#this was significantly less entertaining to write than i thought it was gonna be but thats okay

[thewingedwolf]

my problem with most asoiaf analysis is that like the writer himself, everyone is steeped in their homophobia and racism and misogyny to an extreme degree, and i simply do not care to entertain it. there’s all this “well of course he’s gonna be that way in his writing” yes but that doesn’t mean you have to take it further in your analysis nor does it mean you have to assume the worst of the story he’s planning. that’s what the ~transformative~ part of fandom is about you absolute fuckin losers.

like, obviously, grrm has his prejudices (several of which he simply refuses to acknowledge, to the detriment of his writing at times) but he also isn’t nearly as prejudiced as people seem to accuse him of being. yes, there is misogyny in the way he writes cersei in comparison to her brothers, but there is genuine care in showing her suffering, her anger, her helplessness, and even love there in writing her downfall! there is objectively less information and thought into the crafting of the martells, and yet, you cannot look at the prose in Arianne & Hotah’s chapters, the pain on the page, and not see he feels for their losses just as keenly as he does for the Starklings, for the Tullys, for the smallfolk in the Riverlands, and the Wildlings of the North. One of the most iconic scenes in the series involves Oberyn turning his back on the man he is fighting and demanding Tywin acknowledge his raw pain, his fury, his unending grief, at the butchering of Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon. I have always disliked the way Stannis is given so much more complexity by both fandom and the narrative than Renly, who is mostly written off as a vain idiot, and yet two of the most well known lines about love in the series are said by gay men, about the men they were in love with (Loras’ ‘when the sun has set’ line about Renly, and Jon Connington’s ‘i rose too high’ line about Rhaegar) and one of the most explicit love stories in f&b is between Rhaena the Black Bride and Elissa Farman. There is a whole hell of a lot to criticize but sometimes people have such a bleak idea of what his endgame is and how it’s going to be rife with racism, sexism, and homophobia, never mind that this is the same man who wrote Brienne’s “no chance and no choice” scene or Catelyn’s entire character. This is a man who spent three years writing one of the most beloved spins on Beauty and the Beast, and got on the mic to specifically defend the casting of a Black actress in Nightflyers but also kind of shaded the original casting of a white woman in the original movie. am i saying i expect something as deeply moving and complex for the Martells or the Unsullied or Missandei as like, the “and a man breaks” speech and his anti war/war critical stances? obviously not! But I think everyone has spent so long obsessing over small details because we haven’t gotten any new content wrt the main series in a decade, people have ascribed significantly more prejudice to his mindset, and they let that affect the way they see the characters.

[glassamphibians]

in the lost hero Jake Mason mentions that cabin nine had been excavating the tunnels under camp half blood, and if Will’s reaction is any indication none of the other cabins know about them?? ive decided that eventually all the cabins find out so uhh here’s that!! also the tunnels are magical and illogical because i said so <3

• the roots from the tree growing in the demeter cabin stretch all the way down to a large cave. they start entire gardens down there full of herbs and berries. the cave system connects to the dionysus cabin and somehow, despite the lack of sunlight, gravevines cover the walls. maybe they grow weed together maybe the don’t who’s to say :)

• the apollo cabin’s tunnel connects to rachel’s cave. its full of abandoned medical supplies, theres one cavern that houses an ancient two story pipe organ, it always looks like golden hour somehow. it connects to the demeter cabin’s gardens and they steal medicinal herbs

• they also uncovered an enormous library between the apollo tunnels and the athena tunnels. its full of works by popular writers from every country and/or era you could ever imagine. some of them had never been published.

• the ares cabin’s tunnels connect to the nike and nemesis cabins. there may or may not be a fight club. there’s an armory so powerful the military should be jealous.

• all of the chthonic cabins are connected by catacombs, but no one is sure where the bones lining the walls came from. their patterns change every night. its full of crystals and the only light is from glowing mushrooms. demons have definitely been summoned there.

• the Poseidon cabin’s tunnels are entirely underwater and leads out into the ocean. the aphrodite cabins’ tunnels connect to cabin three’s and are covered in mosaics made from pearls and abalone shells. they found giant wardrobes full of vintage clothing and cosmetics and now they use the space to run a slightly illegal tattoo/piercing business <3

• the hermes cabin has the only tunnel that extends outside of the camp borders and they’ve known about it all along. they use it to smuggle snacks and technology back into camp without chiron noticing. they also have a slightly illegal casino in the tunnel connecting the hermes and tyche cabins <3

[blush-and-books]

i’m sorry, but i fell in love tonight

short fic based off of this gifset by @juliesmolinas and the song is there somewhere by halsey. in fact it is mandatory that you listen to the song/read the lyrics/both before/during reading this. yes i said mandatory.

angst with a sappy ending, julie goes through a lifetime of emotions in less than 3k, was originally gonna write when i was in a more emotionally raw state but writing this made me emotionally raw so... enjoy <3

warnings: swearing

Julie made the promise at some point -- she just doesn’t know exactly when.

It may have been when he appeared at her school, all shy smiles and soft glances, professing that she made him a better writer. Or, more definitively, it could have been when she forlornly pulled him into her arms a moment before she was positive that she was to lose him forever. 

All that she knew was her time with Luke was fleeting. So she swore that her butterfly-wing crush was not allowed to fill her chest or dizzy her thoughts; that his lyrics would mean nothing more next to hers than words on a page and his touches would bring her little to no comfort.

Luke Patterson could not complete her. 

The universe wouldn’t allow it -- and neither would Julie Molina. 

But -- either Luke was blissfully unaware of their impending doom or he genuinely didn’t care -- he forced himself through every barrier she attempted to erect. And it was driving her nearly insane, because she made a promise to protect herself. 

Maybe she wasn’t strong enough to do it. Or maybe the universe, despite refusing to give Julie Luke in his entirety, did not want her to be protected. 

It was all in the little things-

When she stayed up with him in the garage, playing him all of the songs he’s missed in 25 years, and he danced around on the slippery floor in his socks and grinned at her with wide green eyes. The neon emerald in the dim light was reminiscent of driving on the highway and passing sign after sign leading to the exits she could have taken, but couldn’t bring herself to.

How New Years Eve arrived and the Molina family gathered in the driveway to light sparklers; Luke’s hand brushing hers as he passed off one of the two in his hands. 

In his head lulling onto her shoulder while she was trying to finish some homework with his help on the torn couch and his lips moving against her bare skin  as he mumbled that she needed to take a break before driving herself insane; followed by her braiding her hair to get it out of her face.

She already had driven herself insane -- but not over her homework. 

(His mouth on her shoulder was the answer to a prayer she never dared to murmur aloud.)

Luke never failed to be present when he was needed. If she was sick or stressed or depressed, he knew when to fuse to her side and when to offer some space. Through careful observation rather than conversation, he knew which of her many sweatshirts were reserved for illness or emotional support. 

In most of those situations, she needed him, too. Her fingernails would curl into his biceps through a cramp or wave of tears and he would wrap her in his embrace and swarm her with warm words that dried her eyes.

She hated it.

When they wrote music, it felt as though they were already reading each other's minds before either of them had spoken a word about their plans. Their journals contained inky black waterfalls spilled from an intimacy that Julie did not want to dissect. 

Again, she hated it. She loved it more than anything and hated that she loved it all -- because it could never be real. 

She would always play second fiddle to death. 

Julie made the promise to herself to not let Luke complete her because, while she had him for now, the night of the Orpheum was a reminder that the universe would not hesitate to snap it’s fingers and eliminate him from existence. 

The universe, being the confusing, stubborn bitch it is, just didn’t get the memo on that promise. 

Because Luke filled every crack and restored every gap in her being, and he shouldn’t.

The hopeless, pining romantic in her that constantly argued with her realist side said they were meant to meet. Even if it was brief and heartbreaking and had the power to hurt her in a way she didn’t understand, it had to happen. If it wasn’t supposed to happen, then how and why did he cross space and time only to fall at her feet?

(Soulmates, a taunting voice whispered. Soulmates.)

((The voice was locked in a closet as punishment.))

She didn’t want to entertain the word. It had too much of a forlorn, wistfully romantic sound to it that Julie didn’t need to associate with Luke when she spent most moments with him at this point convincing herself that she wasn’t in love.

Until tonight.

It is past midnight, which is when anyone’s mental state starts to alter. Things that would be labelled as bad ideas in the daylight could very possibly become fair game when shrouded in a darkness that made everything private. The two of them, Luke and Julie, Julie and Luke, are nestled together on the piano bench as her fingers tiredly press each cut of ivory in a working melody.

“I have an idea,” Luke says, gently shifting his left hand to cover hers on the keys. “Why don’t we press pause on this song for a minute?”

Then, she finally looks up at him. Her eyes probably have crescents like the dark side of the moon crossing her skin, and her hair is all over the place, but he’s staring at her in one of the rare ways that she hates.

She hates it because the look convinces her that she completes him.

This time, however, there’s a hope. A hope, and a hesitance, and she’s simultaneously extremely nervous and beyond curious as to what his plans are. 

“Did- Didn’t you want to finish this tonight?” 

Regret strikes across his face, but he recovers. The softness is back. “Yeah, I just think we need a change of pace.” Right hand on the back of his neck: A telltale sign of a confession of some kind. She’s seen it more times than is healthy. “There was another song I wanted to show you, actually.”

“Oh.” She blinks, he waits. “Yeah, uh, I mean, yeah. Show me. What do you have so far?” He clears his throat as he thrums through the pages to find his target. “The whole thing.”

Julie doesn’t have time to react -- although she’s already in a panic -- before the leather-bound book is being awkwardly shoved into her hands, and the first thing she sees at the top is Luke’s nearly illegible scribble of Dark Room (song for Julie).

“Luke-”

“Just read it.” His voice is significantly raspier than it was a minute ago. “Please.”

She can’t. If he feels the same way and the confession is undeniably in front of her, then what is she supposed to do? Would she rather break Luke’s heart now to save them both down the line, or delay the misery a little longer?

It’s not that she doesn’t want it -- she does. But she doesn’t know if she’s emotionally equipped for any of the options that are offered to her. The destination of any path she chooses leads to a world of heartache.

So, she does the only thing she can think in the moment: She reads the song.

Instantly, the lyrics are blurred from the tears in her eyes because she sees the words “love” and “together” and her greatest fears and grandest wishes are coming true. The sonnet proclaims that she’s his light that illuminated his once-dark forever, and that he was hers when they didn’t even know each other, and that he will be hers wherever he ends up next.

He just wanted her to know that he would have waited another lifetime in the blank, limitless limbo he was in for 25 years if he knew she would be there when he was set free.

And, in the moment, Julie allows herself to acknowledge that her promise is broken.

She’s fallen in love. 

And, apparently, he has too.

(Maybe they can claim just one night. The universe owes them that much, doesn’t it?)

“Julie?” God, he sounds so worried. A shaking finger trails up her jaw to catch falling tears, and his contact makes her gasp. He pulls away and shoves his hands together to fidget in his lap. “Julie, are you- Fuck, I’m sorry, I just fucked this up, didn’t I? I fucked it all up. Fuck, I-”

When she chances a look up at him for the first time in the couple of minutes that she’s been staring, hopelessly, at the song in her lap -- he’s got his face covered by his hands pressing roughly into his eyes, and he’s turned to face the piano instead of her.

