the world for didn’t view her as their equal. That the people she treated as family had kept her on the outskirts. That her best friend had lied, had manipulated, had-

xxx

It was Lois that found out everything from Lena.

When the fallout had happened, as Kara and the Superfriends realised what they had lost, the blonde hero sent notice to her cousin that his identity was probably known as well (mostly because she remembered how hurt she had been when Kal shared her secret without her consent). Kal and Lois had arrived almost immediately, frantic and terrified (especially with baby Jon to consider) at the concept of a Luthor knowing their identity.

Kara, joined by all the Superfriends, quickly put their minds to rest, sharing Lena’s actions from before, her dependability, kindness and inherent goodness. Kal and Lois were convinced their secret was safe but they were horrified to hear how Lena had been isolated and kept at arms length after her considerable good deeds. Alex and the others had squirmed uncomfortably and tried to weakly talk around their hesitancy.

Kal and Lois had simply looked at Kara for an explanation but she had none. Yet again the words would not come.

It was Lois, therefore, that had sought out the youngest Luthor and through her incredible tenacity was able to gain access where everyone else was rebuffed and harshly rejected.

It was Lois that comforted Lena, gave her support and sympathy.

It was Lois that relayed Lena’s demand that they give her space.

It was Lois that suggested Lena return to Metropolis - presenting it as a way to celebrate how L-Corp, after Lena’s repeated sacrifices and heroism, was fully rehabilitated and ready to reclaim its once home.

It was Lois that encouraged Lena and Kal to work together becoming an unstoppable force that Kara and Lena had always danced on the precipice of.

A Luthor and a Super. Saving the world.

xxx

Kara did as asked. Gave Lena space. Or at least the semblance of space.

She checked in constantly, hovered nearby throughout the days and nights leading upto L-Corp’s departure and Lena along with it. She followed Lena’s jet to Metropolis, a sentinel ensuring safe passage.

She kept her distance for three months. Three months of stony silence before she broke.

Snapped, more like.

Landing on Lena’s new balcony in Metropolis that had been specially built for Superman this time - not for her, though Kara, at the time, had hoped that she had been considered consciously or unconsciously as well.

Kara couldn’t remember the exact words.

She remembered crying from beginning to end.

Remembered ‘I loved you’ - past tense.

Remembered finally breaking through Lena’s cold, hardened shell to the raw, bleeding wound hidden underneath and regretting it almost immediately.

Remembered how seeing Lena’s agony was worse than kryptonite, worse than watching Krypton burn…

Remembered Lena saying she needed time to heal, for Kara to stop hovering nearby - because she knew, she sensed Kara’s presence even without seeing her once - and to give her time to stop thinking of Kara and feeling only pain when she did so.

Remembered promising to do just that.

Remembered a timer starting to count in her head - the seconds that she would be condemned to purgatory.

Remembered the hope that just refused to go out - the hope that whispered give it time, give it time, give it time with every beat of her heart.

Remembered thinking that given enough time Lena would reach out and they would get the chance that Kara had almost destroyed for them.

Remembered flying zig-zagged and dangerous to Alex where her endless stream of tears returned to full flow as she sobbed into her sister’s shoulder using words and phrases like ‘heartbroken’ and ‘I love her’ and ‘I can’t survive this pain’ and ‘what do I do?’ and ‘I can’t breathe’.

Remembered a hollowed out shell of Kara Danvers moving through the motions for a year, for two, three, four… five...

Remembered taking up drinking to excess whenever she saw Lena’s life flourish and grow - not because she didn’t want Lena to be happy, that was what Kara wanted and wished for more than anything - because she wasn’t there with her for those life-changing events.

Remembered Alex and Kelly’s worries growing with each occurrence, intervening more and more to such a degree that they encouraged Kara to consider AA meetings - she did eventually, and found destroying entire junkyards to be a healthier coping mechanism, external destruction rather than internal.

Remembered Brainy at the behest of Alex, setting up Kara’s phone and computer to prevent searching for any keywords affiliated to Lena and to alert Alex if Kara ever managed to stumble upon a news article.

Remembered listening to Kal and Lois skipping large parts of stories where it was clear that Lena was involved - it was nice in some way to know Lena was getting the credit she deserved, but it hurt when Kal’s stories started to involve gaps at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year (events that made Kara’s loneliness even more acute and her longing intensify).

Remembered her life without Lena.

Remembered regret and guilt and loss.

Remembered-

“She’s getting married.”

xxx

Kara shouldn’t have been there. Shouldn’t be anywhere in the vaguest vicinity of where she currently was.

The bride was dressed in a simple silky white shift, sipping intermittently from her champagne glass as she stared contemplatively up at the designer white dress hanging off the door in front of her. Raven locks were pinned up, so tight and intricate that it made Kara wince sympathetically at how it must tug and pinch at the bride’s scalp - she’d always preferred it down, loose and curling… soft and inviting. The bride’s make-up was artistic with a dramatic edge that would captivate but made her look… not like herself in Kara’s opinion.