He takes a deep breath, and it sounds… 

Stuffy. 

Three more tears leak from Julie’s eyes. More build up every minute as her right hand runs along his shoulder, “Luke…”

“No, Julie, please just drop it.”

“Luke.”

“I clearly misread a lot of stuff, and I’m tired, so maybe you can just go to bed and forget-”

Her hand wraps tightly around his upper arm like it’s done so many times when she has been in distress. “Luke.”

There’s a crack in her voice from sheer desperation. She needs him to look at her, so that she can wipe his tears and smile through the sobs and tell him he didn’t misread a single thing. She would wait a lifetime for him to come out of the dark room, she loves him too, and she’s going to forget all about it. 

And ask him to do the same.

At least the scratch of his name catches his attention long enough, because he angles back towards her, and swallows thickly before meeting her eyes. Salty teardrops linger against his eyelids and eyelashes; the red rimming illuminating the oceanic green to look like a gemstone. Her grip relaxes.

“Yeah, Julie?”

She attempts a smile. “The song is beautiful, Luke. I love it.”

I love you.

“That’s it? It’s beautiful, and you love it, but you don’t… I’m not in your dreambox, huh?”

He clearly hasn’t dug through it in awhile. He’s everywhere. Discarded guitar picks and notes he’s left in her school journals and plenty, plenty of songs.

It’s funny, because she told him her dreambox was for things that didn’t make her sad. Luke was a double-edged sword -- making her happy every day in a new way, and making her cry into her pillow at night.

How does she explain this? There’s a whirlwind of responses running through her brain and she can barely coherently comprehend any of them. 

“No,” she finds herself sighing as she raises her hand to his cheek, followed by her other hand so that he can’t try and turn away. “No, Luke, no… You’re wrong.”

“What do you mean ‘I’m wrong?’”

Her bottom lip starts to shake. “You think I don’t love you back.”  Both of them feel their breath catch at her use of the word out loud. It feels like a secret that shouldn’t be repeated. “And you’re wrong.”

“... I’m wrong.”

“Of course you’re wrong! You really think I don’t love you back?”

“Why are you crying if you love me?”

“Because we can’t do this!”

He scoffs, and Julie’s heart is racing in her chest as he pushes himself off of the piano bench and her hands fall from his face. What has she done?

“That’s bull, Julie.” His fingertips tug at his hair. “You don’t need to make a big dramatic show to convince me it’s wrong just to let me down easy. You aren’t going to talk me out of this.” Dead-on, he stops pacing back and forth, and looks her in the eye. “I love you.”

Listening to him say it, the way his mouth moves and his voice ticks with conviction at each syllable, is what makes her break. 

“And I love you too.” 

He reels back. He probably wasn’t expecting her voice to raise from their odd, in-between whisper and normal volume.

“But don’t you get it? Luke, we aren't in some magical place where we can meet each other in the middle. A place like that doesn’t exist. You’re dead, and I’m alive, and any future here ends with both of us losing each other.” 

“Julie-”

“You said you would wait another lifetime, right?” Using his own lyrics against him. She watches his hands twitch before nodding; the movements of his head barely visible. “Then wait. Another lifetime, another two -- the fucking universe clearly didn’t want us to have this one, so we’re stuck waiting for the next one.”

Even through his clear and fighting need to argue, to talk with her about this, he stiffly nods his head. It’s obvious that she has thought way too much about this from the way she’s barely choking out each word before crumbling into tears before his eyes -- but then again, he’s thought about it too. 

Callused hands are running along her neck to tilt her face up out of the blue. She was too busy crying to notice that he had crossed the distance between them to stand right in front of her and assure that she was meeting his eyes.

“Luke-”

“No, Julie, it’s my turn. Please.”

She won’t argue with him. So, with a tender swipe of his thumbs under her eyes, he proceeds.

“Look, I get it. You think I don’t get it? I fucking hate being dead, for so many reasons, Julie. But if I never died, I never would have met you.” Her lips part, and maybe he thinks she’s going to protest because he smoothly lifts a finger in front of her lips that barely makes contact. 

(Julie almost presses her lips into it.)

“And you’re right. I wish there was somewhere that we could meet in the middle, but we don’t have that. I wish so many things, Julie. But none of them involve a life where I don’t have you.”

She whimpers, because listening to the man that normally chains his emotions in a cage bare his soul to her at nearly one in the morning is a seriously more out-of-body experience than she expected. She knew, deep down, that she loved him. But she never allowed herself to feel the all-encompassing warmth that she feels now.

“But hey, Julie, look at me,” he coaxes her with a tone that drips with affection. The pads of his fingers are nearly kneading into the back of her neck. “Like you said: The universe didn’t want to give us this lifetime. They couldn’t let us have all the fun, right?” Both of them let out a watery chuckle. “But they still brought me to you, didn’t they? They let me know you in this lifetime, even if we couldn’t have forever. I said I would be yours wherever I am. So even if this,” he gestures to his ghostly form, “isn’t forever, even if we don’t have this lifetime… You know I’ll love you forever, right?”

It was a monologue straight from one of her dreams that left her waking up with a manic smile and tears running down her face. 

Unable to form any other response besides an unaware nod, Julie waits for him to continue.

“And maybe, the universe will give us the next lifetime, or a whole new universe, or… Just somewhere where we can get forever.” 

Abruptly, his hands slide from her neck and grasp her hands like he needs to hold on firmly enough to believe that she’s still real in front of him. Julie is still speechless and teary, and in the most sentimental gesture, Luke kisses the back of both of her hands. 

“We’ll get forever, Julie.” His warm breath puffs against her skin. “I promise you.”

And, well, if he promises forever in the next life -- then why can’t she take what she can get in this one?

--

tags: @bluefirewrites @willexx @unsaid-emily @lydias--stiles @moreflowersthanweeds @pink-flame 

[kaaytea]

Yaku Morisuke x reader

Summary: Yaku insisted that he didn't need your help, but the sound of glass breaking over the phone said otherwise.

Warnings: none

A/n: Yaku canonically has 2 little brothers now🥰 this is basically a gift for bug anon and @hikari-writes​ anyways enjoy mwah!!💖

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

"Hi baby!" You happily chirped into the phone, "I'm excited for our date! It's been a while since we've gone on one."

There was a pause on the other end, you could hear shuffling and a few muffled giggles.

"Stop it you two! I'm sorry (y/n) but we're gonna have to postpone our date, my Aunt fell ill so my parents asked me to watch Yuji and Shiori While they go look after her. I'm really sorry I know how excited you were"

You let out a small laugh and shifted your phone to your other ear as you went to pick up your bag, "It's ok Mori, we can just reschedule for next weekend. How about I come over anyway? It sounds like you'll need the help."

"Ah you don't have to do that, I can usually handle them and I don't want you to-"

Yaku was cut off by the sound of a glass breaking followed by two voices

"ooooo Oniisan is gonna kill yooooou"

"No! He's gonna kill you because I didn't do it!"

Mori let out a tired sigh, "On second thought some help would be greatly appreciated."

"I'll be over in ten minutes, sit tight sweetie!"

<< --------------------------------------------------- >>

The Yaku family home wasn't too far from yours, being only a little over an eight-minute walk away. You'd been there plenty of times throughout the years after befriending Morisuke in junior high; your younger self would probably explode if they knew you'd end up dating that cute boy with pretty eyes and wavy, toffee hair who walked home the same way you did. The Yaku's basically became your second home at this point so helping Mori watch his little brothers wasn't that rare of an event.

You hopped up the steps to the humble house and knocked on the door, which swang open a few seconds after revealing a flustered Yaku Morisuke.

"Thank you for helping (y/n), I’m sorry.. this isn't exactly what I had in mind for us today," he said as you walked in, pressing a kiss to your cheek in the process.

"I don't mind helping you out Mori, sure it's not the same as a dinner date but we always have fun when watching the boys," you offered him a smile, which he returned, and followed him into the main room where you were immediately tackled by his brothers.

"(Y/n)-chan!" Yuji jumped up from his seat, abandoning the gaming controller he was holding leaving Shiori to win the game they were currently playing, and bounced over to you to hug your waist. Shiori followed closely behind his older brother and latched on to your waist as well.

"Hey you two!" You wrapped an arm around both boys and hugged them back, both of them looked up at you with big smiles.

They were looking more and more like Morisuke each time you saw them -which was understandable seeing as they're all brothers.

Yuji, the older of the two, shared the same toffee hair as his elder brother but Shiori's, while similar, was a few shades darker than Mori's. All three of them had the same chocolate-colored eyes and delicate freckles dusted on their cheeks though.

"Alright get off them, this might surprise you two but they need to do this thing called breathing," Yaku said from where he was leaning against the couch.

Both boys pulled away, Shiori lingering a little longer, and then dragged you over to the couch to play videogames with you.

Videogames were the most popular form of entertainment whenever you came to watch them. Yuji was scary good at games and almost always won when the four of you played; he could honestly rival Kenma's abilities.

Because there were only three controllers Shiori always sat on your lap so the both of you could take turns, but you had a sneaking suspicion it was because he was a little more attached to you and liked to be near you.

"Are you sure you don't want to play (y/n)-chan?" Shiori looked up at you from his spot on your lap with an innocent look.

"I'm sure Shi, I'm having much more fun watching you play," you leaned closer to him and whispered," Plus, I can help you beat your brothers this way."

He grinned at you and looked forward again to the tv. It seemed as though today's game of choice was Smash Bros Ultimate.

The three brothers started the game with Yuji instantly knocking Mori off the map resulting in him to yell out in frustration. Yaku could be very petty when he wanted so he spent most of the game targeting Yuji, leaving Shiori to sit safely on the sidelines. The game was coming to a close with Mori and Yuji both having one life left. Mori took a wild chance and ended up hitting Yuji off the map making the younger boy cry out in shock. That's when you guided Shiori over to Mori's character and won the match.

"No fair! (y/n)-chan helped you Shiori!" Yuji whined.

"I have no idea what you mean Yuji," you gave him a smile as he pouted at you; he took gaming very seriously.

"Ok ok, stop attacking (y/n) and Shi, why don't we go outside for a bit? The both of you have been in here playing games all day," Yaku got up and turned off the gaming console and tv then turned back to look at the two boys.

"Oooook," they both said before racing to the door. They pushed at each other in attempts to sabotage the other causing you to laugh at their antics. You were so engrossed in the younger boys race that you didn't notice Yaku standing in front of you until he flicked your head.

"You totally helped him win, didn't you" Mori stated with a playful glare.

You got up and pressed a kiss to his nose, "Maybe I did maybe I didn't. Why? Do you want me to help you win next time?" Mori blushed at your response then teasingly hit your shoulder.

<< --------------------------------------------------- >>

You and Yaku sat on the wooden porch together watching the younger boys kick around a soccer ball. Mori's arm was around your waist, his thumb occasionally rubbing soft circles into your hip.

"Niisan?" Shiori had diverged from Yuji and now stood in front of Mori and you, nervously fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"What's up bud?"

"Can...can you teach me how to play volleyball?"

Mori honestly looked like he could cry when the words 'teach me to play volleyball' left his little brother’s mouth. He'd been hoping that at least one of his brothers would become interested in the sport and it seemed quiet Shiori would be the one.

Mori stood up with a grin on his face, "Sure Shi! Come on, we'll teach you how to receive first."

You smiled watching Shiori run after Morisuke; Yuji and Shiori really looked up to him, it's like they think he hung the stars in the sky himself.

"Yuji!" You called out. The boy looked up from where he was kicking around the soccer ball, "Wanna come help me make dinner?"

"Yeah!"

Yuji happily trailed after you to the kitchen, hopping around from foot to foot as he blabbered on about a Tv show.

You honestly didn't know where he got all his energy from, everyone else in his family was significantly less hyper; though, his cheery attitude was one of your favorite things about him.

"Alright Yuji, what should we make?"

He stopped his bouncing and brought a hand to his chin, his face scrunching up as he pondered his options.

"Ramen!"

You gave him a nod and searched through the cabinets for the noodle packets you were, oh so familiar with. You pulled out enough for four people, placing them on the counter. You then moved to the refrigerator -just eating the packaged noodles wouldn't be the healthiest, so you decided to put your own spin on it. After a quick once over of the fridge you pulled out some carrots, spinach, and a few eggs.

"Ok Kiddo, I'm giving you a really important job. I want you to wash the carrots and spinach, think you can do that for me?"

"Yep!" Yuji gathered the vegetables in his arms and brought them over to the sink to start his job. Once you were sure he was safe, you started looking around for a pot and cutting board. You'd been to this house so many times but if there was one room you weren't familiar with it was the kitchen. Yaku's mother always insisted that she had everything handled and for you to go enjoy your time with Morisuke.

"(y/n)-chan I'm done!" Yuji called over his shoulder. He had perfect timing as you had just found a pot big enough to cook the noodles in.

You walked over to the sink, pot in hand, and gave Yuji a pat on the head -he was absolutely beaming at your approval.

"looks good, I'm gonna start cutting the carrots, fill this pot a little over halfway and then we can start making the noodles," Yuji nodded up at you and started filled the pot while you started cutting the veggies.

You were fully concentrated on your task, you didn't even hear the backdoor open.

"Careful!" You looked over your shoulder to find Mori taking the filled pot from Yuji, the latter had a slight pout spread over his face.

Yaku placed the pot on the stove top and turned back to the younger boy, "Don't do that next time, alright? You could have gotten hurt...it's ok to ask for help when you need it."

Yuji nodded pitifully, he's eyes down casted on the floor in a mix of shame and embarrassment. Mori huffed and ruffled Yuji's hair making him perk up a bit, "I think (y/n) and I've get it handled from here buddy. Go play with Shi, we'll call you both when the foods done."

"Ok!" All previous sadness had left Yuji as he instantly reverted back to his happy self, he bounced out of the kitchen and in the direction of he and Shiori's shared room.

"Thank you for helping Yuji!" You called out. His head popped out from the side of the doorway with a large smile on his face.

"you're welcome (y/n)-chan!"

<< --------------------------------------------------- >>

After dinner and a few more rounds of Smash, Mori and you had tucked both boys into bed for the night.

You stretched your arms high into the air with a hum, "I should probably start walking home."

You felt Yaku latch onto your back, his chin resting on your shoulder and his strong arms pulling you into his chest.

"Nope you're staying here, I don't want you walking home this late."

You chuckled at him and leaned into his hold, he's always looking out for you.

"Ok...that means we're gonna go cuddle in your room, right?"

"Duh"

Being curled up with Mori was one of the best things on earth. Everything about the action was soft and warm; the embodiment of comfort.

"I love your brothers but they really are a handful."

"Try living with them," Yaku responded dryly.

You slapped his shoulder lightly causing him to chuckle at you.

You sighed, enjoying the feeling of Mori tracing random shapes on your back, and nuzzled further into his chest.

"How did Volleyball with Shiori go?"

"It was fun. He's not that bad of a receiver, though I think he'd make a better setter than a libero."

You hummed and placed a kiss on his jaw, "He does have the aspects of a good setter in him, liberos need to be a bit aggressive and crazy to throw themselves around and receive."

"Wow thanks babe," he deadpanned causing you to giggle at him.

"I loooove you~"

"Yeah, whatever you say," Yaku rolled his eyes then tickled your sides changing your giggles to full-on laughter. You shifted and twitch in feeble attempts to escape Yaku's grasp.

"OK OK IM SORRY, Y-YOU MADE YOUR POINT!!"

He stopped his attack and watched you with a soft look as you calmed down. That's when a sliver of light cut through the room like a knife making both You and Mori look towards the door.

"Oniisan...we heard a scary noise outside," Yuji stood in the doorway with Shiori behind him clinging to the back of his shirt.

Mori sat up, he may complain that his baby brothers were annoying but he still loved them with all his heart and couldn't stand to see them upset.

"Do you guys wanna stay with us tonight? (Y/n)-chan and I will make sure nothing scary comes to snatch you away"

Both boys nodded and rushed over to Yaku's bed; their brother was like a beacon of light and the bed a safe house, the childlike fear of standing in the dark room unprotected lapped at their minds.

You all had to squeeze to fit onto the bed but eventually, everyone got situated and relaxed. Both kids laid between you and Mori; Shiori was clinging to your waist with his face pressed into your stomach and Yuji was facing Mori hugging his arm.

Both Yuji and Shiori fell asleep instantly once in the comfort of You and Yaku.

You ran a hand through Shiori's wavy hair, you looked up to find Yaku watching you; he looked starstruck, an almost loopy smile on his face and a warm glow in his eyes. He reached over Yuji and Shiori and grabbed onto your free hand, his thumb ran up and down the back of it prompting you to close your eyes and start to drift off.

Everything was warm and cozy, nothing but the distant chirps of crickets and the soft breathing of the two sleeping boys filled your senses; the feeling of safety and protection evident in the air.

This single moment in time was better than any date Yaku could take you on.

[guardianspirits13]

if you feel like answering, why is natsuo your favorite character? like what do you like most about him? what made you connect to him/what made him stand out to you?

Ohhh boy better buckle up because this is gonna be a long one.

First off, thank you so much for the ask, and sorry it took so long to strap down and answer you! Naturally, I have a lot to say and I'm always looking for opportunities to rant about my favorite character 👀

The chapter that first opened my eyes to Natsuo as a character was chapter 252. I was caught up with the manga at this point so I read it right when it was released and it really touched me. From then on I became invested in his character, particularly his relationship with Touya which I really dug into and channeled into my Brother animatic. He's been my favorit from then on, and there are many reasons for this.

I think the main reason his character resonated with me so deeply is because I've never encountered a character who hits nearly as close to home as he does. I didn't have the best relationship with my father growing up, and despite it being a different and much less serious situation than what Natsuo lived through, I can relate to and understand a lot of his resentment on a personal level. Many of his one-liners are things that I have said or thought before almost verbatim, so needless to say Horikoshi definitely knows what he's doing.

It is very important to me how Horikoshi goes out of his way to give this seemingly minor character so much development. Every scene he is in, every word he says has so much thought behind it and contributes to his character tremendously, and some of the best examples of this are in the latest chapters with him.

He has significantly more developent than most of the minor characters in 1a, despite them obviously appearing much more often. This is because whenever Natsuo does appear, he's very outspoken and the scene normally ends up revolving around him in some way.

I also want to talk about his relationship with his family as a whole- one thing about his character that I don't think anyone else has really mentioned before is how humble he is. He grew up in a household where he was neglected and essentially seen as worthless (regardless of his quirk or lack thereof but I have a whole nother essay for that alone), and even Touya wasn't exactly the kindest to him from what we've seen. Despite this, Natsuo was able to forge his own path and become the person he wanted to be. He got through highschool with good enough grades to get into a pre-med program which in Japan is a very hard thing to do considering national standards, not to mention how different the medical field must be with the variety of mutation quirks that exist.

As for humility, I think the fact that he can be proud of Shouto for forging his own path as a hero despite his personal distaste for hero society, and is immediately thankful when he’s saved from a villain by a group of high schoolers. He doesn’t act like he’s better than anyone else because he’s older, or because he won’t forgive Endeavor (quite the contrary, he seems to view his distaste of Endeavor as a shortcoming on his part).

Another thing that I really just adore about his character is how kind and gentle he is, regardless of (or perhaps in spite of) his upbringing. Considering that he's a male character in a shounen manga, this is particularly interesting to me. Out of his brothers he is physically the most similar to Endeavor, but personality-wise the most different. A huge component of this is that he was raised mostly by Fuyumi and continues to be incredibly close to her. Natsuo is a social person and an emotionally driven character, and he is certainly not afraid to speak his mind- if nothing else, he is honest. Compare this to Shouto, who is definitely an introvert and prefers to keep to himself, kind of blunt about things and definitely lacking in emotional awareness. It’s hard to separate Shouto’s personality from lack of socialization as a kid, but even Endeavor shares many of the same traits. Touya is also an emotionally-driven character but in a completely different way, he’s self-serving and angry and driven for revenge. Perhaps if he had a normal childhood Natsuo and Touya would have been much more similar, but Touya’s early signs of mental illness as a kid festered with lack of treatment. Back to Natsuo, he also is very caring and thoughtful, and we really see this most in the 5th light novel, (official translations aren’t out but here’s a link).

We consistently see just how much he cares about the rest of his family (other than Endeavor, obviously). I think this is seen really clearly through his attempts to connect with Shouto. He knows nothing about his little brother but still tries to connect with him in any way he can think of- playing soccer, eating soba, talking with him about his friends and just generally showing interest in his life.

Another interesting point here is that he almost seems to look up to his siblings as being better than him, especially Shouto. This is not in a jealous way, but more self-deprecating as he sees Fuyumi and Shouto letting Endeavor back into their lives and feels guilty and unkind because he is unable to do the same. He is proud of Shouto, but they are different in so many ways that it’s hard to find a middle ground. Shouto is mature in that he is already halfway to a lifelong career and has experienced many dangerous situations, while Natsuo is a college student and years away from helping people on the same level that Shouto does in high school. Inversely, Natsuo is more socially competent and outgoing, while Shouto is sheltered, and has a unique innocence to him. Natsuo is more familiar with their family situation and thus has a more complex understanding and much stronger stance than Shouto, especially because he knew Touya.

He also goes out of his way to try and help Fuyumi and re-iterate how much she means to him (even if it fails, it’s the thought that counts, amirite?). He consistently comes to dinner when Fuyumi invites him, knowingly exposing himself to his pervasive trauma upon seeing Endeavor to allow her to entertain the fantasy of having a happy, normal family.

I really want to re-iterate here how much of his own pain he puts to the side in just agreeing to show up for dinner. Both times he is visibly uncomfortable and almost upset by Endeavor’s presence as if it makes him anxious (which is understandable), and he is mentally incapable of staying in said situation without freaking out, which he does whenever he can’t escape; the first time when Endeavor puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving, and the second time mere minutes after an incredibly traumatic near-death experience. (Side note: Endeavor should not be getting up into his personal space like he does, knowing full well how uncomfortable Natsuo is with his mere presence).