Or maybe after five years it made Lena look more like herself - the version of herself she had become once free of Kara and all the pain she brought into her life.

She was hovering outside the dressing room window, trying to work out how far she was willing to take this. If it would be better to leave without saying anything, to try and leave some part of Lena’s life unspoiled.

It was the fear that she had always given into when she was best friends with Lena that made her decision for her. Like speaking her truth and learning to ask for what she wanted - Kara had also promised herself that she would never allow that bone deep fear to stop her ever again.

The window was open and it was as good an invite as Kara was ever going to get.

“Lena?”

The beautiful bride-to-be jerked in her place, champagne glass nearly tumbling to the floor but saved at the last second.

She didn’t turn around for a beat… then two…

Kara was just about to escape back through the window when Lena exhaled slowly and pivoted round to meet her.

“Kara?” Lena breathed out, green eyes closed off and wary.

The kryptonian studied the love of her life for a moment, taking in every little detail - soaking it all up as if accepting that this would be the last time she might ever get to see it again. That the timer that had counted past five years would stop after this moment, the hope powering it gone forever.

“Don’t marry them, please.” Kara requested, no flowery language, no build up. Just the honest truth.

“What?” Lena’s jaw dropped and the champagne glass didn’t survive the second shock, crashing to the ground - released by trembling fingers.

“Don’t marry them.” Kara repeated, uncaring of how the carpet below them soaked up the amber liquid.

Lena’s expression flitted through an array of emotions before settling on indignant rage, “And why the hell not?!”

Kara didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, instead she stood taller, the crest of her super suit catching the early afternoon light. “Because it should have been me. It still should be me.”

Lena scoffed in disbelief, “You can’t be serious. Now? You’re doing this now?”

Kara pursed her lips, fighting back the regret that always came with the reminders of countless missed opportunities. “Yes.”

The straightforwardness of Kara’s answers seemed to be throwing Lena, leaving her wrong-footed, clearly expecting the blonde to talk around and hint and imply like she used to.

But Kara had learnt. (The lesson had been too painful not to.)

“You had years, Kara!” Lena argued, “Years where I…. I threw myself at you. Practically begged you to love me… to trust me…”

“I know.” Kara replied sadly, wanting desperately to reach out when Lena’s pretty green eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. “I know. But I’m here now.”

“I don’t want you to be.” Lena muttered, arms crossed over her chest and head ducked downwards to hide her expression.

“I know that too.” Kara assured, fingers twitching with the desire to make contact, to comfort and coax - even after all these years her body remembered, the pathways of hardwired instinct related to her best friend were still there, still active even if temporarily closed for service.

“Then why are you here?” Lena murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Lena’s head snapped up at that, green eyes like saucers.

Kara’s single biggest regret was that she had never said those words to Lena before, had alluded and pointed at them during their final interaction but had never outright said them. And Lena had deserved to hear them then and deserved to hear them now to forever vanquish the doubts that had always been with her.

“Because I’m in love with you and we didn’t get our chance.” Kara affirmed, taking a half step closer to the bride, her red heeled boots and Lena’s bare feet meaning the younger woman had to tip her head ever so slightly back to maintain eye contact. “We didn’t get our chance because of me. Because I was afraid, I was so afraid of losing you. Of doing even the slightest thing that could mean you weren’t in my life. And in the end every action I took out of fear of losing you ensured just that. I’ve spent five years without you, Lena, and I can’t bear a single day more.”

“Kara,” Lena whispered, “I’m getting married.”

“I know.” Kara smiled sadly before adding, “Don’t.”

“What are you suggesting? Seriously?” Lena sighed, shaking her head mournfully and Kara knew she was losing her then.

“I’m suggesting that we have our chance now before it's gone forever.”

Gathering the small amount of courage Kara had left, she tentatively let her hands nudge forwards, brushing against Lena’s cool, pale fingers. That small contact was everything. Made it easier to breathe, made the colours of the world more vibrant, made everything just more.

“I let fear hold me back from the person that made me happiest in the entire universe and I won’t let it hold me back again.”

“Kara…” Lena whimpered, glancing back over her shoulder at the closed door that her wedding dress was displayed on, though she didn’t pull her hand away from Kara’s touch, didn’t flinch or retreat.

“Do it.” Kara pleaded, stepping across that final slither of distance between them, her forehead leaning forward to rest gently against the side of Lena’s, “Take a chance, I’m begging you. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been.”

Lena inhaled shakily, head returning to forward facing - foreheads pressed against one another, breathing in the same air - and then… and then…

Lena’s hands slipped fully into Kara’s, fingers intertwining together.