He puts his own trauma to the side to help his siblings ,and if that isn’t selfless I don’t know what is.

With all of this deliberate development and the advent of the Dabi reveal, I am confident that Natsuo is going to play a larger role in the future and will contribute in some major way to bringing Dabi down. If there's one thing I trust Horikishi for it's that he doesn't develop his characters for nothing. There's always a payoff at the end that puts everything in place, even though he plays a slow burn. I'm always scared that whenever Natsuo shows up he's gonna do/say something that's inconsistent with his character so far and disprove one of my theories/assumptions/headcanons about him and every time I am proven wrong.

In conclusion: I love my salty son.

If you want to read even more of my thoughts on him, here's a link to a rediculously long meta about his trauma and emotions:

Thank you again for the ask. I very much enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it as well!!!

[orangeoctopi7]

A Negligible Price

I guess it’s becoming a tradition for me to add another chapter to A Minor Inconvenience every year for @stanuary . I swear I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s just that the prompt “Sacrifice” got me thinking about this story and where I thought it could go, and then I got writing and I started coming up with ideas for how I could actually put a finish to this story. So yeah, hopefully it won’t be another year before I post chapter 4, but not promises!

Also, first time I’ve had to do this, but:

CONTENT WARNING: DISCUSSION OF SUICIDE/MARTYR COMPLEX AND SUIDICE ADJACENT THEMES.

* * *

Bill rushes to gather himself together again. Now that Sixer and his idiot brother have caught on, he knows they’ll probably be making a move against him soon. The time for lying in wait and keeping a low profile has passed. He’s been getting faster, better at finding the tiny flecks of gold scattered into the dark abyss below. 

Unfortunately that also means that he’s noticed that some missing pieces just never turn up. As an interdimensional being who’s existed in countless dimensions across innumerable timelines, Bill likes to think he knows himself pretty well now. What he’s made of, how much power he’s accumulated, what he’s capable of. And if he had to estimate now, which he does, he’d say he’s been reduced to maybe a third of his power. Roughly two thirds of him are missing. 

What happened to those missing pieces? Were they simply deleted by that memory eraser? Did he leave some of himself behind in that physical form he left to enter Stan’s mind in the Fearamid? Bill can only guess, but really, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter. What matters is getting out of this moron’s brain and starting again on his path to a universe free of rules.

* * *

Stan recovered from his latest memory lapse quickly, despite the fact that it was the worst one he’d experienced since he sacrificed himself to the memory gun last summer. The experience had clearly put Ford on edge, and as much as he tried to bottle up his emotions and remain calm, Stan could practically feel the panic coming off him in waves. 

They were both relieved when they reached Spitsbergen. There was a hospital in Longyearbyen, where Ford insisted they stop to give Stan a check-up. Stan felt fine, but if it helped ease Ford’s nerves, then he could sit through a check-up.

Explaining Stan’s condition to the doctor was a struggle, considering English was not his strongest language. They definitely got across that Stan was experiencing memory problems, but the doctor seemed to be under the impression it had been caused by an injury to the head in an accident, rather than a purposeful exposure to a memory-erasing device. 

Eventually, Ford had lost his patience and just asked if they could use the CT or MRI machine themselves. The doctor spoke enough English to tell them that the nearest CT or MRI machine was in either Iceland or Russia.

The elder Pines twins left the hospital in low spirits. Ford kicked at little pebbles as they walked down the street.

“There’s a research facility in Ny-Ålesund. Perhaps we could sail up there and commandeer some equipment to rig up our own CT scan…”

“I think it’d be easier to just hop on a plane back to the States at this point.” Stan suggested.

“If we’re going to hop on a plane somewhere, it’ll be to Reykjavik, where we won’t have to pay an arm and a leg for any treatments.”

“Yeah, we’ll just have to wait half a year.” Stan rolled his eyes. “I don’t think they’re gonna take ‘revived demon in my head’ as an urgent need.”

“Probably not…” Ford admitted.

“And you’re sure you didn’t figure anything else out the last time you were pokin’ around in my head?”

Ford grit his teeth. The truth was, he was afraid what would happen if he tried to revisit that memory. The cold flames of the memory eraser had felt so real, even just revisiting it in Stan’s mind, and they seemed to be the trigger of his latest memory lapse. Would they have a similar effect within Ford’s own memory?

“Nothing I’ve been able to make sense of.”

Stan grit his teeth. “So what now? Just leave that jerk in my head?”

Ford sighed. “I want to do some more research into what we’ve learned so far. Perhaps a trip to the library will help me find some insight. But truthfully… I may have been too hasty with punching out Bill, when I encountered him. He’s a liar who can’t be trusted, but he’s also a braggart. If I’d just let him run his mouth a little longer, we may have learned something about what he’s up to.”

* * *

Longyearbyen’s library wasn’t any bigger than the public library in Gravity Falls, and had significantly fewer books relating to Bill and mind magic, but it did at least have access to several library databases that Ford couldn’t typically log into from the Stan’O’War II. (According to Fiddleford, these databases could be hacked into quite easily, but Ford didn’t have the time or the wherewithal to learn how) It would have to do for now. Ford took a seat at a computer, and with a little help from a librarian, he was soon scrolling through peer-reviewed articles from different archeologists and anthropologists and folklore experts and descendants of the Aztecs and Mayans debating who Xolotl was, what his role was in the Aztec religion, how much his lore changed from Pre- and Post- Colombian invasion, and so forth. 

What he’d learned so far was interesting, to say the least. The things that most people agreed upon was that Xolotl was a god of death, fire, and lightning. What caught Ford’s attention was the fact that they were also the god of twins and deformities. He glanced down at his twelve fingers, which rested awkwardly on the small keyboard meant for people with just ten. It seemed odd that Bill would call on this particular death god, when they seemed far more likely to be a patron to Stan and Ford. 

While Ford puzzled over this new information, Stan browsed the library, looking for something to entertain himself while he waited. Unsurprisingly, there weren’t a whole lot of English books in this Norwegian library. Luckily, it wasn’t long before he stumbled upon an extensive comics section. Even though he still couldn’t read most of them, the pictures were at least enough that he got the gist of what was going on.

 European comics were very different from American comics. They featured a lot less costumed superheroes punching bad guys and a lot more weird, quirky characters setting out on adventures and exploring the world. They also seemed to lean more heavily on comedy rather than drama. Stan decided he liked them.

He’d been looking at a story about some rich duck when he noticed he felt odd. He didn’t know how else to explain it other than to say that his brain felt itchy. The more he concentrated on it, the more it faded away, but when he went back to looking at the comic and got absorbed back into the story, it came back.

After almost an hour of the feeling coming and going, Stan decided he was not imagining the sensation. He stuffed a tissue into the comic as a bookmark and got up to see what Ford would have to say about it. Almost as soon as he laid eyes on his brother, a wave of anger washed over him. Just like the itchy brain feeling, it went away almost as soon as he stopped and thought about it, but it had been so strong, that he couldn’t deny it had happened.

“Hey.” Stan tapped his brother on the shoulder as the old researcher skimmed an article about why the Aztecs associated lightning with twins.

“Hmm?” Ford acknowledged him without looking away from the screen.

“Am I forgettin’ to be mad at you about somethin’?”

That got Ford to turn and look at him. “Are you having a memory lapse!?”

“I don’t think so, but just a second ago I looked over at you and I felt really mad all of a sudden. Can’t really think of a reason why, though. I’m just wondering if maybe the other day, when I had the big blank-out, maybe we missed somethin’?”

The old researcher’s face contorted with guilt. “You have ample reason to be mad at me. I didn’t stand up for you when dad kicked you out. I never reached out to you for over ten years. I expected you to drop everything and help me with my problems without any explanation. I refused to thank you for saving my life--”

“Yeah, no, none of that stuff.” Stan shook his head. “I remember all that stuff, and I’ve already forgiven you and junk. Mmmm… did you try to enchant the mop again and not let me remember it?” But even as he joked that the underlying reason must be the latest chapter in a minor argument, he knew that couldn’t be right. The sudden bloom of anger had been much more deep-seated and horrible than that. It had felt like… it had felt like Ford had ruined everything. 

To be fair, there had been a long period of Stan’s life when he had felt like Ford had ruined everything. But Stan was over that now, and this brief brush with anger had felt even more heated than that.

Ford gave him an appraising look. “Were there any other memories or emotions associated with this feeling?”

“Oh yeah, my brain was feelin’ itchy right before that.”

“Have… you been using shampoo?” Ford asked, unsure of what to do with this information.

“Not my scalp, genius, like the actual thinking part of my brain!”

“... I can’t even begin to guess what that means.”

“Ugh, I don’t know how else to describe it, ok? It’s like somethin’ was squirmin’ around in my mind!”

The brothers wore twin expressions of realization as the words left Stan’s mouth. 

“We need to get back to the boat.” Ford stood from the computer desk abruptly.

“Yep.” Stan set the comic he’d been reading down on the desk, not even bothering to remove his improvised bookmark. 

* * *

Bill throws his hands up and roars in frustration. He can’t seem to take control, even when the moron’s mind is zoning out, losing himself in some stupid comic book. He’s already in the mind! He’s been here for months! He knows his way around here. So why isn’t it working? Is it because he never made a deal with this guy? That shouldn’t matter! The last thing they did before the whole memory gun thing was shake hands! 

There's no time to waste complaining, though. Sixer will be poking around here any minute. Bill needs a plan. Before, he'd spent millions of years in the Nightmare Realm planning. Now he's making everything up as he goes.

It's clear that Bill can't just take control of Stan like he'd been counting on. But do the other two know that? He might still be able to use that to his advantage.

If Bill is going to trick these losers and get out of here, he needs to play his opponents right. Luckily, he's got years of experience fighting against Sixer. It's the Big Mackerel that he worries about. 

Before, Bill hadn't paid much attention to Stan. He thought he understood what made the simple con man tick. But then, in the end, he found he didn't understand at all. Even after months of being trapped in his mindscape, Stan is very much still a mystery to Bill.

But there is one thing about Stan that Bill does understand.

He’s willing to sacrifice himself for his family.

* * *

Once they were back aboard the Stan’O’War II, Stan allowed himself to relax, just a little. At least here his surroundings were familiar, and the only person he had to worry about was his own brother.

Under normal circumstances, “the only person he had to worry about” meant he didn’t have to look over his shoulder for law enforcement or old criminals who might recognize Stan from his drifter days. 

Today “the only person he had to worry about” meant the only person he could possibly endanger if Bill was able to take control of him. Ford was the last person Stan wanted to put in danger, but he also had to admit, his brother knew more about the demon than any other living being on the planet. 

Stan may have been able to relax a tiny fraction once they were back aboard their boat, but not Ford. Ford was in full-blown panic mode.

He frantically searched around the storage room for something, anything, that could help protect his brother from Bill. Unfortunately, they hadn’t thought to bring unicorn hair or moonstones on their voyage. He did have titanium, but he wasn’t confident enough in his emergency medical knowledge to perform cranial surgery on his own, and he doubted they’d be able to find a doctor crooked enough to do it for them. Currently, his best idea was to build an updated version of Project Mentem, but that would take time. Time he wasn’t sure Stan had.

“I can re-enter your mindscape and shatter him again.” Ford decided, pulling out the candles again. “That should at least buy you a few days.”

“Ok.” Stan nodded. He’d definitely prefer to know Bill was shattered again, and not moving around in his brain. “But it’s not like he’s doing anything right now.”

“He’s probably trying to get us to lower our guard.” Ford assumed. “I’ll need to tie you up. He usually makes his move while his victim is asleep.”

“If I need to fall asleep for your spell while tied up, we’re gonna be waitin’ a long time.” Stan warned. “I dunno if I could even fall asleep right now if I had the world’s most comfortable bed.”

“Fair point.” Ford nodded. “I may have to drug you.”

“You gotta be kidding me!” It was abundantly clear that Ford was not kidding in the slightest.

“Would you rather be used as his puppet!?” The old researcher shouted. The outburst rang in the air for a few seconds while Ford tried to steady his breathing. “Stan I… I’m sorry, I just--”

“It’s ok.” Stan pulled him into a hug and tried his best to calm his brother down. “I know you’re just scared.”

“I’m not scared for myself.” Ford explained in a small voice. “I’m scared for you. Waking up to find that you’ve hurt someone, it’s-- I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all you--”

“Stanford, look at me. We’re not gonna let that happen. What if we do it while I’m awake, like we did with the memory before?”

Ford nodded meekly. “That… that could work.”

“You can still tie me up if that makes you feel better.”

The old researcher bit his lip. “...It shouldn't be necessary...”

“Ford.”

“...But it probably would ease some of my fears, yes.” he admitted.

“That’s what I thought. I’ll go get the rope.”

Still unwilling to let his brother out of his sight, Ford followed Stan up to the deck while he retrieved said rope. Once they were back below deck, he wrapped Stan tightly in a large blanket before sitting him down on a chair and tying him up, to ensure he was as comfortable as possible while still restricting his movement.

“How do you feel?” Ford asked as he lit the candles.

“Like I’m about to be shipped back to Oregon in the mail.”

“And Bill…?”

“I haven’t felt anything else from him since we left the library.”

The lack of activity should have reassured Ford, but instead it just added to his general unease. At least he was able to compose himself enough to perform the incantation.

Just as last time, after a flash of light, he found himself on the deck of Stan’s mindscape, with Stan himself standing beside him. This time, though, Bill was floating there, waiting for them.

“I KNEW YOU’D BE BACK HERE AFTER I GOT YOUR ATTENTION IN THE LIBRARY!” The demon taunted. “OH, AND LOOK. STANO HERE EVEN MADE A MENTAL CONSTRUCT OF HIMSELF WITHIN HIS OWN MIND JUST SO YOU WOULDN’T HAVE TO FACE ME ALONE! HOW CUTE!” He prodded Stan in the stomach like he was the Pillsbury Doughboy.

“Back off, bucko!” Stan threatened. “We’re here to break your whole face!”

“WHAT, YOU COULDN’T WAIT UNTIL TONIGHT TO DO IT IN YOUR DREAMS LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO?” Bill asked, voice dripping with false innocence. 

“We’re not able to risk the chance of you parading about in Stanley’s body.” Ford growled.

“HA! YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER THAN ANYONE, FORDSY, I ONLY DO THAT TO STUBBORN KNOW-IT-ALLS WHO WON’T WORK WITH ME WILLINGLY.”

“If you think I’m gonna work with you willingly, then you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.” Stan grunted.

“HEAR ME OUT, MAC! WE BOTH WANT THE SAME THING HERE! ME, OUT OF YOUR SAD PATHETIC MIND!”

“You can’t leave!?” Ford asked in surprise.

“WHAT, YOU THINK I ENJOY SPENDING TIME IN THIS BOZO’S MIND? YOU THINK I WAS PLOTTING MY REVENGE?”

“Honestly, yes.”

Bill gave a long, mocking laugh. “AHAHAHAHAHA! YOU REALLY THINK I CARE ABOUT A COUPLE OF INSIGNIFICANT FLESH SACKS LIKE YOU?”

“We’re the insignificant flesh sacks who killed you!” Stan reminded him.

“WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT THEY SAY. THE BEST REVENGE IS LIVING WELL.”

The brothers exchanged a suspicious glance. They highly doubted Bill actually believed that adage.

“BUT I CAN’T EXACTLY LIVE WELL TRAPPED IN YOUR MINDSCAPE. I MIGHT GET BORED AND DECIDE THE BEST REVENGE IS KILLING YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY WITH YOUR OWN HANDS.”

Ah yes, that was more along the lines of what they expected from Bill.

“So you’re saying you’ll just let bygones be bygones if I cooperate with you?” Stan asked skeptically. 

“WE’LL GO OUR SEPARATE WAYS, NEVER TO MEET AGAIN!”

“And what are you planning on doing once you’re free?” Ford asked coldly.

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, SIXER.” The demon waved him off. “NOW ARE YOU GONNA HELP ME OUT OF HERE OR NOT? THE SOONER THE BETTER. YOU TWO AREN’T GETTING ANY FURTHER AWAY FROM THE AVERAGE LIFE EXPECTANCY OF A HUMAN MALE, AND FISH FACE HERE DOESN'T EXACTLY TAKE GOOD CARE OF HIS BODY.”

“Hey!” Stan shouted indignantly.

“Why should Stan’s life expectancy factor into this?” Ford asked.

“HMMM? OH, NO REASON.” Bill said evasively. “I’M JUST, Y’KNOW, IN A HURRY.”

“You’re an immortal, extradimensional being. You’ve been trying to find a way out of the nightmare realm since before multicellular life developed on this planet. If you’re so sure we’re close to the end of our lives, why not wait until we’re out of the way? You must realize we’ll try and stop you from starting Weirdmaggedon again!” Ford reasoned.

“WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT STARTING WEIRDMAGGEDON AGAIN?” Bill denied. “AND MAYBE AFTER A BILLION YEARS, I’M TIRED OF WAITING!”

“Unless you aren’t immortal any more.” the old researcher concluded.

“YOU’VE SEEN FOR YOURSELF, FORDSY, EVERY TIME YOU OR YOUR IDIOT BROTHER SHATTER ME, I PULL MYSELF BACK TOGETHER.”

“Immortal in the mind, perhaps. But what happens when the mind you’re occupying finally dies?”

“ALRIGHT, YOU FIGURED IT OUT!” Bill sneered. “I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN A GENIUS LIKE YOU WOULD. YEAH, MY LIFE’S TIED TO THE BIG MACKEREL’S NOW. SO WHAT? YOU GONNA KILL YOUR BROTHER JUST TO GET RID OF ME?”

“Of course not!” Ford barked.

“Hey, I’d be more than happy to take you down with me if it meant making sure you never hurt anyone else ever again!” Stan challenged the demon.

Ford stared at his brother with wide eyes. “Stanley, no!”

“Hey, relax, I’m not talkin’ suicide or anything.” Stan assured him. “But he’s right about one thing. I’m not gonna live forever.”

I’ll only do it if I have to. A stray thought cawed overhead.

Stan cussed under his breath as Ford gaped at him with a mix of alarm and pity.

“I’m not gonna take it back.” Stan insisted after a moment. “If that’s what it comes down to, to keep him from hurtin’ you or the kids, then I’m taking him down with me.”

Ford placed his hands firmly on Stan’s shoulders and looked him straight in the eye with all the intensity he could muster. “We won’t let that happen!” 

Bill laughed at them cruelly. “RIGHT, CUZ YOU’VE HAD SO MUCH SUCCESS STOPPING ME IN THE PAST.”

“I’ll find some other way!” Ford insisted.

“I’M SURE YOU COULD, WITH TIME.” Bill agreed. “BUT I’M GONNA STRANGLE YOU IN YOUR SLEEP BEFORE THEN!”

Not if I strangle myself first! Another one of Stan’s stray thoughts called.

Ford gave his brother a frustrated shake. “No! Stanley, I swear to you, that won’t be necessary!”

“Alright, that’s it. We’re not havin’ this conversation in my brain, where you can hear all my unprocessed thoughts.” Stan decided.

Suddenly, Ford’s form and everything around them flickered and began to fade to white. Stan and Bill were the only ones who remained solid and whole. Stan was waking up? But he’d never been asleep before the spell in the first place!

“Don’t you try any funny business!” Stan pointed an accusing finger at Bill. “I’m coming back to shatter you into a million smaller pieces as soon as I fall asleep tonight!”

[bnha-mha-imagines]

Okay, get this: a new lov member who’s really awkward and shy. Everyone thinks she’s just a normal gal but it turns out she’s absolutely out of her mind? /sigh/ I don’t even know anymore 😔 rip. I’m so bad at requesting it should be my new party trick. Anyways, I hope you have a good day and I love your writing!!

Ahh thank you! :) I’m not sure if you wanted this to be cute or disturbing so I went with the latter because nothing I’ve posted so far is dark themed (all my stuff is like, fluff haha)! :0 Let’s get some well rounded writing up in here! 

New LOV member who’s secretly insane

Warnings: DARK THEMES that include but are not limited to: Blood, dead animals, disturbing images, cannibalism, death, hearing voices, sadism/masochism, violence, mentions of self-harm etc. etc. You get the picture. 

^^^Don’t read if you’re sensitive to similar topics. I went ham on this, yall. 

Disclaimer: The reader depicted in this is chronically insane and is an extreme case. This is in no way a depiction of a person with a mental disorder. I don’t want to spread any misinformation, most people with mental disorders are lovely people and are not crazy/dangerous in anyway

Under the cut vvv

Tomura Shigaraki:

Look, he wasn’t a fan of the whole awkward-shy act, but hey, you were pretty hot and you had a quirk that the League definitely needed

So he let you in, figuring he’d just need to have that timid attitude of yours whipped out of you

But OH. It didn’t take long for him to realize you were completely bonkers. 

Dabi was giving you shit like he did everyone, and all it took was a poor comment on his part for your usually pleasant expression to contort into one of malice and...joy? The way your face darkened and your eyes swirled with an unhinged gleam… 

Maybe you’d be more interesting than he initially thought~ plus, seeing you threaten Dabi was definitely some brownie points in Tomura’s book

At times it gets frustrating because you can get out of hand, and he honestly couldn’t even handle the League WITHOUT another crazy added in the mix

But you were powerful and an important addition to the team, so you were stuck with this sorry lot whether you liked it or not

Kurogiri:

He was a little surprised, but pleasantly so, when Tomura recruited you for the League. You were actually...rather normal compared to the rest of the bunch, but he was far from complaining!

You were also modest and well-mannered, and Kurogiri especially admired that. The rest of the League was full of squabbling hotheads, so you were a breath of fresh air!

At the bar, he’d talk a lot with you seeing as you were one of the calmer villains, but overtime he noticed that certain comments would raise a few red flags. 

One day you bring in the mangled body of a cat and...oh. 

The way you casually set it on the bar counter and grin at Kurogiri happily while you ask for a kiddy cocktail… all the while your hands were still soaked in its blood.

Tomura’s decision made a bit more sense now. You were completely off your rocker! He treats you pretty much the same as before, but is usually the one who has to reel you in when you start to show your crazy too much. 

Dabi:

When you first joined the League, he couldn’t believe it. Was Tomura fucking stupid? How could a shy, pretty thing like you possibly fit in with the baddest villain organization?

Needless to say, he was kind of an asshole to you. He’d make rude comments, blatantly say you didn’t belong here, condescendingly give you names like “princess” 

For the most part you would bear it all with a grin, and though he didn’t exactly understand you reaction, he would scoff and roll his eyes. “Weirdo”

One day he happens to strike a particularly strong chord with you, and suddenly you’ve shoved him against a wall, hands wrapped around his throat

You choking him wasn’t what off put him. It was the demented look in your eyes and the lopsided grin overwhelming your face. You were practically begging him to insult you again.

“It feels soooo good when you call me names!” you giggle, fingers squeezing into his neck. “Maybe you can choke me next?!” Your eyes were excited at the sadistic thought. 

He shoves you off rather easily after he gets over his initial surprise, rubbing his neck. “Crazy bitch…”

The fact that he didn’t ignite your crazy ass on the spot means you’d gained his respect, if in the slightest. Clearly you’re a better fit to be a villain than he thought. He still picks on you, but significantly less.

Himiko Toga:

She was excited to have another girl! She flocked straight to you and grabbed your sleeve right away!

“Aiiya! You’re so cute, look at you!” She poked your cheeks and you got a little flustered under the attention. She thinks you’re so shy and adorable!!!!

She makes it her mission to become your bestest best friend! But she can’t help but get a little excited from time to time.

“(Y/n), you’re too cute! Please, can I cut you up!? Just a few slices here and there! You’d look ten times cuter if I do!” And she’s grinning.

Her grin completely falters, however, when you agree. “W-What?” she didn’t expect it at all! She was used to getting brushed off.

But no...the crazed look in your eye at the mention of spilled blood… you were practically dripping with insanity. 

Kurogiri stopped the both of you before you both had the chance to completely slice each other up, but from that moment on your were pretty much conjoined at the hip.

Crazy cuties flock together

Spinner:

When a cute, shy thing like yourself joined the League, he was a total flustered mess! You were absolutely adorable!

Like Kurogiri, you were a breath of fresh air, a nice change of pace to the usually colorful bunch that he got to hang around with.

You were nice to him, and he always gets embarrassed when you compliment him! So naturally he assumes that you’re the sweetheart of the bunch! 

You’re talking, and finally Spinner outright asks you, “How’d you even get roped into villainy?” because it blows his mind such a normie like you are in the League

And, very casually and chipper, you describe how you murdered your family in cold blood. They hadn’t even done anything to upset you. You just wanted to. 

“O-Oh.” He honestly didn’t know what to say...but he didn’t really get a chance to speak as you suddenly pull a necklace out from under your shirt. It was a strange looking thing, a shriveled black lump on a string. 

“Look! I even carry a piece of them around with me!” His eyes widen, and you just giggle and tuck the petrified piece of corpse jewelry back into your shirt. 

Twice:

Needless to say, Twice had some mixed feelings about you when you first joined the League.

“What the hell is such a prude bitch doing in the League?” “Aww how cute! Finally a fresh face! Happy to meet you!” 

He’s honestly probably the first to realize you’re absolutely batshit because he’s always half doubting your sincerity

Let’s just say he isn’t surprised when you’re on a mission and you start gnawing and eating at a fresh corpse on the ground

“Wow, that’s fucking bad ass” “Ew!!! That’s disgusting, what the fuck!” 

And hearing his voices go back and forth, you just look up, blood smeared across your face, a strange gleam in your eye and you grin!

“Hahaha! Twice, you always say the funniest things!!!”

After the mission he tries to avoid you as much as he can. Though your quirk and tenacity was something the League definitely benefited from, that didn’t mean he wanted to be anywhere near you after the shit he saw that night

You were fucking wild

Mr. Compress

After Shigaraki let you into the League, he was pretty interested in you. You seemed pretty average and you acted like a timid civilian, so what kind of quirk did you have? Surely something must have caught Tomura’s eye that he wasn’t seeing.

So he, being the man of charisma and mystery that he was, made it his secret motive to find out what you were hiding. 

He took it upon himself to show you around the hideout as your own personal guide. Not that you were complaining! Compress is so flashy and entertaining that you were actually enjoying your time with him.

Not gonna lie, he was acting a little too charming and over-confident with you, trying to get you to slip up and spill a secret

And spill you did! Though not intentionally. It sort of all happened at once. Compress was moving ahead of you and all of a sudden he was thrown back against the wall.

He hits it with a grunt and slides down to the floor, looking up at you with a stunned expression. What the fuck did he do to merit that?!

But you weren’t even looking at him. No, you were whispering under your breath, staring at the ceiling and grinning like a madman. 

“You’re right! That was fun!” you spoke to the empty room, pausing a moment before letting out a loud, crazy laugh. “You always were good at jokes!” 

Slowly he rose and moved away from the room where you stood conversing with your imaginary voices. 

Telekinesis was a pretty powerful quirk! Though it seemed your perks also came with some hefty flaws… very interesting!

Magne: 

Magne was so excited to have another girl in the League! She loved Toga, of course, but at times Magne found her to be a bit...much 

So when you first arrived, seemingly normal, she was so ecstatic! She wanted to do all sorts of girl things with you that she couldn’t really do often in the boy-dominated League

You were so cute and timid, she couldn’t help but want to have a girl’s sleepover with you and Toga!

Your true colors started to show, however, during the middle of a truth or dare game. Magne had asked you what your favorite crime to commit was, expecting something calmer like robbery or identity theft 

Color her surprised when your face contorts into the craziest, most terrifying look as you narrate a violent murder and proceed to grab a pillow and rip it to shreds with your hands as a ‘demonstration’. 

Cute AND violently psycho. She can roll with that.

[ironmandeficiency]

13 x 7 = 28

pairing: no pairing (no reader mentioned)

word count: 1907

summary: naturally is in deep shit. he got in over his head during sabaac with a member of the five-oh-first and now owes the man in blue more credits than he’s ever had at once. luckily, his ori’vod have his back.

a/n: apparently a sequel to “who’s my commander” was something ppl wanted, and i was all too eager to write something with my darling twenty-fifth boys. heads up, this is a dialogue-heavy piece. tagging @boba-thot​, & @morganas-pendragons​ . please ask me abt my oc boys!! i have so many of them, i would love to share them with y’all!!!

“jort! ba! wait up!” the men in question slow down upon hearing their names being frantically shouted. if there was something bad happening that pertained to combat or one of the carnivorous felucian plants, they wouldn’t be the ones sought out. so they realized that it must be something of a personal nature and that allowed their heart rates to slow back down as they turned to identify the vod calling for them.

naturally was in deep shit. he had made the poor decision to join a few members of the five-oh-first in a game of sabaac and now owed them ninety-one credits, which was more than he’s ever had at once. the credits he had now only added up to half of that and knew that if he didn’t think of something, he’d be stuck on sanitation to pay off his debt to the cog-headed man.

jort would not admit that his mood softened a little upon identifying the distressed man as naturally. ba, however, knew that the man beside him was indeed sympathetic (sometimes too much for his own good) and that jort was now planning his evening around the needs of the frantic kih’vod in front of them.

“naturally, what’s wrong?”

“i was playing sabaac with the five-oh-first and got in over my head! i owe jesse more credits than i’ve had since i left kamino and i-“

the rookie was almost trembling and that was it, the older troopers were done for. naturally was now officially under the protection of him and jort, jesse be damned.

a metaphorical lightbulb lit up over jort’s head. ba could see said lightbulb the way he always does when his batchmate has an idea. the lightbulb hasn’t been able to distinguish good ideas from bad ones yet, but there was hope for jort yet.

“ninety-one, you say?”

“yeah, ninety-one credits.”

“well nat’ika, i’ve got just the trick to help you out.”

the youngest was almost too busy preening at the term of endearment to realize that his ori’vod was indeed going to help him. ba helped snap him back to reality as jort found a stick, beginning his lesson in the felucian mud.

ba had to admit that this plan was not only kriffing insane, but extremely world-tilting if executed right. it was jedi-level insanity and he didn’t doubt for a second that his batchmate learned the trick from the general.

after running naturally through the trick two more times, he felt that his training was paying off. ba had made the point of jesse knowing if naturally was lying about the credits he had on him and they both nodded their agreement. the youngest pulled his credits from his pouch and counted out twenty-eight, dropping the rest of them into ba’s hand.

jort takes this as a cue to continue. “now remember, you have to let him work some of it out himself towards the end. if you did it right from the start, he’ll be thinkin’ like you the longer it goes on and he’ll fall right into your trap.” naturally is soaking in the information like a sanitation duty sponge, part of him still reeling from the fact he’s being given such attention by a superior.

“does this trick help you a lot?”

jort smiles at the question. “only when the total i’m weaseling out of is ninety-one.”

ba rolls his eyes and butts in, “you say that as if you don’t try your damndest to make the total ninety-one as much as possible.” jort playfully scoffs at the insinuation as ba turns to naturally and grins like a loth-cat, enjoying the laugh he earns almost a tad too much.

this kid was making him soft.

to be truthful, ba would have taken the rookie under his wing the same as jort was currently doing if given the chance to do so in his own time. they’ve discussed as much with fortune, who led oracle company, about snagging a company transfer for the bright-eyed brother. fortune was on board with the idea because he saw how the newer medic worked, the way vode lost the panic in their eyes while being treated by him. it was a valuable trait to have as a medic and even more valuable to the men who fell under his care.

footsteps were heard around them and jort quickly went to mess up the numbers written in the mud. he didn’t want his information being spread where he didn’t want it, and judging by the look on his vod’ika’s face, the man approaching was indeed jesse.

“you think you can do it?”

“i know i can.”

“good man! find me when you’re done!”

ba and jort departed as jesse neared, and naturally was on his own.

“hey, naturally! you owe me for that game!”

naturally moved a hand to his pouch and made a show of getting every credit out. he let them clink together in the outstretched palm of the man in blue. “here’s twenty-eight credits, i’ll see you later-“

“alright, i- wait just a minute! there were seven rounds, and you bet thirteen each time. that’s way more than a measly twenty-eight!”

“that comes out to twenty-eight, vod.”

jesse’s wondering whether this guy’s tube was cracked. this rookie medic owes him ninety-one credits! on what planet does thirteen times seven equal twenty-eight? “did you get dropped on your head as a cadet?”

naturally suppressed a grin. “not that i can recall.”

“do you mean to tell me that you can prove that thirteen times seven is twenty-eight?”

“it’s gotta be, i owe you twenty-right credits.”

“tell you what: if you can prove it, you can keep the credits. if you can’t, you’ll owe me double.”

naturally stiffens a little at the prospect of having to owe one hundred and eighty-two credits to the cogged man who doesn’t seem to be the type to forget things like this. but he has faith in himself and the trick jort taught him, so he agrees to the deal and grabs the stick from earlier and begins the trick.

“seven into twenty-eight’s gonna come out to thirteen, watch.”

naturally draws a large seven in the dirt, followed by a significantly smaller twenty-eight separated by a slash, then another slash on the other side of the twenty-eight.

“can seven go into two?”

“no it will not.”

“that’s a giant seven to fit into that little bitty two.”

“... yes it is.”

“but we’re not gonna hurt the little two, so i want you to hold onto it for me.”

naturally “grabbed” the two from where he drew it in the dirt and “placed” it into jesse’s outstretched palm. that was simple enough so far, but there was still so much farther he had to go before getting out of this mess.

jesse was going with it only because he wanted his credits. that’s the only reason he was entertaining the bullshit of this rookie medic.

“can seven go into eight?”

“once.”

“right, so i’m gonna put the one over here,” naturally drew a one next to the second slash. 

“now we’re gonna carry the seven, because it’s a big seven and it’s getting kinda heavy, and we’re gonna drop it down here below the eight.” as naturally speaks, jesse nods and follows along intently. “and seven from eight is?”

“one.” come on, jesse thought, i’m not that kriffin’ stupid.

“alright, now you’ve had that two long enough, give it here.” naturally holds his hand out for jesse to give him the two, and the older trooper isn’t sure as to why he’s playing into the little game this rookie’s got going but he “drops” the two into his palm nonetheless.

“you see that twenty-one? how many times can seven go into it?”

“three times.”

“so the three goes over here,” naturally continues as he draws a three into the dirt next to the one, “and look at that, thirteen.”

sure enough, there was now a thirteen drawn into the dirt next to the twenty-eight. jesse didn’t completely believe what he was looking at, much less the fact it made sense! he had to get more evidence, surely this wasn’t right.

“nah man, you’ve gotta prove it better than that if you expect me to believe that your math checks out.”

“alright, certainly.”

“you gotta multiply it.”

apparently there was still more to say and write if he wanted to save his head from being mounted on a five-oh-first bunk. thank the maker for jort’s extensive explanation or else naturally would have been screwed.

so he smeared away the numbers with a gloved hand, not bothering to care as to how it dirtied the leather, and continued on.

“let’s see here,” naturally mumbles to himself as he begins to draw in the dirt once again, tongue poking out between his teeth. a thirteen is now in the dirt with a seven below it, with a line under the seven. “okay. so we’ve got thirteen times seven. three times seven is?”

“twenty-one.”

“exactly, so we bring a twenty-one down. now one times seven is…”

“seven.”

naturally hums in agreement as he draws a seven below the one in twenty-one. “now twenty-one plus seven is-“

“twenty-eight.” jesse seems to be contemplating the lesson very hard, putting it side by side with everything he had been taught prior to then. it looked like it made sense, and his brain said it made sense, but to make him feel better he had to check it one more time.

“but now we gotta add it, just to be sure.”

“of course.”

this is where naturally sees if his hard work paid off, if jort’s lessons paid off. if he did his part good enough, then jesse would follow along and this would be easy peasy. most importantly though, he wouldn’t be bucket deep in debt to the trooper next to him.

smearing the mud one last time, he began to give jesse the final piece of the puzzle. “i’m gonna our down seven thirteens and add ‘em from there, alright?”

“alright.”

he puts the numbers down, one above another, and draws a line below the last. taking his stick, he begins to count by threes when the other man cuts him off halfway through. “no no no, let me do it this time!”

jesse starts to count by threes and ends on twenty-one, like he should, but also jort was sure to tell him that if he didn’t take over now that the plan was doomed to fail.

so in an effort to save his plan, naturally began pointing to the ones with his stick as he counted, “twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight!”

he spoke the numbers with confidence as he wrote the twenty-eight into the dirt, turning to give a dignified smirk to the cornflower painted trooper next to him.

jesse looked so lost and had no idea as to why this made a lick of sense, but had to concede that the young medic was right. to answer his earlier question, felucia is a planet where thirteen times seven is twenty-eight.

with a grin naturally collected the credits that had still been clutched in the other’s hand, stepping on the numbers casually enough to not raise suspicion as to why he was stepping on them. he was saved from a terrible fate and got to keep his money; it was a good night for naturally.

[green-eyed-whumpster]

My OC Universe: Rowan 49

Chapter 49 Summary: The wedding night. (This chapter is trash I’m so sorry I’m just gonna defenestrate pacing in favour of hopefully better writing...hehe...)(Tags: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long and @sky-or-something-idfk)

Trigger Warnings: Reference to trauma, conditioning, dehumanisation, bad writing

It was mid-afternoon when Rowan awoke again. Jonathan and Oliver had finished talking, Oliver was settling on a chair, watching the clock patiently, Jonathan flicking through a book from one of the shelves in the corner. “He has some good ones here,” He commented, placing it back in its place. “I doubt he’s read it, however.” He turned a grin to Rowan, who looked back blankly. “Not one for conversation, huh?” He asked, and Rowan flushed.

“Oh, I-uh-I’m sorry,” He mumbled, and Jonathan shook his head. “It’s fine,” He said, turning back to the shelves. “I can entertain myself.” Rowan fell uncomfortably silent, shame clawing at his chest at the idea that he’s already offended the new consort. “What’s the plan for this evening?” Jonathan asks, and Rowan looks up to find him speaking to Oliver, who shrugs. “You’ll be brought dinner, after the ceremonies are over they’ll come up here, and consummate the marriage, and then tomorrow everything goes back to normal.” Rowan cringed slightly at the idea of being in the room while William was with Marie, but it wasn’t like there was another option. “Euch. I don’t want to be there when he fucks Marie.” Jonathan scoffed and Rowan flushed nervously. “Knowing him it won’t be long.” Jonathan began laughing and Rowan looked over to see Oliver’s lips tilted up slightly. “I don’t know if I like sleeping in the same room. Can I really not be trusted with a bedroom?” Jonathan asked, flicking open another book. “I mean a bed in the corner is a bit dehumanising, isn’t it?” His eyes caught Rowan’s ginger curls and paused, remembering that the boy didn’t even get a bed. A knock on the door saved Jonathan and Rowan from their embarrassment and Oliver opened it. A servant stood before him holding a tray, two plates sat on it, one looked as though it was taken from the wedding, laden with beautiful food and steaming. The other had the end of a loaf of bread, a lump of cheese and half a tomato. It wasn’t hard to determine whose was whose. “Dinner’s here.” He said simply, stepping aside to let the servant in, Jonathan moved eagerly towards the table, frowning when he saw the plate that was given to Rowan compared to his. “Thank you.” Rowan whispered as his hands reached for it and Jonathan decided to remain silent. If the boy was satisfied with it then why should he make a fuss? “Thanks,” He said softly, sitting in the armchair again as he reached for the cutlery. He kept glancing at Rowan as he ate, watching how he eagerly chewed on the meagre serving, seemingly content. As soon as he finished Oliver reached for his plate and set it on the mantle, straightening the cutlery before turning with his back to it. “Um, all right,” Jonathan muttered, and he glanced at him, as if realising what he had done. “Because of the knife and fork.” He said softly, barely above a whisper, his eyes flicking to Rowan in explanation and Jonathan screws up his face as he realises. “Are you serious?” Oliver nodded solemnly, and Jonathan scoffed. “That’s ridiculous! The Prince doesn’t trust his consort with a knife and fork?” Oliver bit his lip gently and glanced at Rowan, who remained thoroughly avoidant of any attempt at interaction. It wasn’t so much the Prince who didn’t trust Rowan, it was Oliver.

It was soon after midnight when a servant arrived and told Oliver that he could leave. Rowan’s chest clenched at the idea of being left alone with the Prince and his wife. No, he’s the King now. That will only make him more insufferable. You need to stop thinking that way. How many times have you said that giving in will be easier? And why haven’t you done it yet? Rowan flushed slightly at his thoughts and curled into the arm of the couch. “I’ll return tomorrow, consort.” Oliver said as he moved towards the door and Rowan nodded softly. “All right, goodnight.” He mumbled and noticed as Oliver and Jonathan waved to each other as his bodyguard left. “Well, I suppose that means his newly crowned majesty is on his way.” Jonathan sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You aren’t too thrilled at seeing him with Marie, are you?” He misidentified Rowan’s discomfort as attachment to William and the boy barely contained his snort. “I feel somewhat uncomfortable being in the room while they are together.” He mutters, looking intently at his fingers. “I don’t know if that’s really an incredible idea.” Jonathan was startled to hear the boy’s tone drop so harshly and shrugged. “Of course not. I was just trying to make conversation.” By now he had attempted to talk to Rowan plenty of times, but he never seemed that interested in speaking to Jonathan. 

Maybe he didn’t like being with a consort who chose that life. Maybe he just didn’t like the potential competition. Maybe he was just not interested in being friends with Jonathan.

The doors were thrown open and William walked in, face stretched into a wide grin, dressed in silk and velvet, his gait had that uncertain stumble that Rowan recognised as his way of walking when drunk. “My pet!” He exclaimed, lurching over to where Rowan was sitting. “Bow before your new King!” He smirked as he gripped Rowan’s chin and pulled him up roughly for a kiss. “Let’s just hurry up and get this over with.” Rowan heard Marie’s voice, significantly more in control and far less entertained. “Oh, hello, my love,” Rowan was released in time to see her wave to Jonathan, who returned it uncomfortably. Rowan could taste the alcohol on William’s lips. It was stomach-churning. “You speak as if it would be a chore.” William groaned, moving towards the bed and throwing off his decorative cloak. “I don’t think you understand what this relationship is.” She retorted, reaching to unclasp the necklace heavily laden with jewels from her neck. “Let me help you, my Lady,” Jonathan said, pulling himself to his feet. “Your Queen, now, my love.” She grinned, the closest to happy Rowan had ever heard her. “You too, pet,” William said, jealous that his consort hadn’t leapt to his feet first. “Come help me,” Rowan stood silently and moved over to the new King, falling to his knees in order to unbuckle William’s boots. 

It was a more arduous task than normal, with William’s drunken restlessness, taking Rowan’s head and pushing it playfully towards his groin, pulling him away from his current task in order to kiss him, by the time he was finally undressed Rowan was thoroughly exhausted and ready to leave him be. “All right, Marie. Let’s do this before I fall asleep.” William sighed, flopping on the bed. Rowan could feel the scowls shared by Jonathan and Marie as they finished undressing her. “Oh, my Prince Charming.” She replied blankly, Rowan heard her getting on the bed as he returned to the couch and bit his lip uncomfortably. I should be here. I don’t want to listen to this. He noticed the same discomfort on Jonathan’s face and winced as he heard the sound of skin-on-skin as William began.

[songsformonkeys]

Digging Up Bones (whiskey x reader) - chapter 5

[Banner by the lovely @yespolkadotkitty​ ]

pairing: whiskey x reader

warnings: none 

notes: Special thanks to @yespolkadotkitty​ for being the best cheerleader and for helping me find the Whiskey voice when Ezra was a little too keen on coming out to play <3

masterlist

Chapter 5 - AO3

Over the next few weeks, the staff of the medical department slowly but surely began coming back to the HQ as more and more civilians recovered from the injuries they had sustained during what Whiskey had begun referring to as the Worldwide Freak Out. That meant things were picking up speed in the department and there was more and more admin work for you to do. You didn't really mind. It was nice to have more stuff to do again. But there was a small part of you that was a bit disappointed by the fact that more work meant less time spent with Whiskey.

The agent in question had, as soon as the cast on his leg had come off, been given a rigorously crafted schedule for physical exercise to get him back on track and back to working again as soon as possible. He took his training sessions very seriously and you suspected it was mostly in a desperate attempt to stay one step ahead of the boredom. There was an old (and faulty myth) that all sharks had to keep swimming or else they would die. If that statement had been true, Whiskey would have been one of those sharks. He didn't do stationary life very well.

After a while, you had started to keep him company on his training sessions, bringing a book to read while he excercised. He never asked you to work out with him, seemed perfectly content with just having you sit crosslegged in your scrubs on the mat closeby and read. However, most days, you didn't get as much reading done as you would have liked. There was something too fascinating about the cowboy agent stretching his body into various yoga poses while still wearing his Stetson. At least he was wearing actual workout pants and not his usual blue jeans, you had thought to yourself more than once.

Even though Whiskey was recovering remarkably well, the workouts took their toll on him and by the time the 20 minute mark rolled around, he was always a little paler than when he'd started and his hands trembled slightly as he accepted the water bottle that he always kept next to you.

The first time you'd told him that you wouldn't be able to keep him company for that day's training session because of other work, he'd looked so disappointed that you had immediately changed your mind, figuring that tomorrow was just as good for writing, if not better even. It took three more tries before you could actually hold your ground against his pleading eyes, though you suspected that a visit from Vermouth might also have made Whiskey dial down the wounded puppy look a bit. After that, you only joined him on Tuesdays and Fridays.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a little past lunch time. Your stomach had been complaining about the lack of food for the better part of an hour but you stubbornly ignored it in favor of finishing up your work.

You made a low but frustrated growl as you were interrupted by a knock on the door to your office.

“Come in!” you snapped, loud enough for the interruptor to hear through the door, but you continued typing on your keyboard. The door creaked as it opened.

“Whoa there, darlin', your mouth said enter but that tone of yours says maybe I shouldn't...” came the soft and slightly amused voice of Agent Whiskey. You quickly spun around in your chair to greet him.

“Whiskey!” you said, feeling something warm stir in your belly. Probably hunger. You smiled and a mirroring smile spread across his lips. He was leaning on his crutches and the slight slump to his shoulders told you that he was already tired, despite it only being mid day.

“Hiya, sugar. Am I interrupting something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no. I was just finishing up,” you lied and waved him inside. As he hopped over to your desk, his eyes landed on the open document on the your screen, which was obviously nowhere near done. You quickly shut off the monitor. Whiskey didn't say anything, but the small smile on his lips looked smug.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, before he could comment on anything.

“Better now that I'm here,” he answered with a smarmy smile. You rolled your eyes at him.

“You do know that being in close proximity to a doctor isn't enough to heal you, right?” you teased.

“It's an hypothesis I'm willing to try,” he said in a dangerously low voice and leaned in. Your heart suddenly felt like it was beating in your throat, fast as a rabbit's. You knew that was physically impossible but swore that was what it felt like. Whiskey stopped, with a few inches to spare between your noses. “Hmm, as I suspected. Significantly better,” he said, with a grin.

“At what p-value?” you asked, voice barely more than a shrill whisper. Whiskey frowned.

“What?” he asked, his flirty smile giving way for confusion. You swallowed.

“You have to specify at what p-value the results are significant,” you explained.

“Oh, as high as it gets, honey,” Whiskey said, the flirty grin coming back with full force. You opened your mouth to protest but before you have a chance to, Whiskey pulled back and you could breathe again.

“I actually had a reason for coming over here, besides to interrupt your work,” Whiskey went on and leaned his hip against your desk.

Your voice still wasn't quite back to normal so you just raised your eyebrows as a response. Whiskey lowered his gaze, picked a little the handle of his crutch before looking up at you again.

“See I was hopin' that maybe you would let me make you dinner tomorrow night...”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Why?” he echoed.

“I mean, yes. That would be nice...Thank you.”

Whiskey beamed before chuckling.

“Well aren't you polite.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall, “I should get going, I have a meeting with Champ soon and it's gonna take me at least 15 minutes to hobble over there. But tomorrow it is!”

You nodded.

“Oh, and Moonshine?” he added.

“Yes?” you asked.

“No scrubs tomorrow, alright. This ain't a work-meeting.”

And with that, he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stood outside of Whiskey's door the next evening and you didn't think you had ever felt this uncomfortable in your life. You had told Ginger about the dinner plans, the day before. She had offered to help you with the clothes and had then dragged you off to the Statesmen warderobe, where they held all the clothes that had been bought and used for various previous missions. You had told Ginger that you had perfectly good clothes in your room but she had just looked you up and down before simply stating that “Not for this occasion, you don't”. She hadn't specified what kind of occasion that was. And, standing outside of Whiskey's apartment in a pair of blue jeans that were so tight they might as well have been painted on and wearing a gray top with a neckline that plunged so low that open heart surgery could probably have been performed on you without having to remove the top, you still weren't sure just what kind of occasion you had been dressed for.

Your sternum felt cold. You didn't think you had ever worn a shirt that made your sternum cold. You pulled a little on the fabric, feeling awkward, before reaching up to knock on the door.

Whiskey could be heard hopping on his crutches on the other side of the door.

“Moonshine, you're just in t...” Whiskey began as he pushed the door open but then he just stopped. His mouth fell open slightly and he just stared. You felt like turning around to run. Whiskey was wearing a clean white buttondown shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with his usual pair of jeans. He looked nice but he still looked like himself. Unlike you.

You waited patiently for the rest of Whiskey's sentence but it never came. You were a little tempted to wave your hand in front of him, just to make sure time hadn't stopped. But you could hear the radio playing somewhere in his apartment so it must just be you that were giving him pause.

“Hi,” you said, trying to help him back to the present, and it worked. Whiskey closed his mouth and  gave you a warm smile.

“Sorry, darlin'. It just caught this ol' cowboy by surprise seeing you in clothes other than those scrubs of yours.”

“You told me I wasn't allowed to wear them,” you reminded him.

“I did. And knowing you, I figured there was about a 50% chance that you would listen,” Whiskey laughed and took a small hop forward to give you a swift kiss of the cheek. His cheek was clean-shaven and smooth against yours and he was wearing cologne. “Welcome, sugar, I'm glad you could make it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is something the matter, darlin'?”

You stilled in your seat and stopped fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt as you were trying to make sure that is was still covering all the bits it was supposed to cover, even after you had reached for another piece of the truly amazing chicken that Whiskey had cooked for you.

You didn't immidiately answer. Didn't want to complain. Whiskey had prepared a fantastic meal, and had even brought out candles and a tablecloth for the occasion. He'd entertained you with stories from his travels and if there was anything agent Whiskey was good at, it was telling a good story. Normally, you would have been completely entralled, but tonight you couldn't quite focus. And Whiskey had noticed.

“You've been pulling at that shirt of yours for the better part of the evening,” he continued when you didn't answer him, “And while that would usually be enough to drive any man crazy, I feel like I should ask... would you be more comfortable in a different shirt? I'd be more than happy to lend you something.”

You only hesitated for a second before nodding, feeling a little bit like a child by the fact that you apparently couldn't even dress yourself for one night out of your scrubs. Whiskey only seemed pleased by your answer, however, and he stood from the table and gestured for you to follow him into the bedroom.

You had never been in Whiskey's bedroom last time you were here so now you seized the opportinity to look around. The better part of the room was taken up by a huge bed, with a wooden bedframe that almost looked homemade. The sheets were dark blue and the bed was meticulously made. Atop of one of the bedposts hung his lasso. There was wooden closet pushed up against one of the walls and it matched the material of the bedframe. A pair of brown cowboy boots hade been kicked off into one of the corners and on a hook on the wall hung a bathrobe with the pattern of the american flag. It looked soft. The whole room was so Whiskey it was almost hilarious. The only things missing would have been a small bar and a hat rack full of Stetsons.

Whiskey emerged from the closet with a simple white t-shirt that he held up for your inspection.

“Will this fit the lady's preferences?” he asked and you nodded without really looking. Any shirt would be better than the uncomfortable mess you were currently wearing. Whiskey handed you the shirt with a teasing grin.

“I suppose sticking around to make sure is out of the question?”

You snatched the shirt from his hand and held it to your chest as you slapped his arm with your other hand. Whiskey just laughed.

“I'll be out in the kitchen then. Just holler if you need me,” he said with a wink before disappearing from the room and closing the door behind him. You waited for a few seconds, not entirely trusting that he wouldn't conveniently remember something that he just had to tell you now, before you changed.

The t-shirt was about a 100 times more comfortable than your own top and you no longer had to worry about any bodyparts escaping whe you moved. The shirt also smelled of Whiskey, which you had to admit, was an added bonus, even if you weren't sure exactly why.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

After dinner, you helped Whiskey clean up. Not because he asked you but because you had noticed his shoulders beginning to slump  from overexertion by the end of the meal, even though he put on a brave face trying to cover it up.

He protested when you told him you'd do the dishes, but you could hear that he only half meant it and when you began filling up the sink with water, he just picked up a towel and told you that he'd help dry the things you cleaned.

You didn't talk much while you worked and it was quite nice. You caught Whiskey watching you out of the corner of his eye more than once and every time you assured him that it's fine and that you didn't mind doing the dishes.

“That's not...” he began but he didn't finish the sentence and you didn't push.

When the dishes were done, Whiskey told you that he'd be walking you back to your room. This time it was your turn to protest, telling him that it was fine, that you could find your way home on your own and that he should rest instead.

“I'm walking you back to your room,” Whiskey told you again, in a voice that left zero room for discussion. You knew a lost cause when you saw one and so you just sighed.

“Fine, but don't complain to me when you're tired and sore tomorrow.”

“Don't make promises you can't keep, sugar,” was Whiskey's only reply and you frowned, not quite understanding what he meant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It took twice as long for you to walk back to your room with Whiskey, as it had taken to walk over to his place without him. Whiskey's jaw was tightly clenched as he slowly limped forward with his crutches. You stopped and pretended that you had to retie your shoelaces, twice, to give him short breaks that you knew he would refuse to ask for.

When you reached the door to your room, his lips were almost worryingly pale, but when he saw your frown he gave you a warm smile.

“Don't start working just yet, darlin'. You're still off the clock,” he said.

“Your lips are very pale,” you told him.

“Maybe they're just cold?” he countered, with a pout. You rolled your eyes and shook your head with a smile.

“Goodnight, Whiskey. This was really nice,” you said instead, and you meant it. This had been a really great evening and you were glad that he had invited you over, even if the doctor part of your brain wished that he hadn't made such a fuzz and instead had opted for something simpler that required less energy from him. Whiskey smiled softly at you.

“It was, wasn't it...” He trailed off, looking like he wanted to say something more.

“What?” you prompted him and he looked up and met your gaze. His impossibly soft brown eyes held your eyes for a moment before he looked down with an almost shy smile.

“Oh darlin', I'm just debating whether or not to push my luck this evening,” he said but you were still confused. This wasn't quite following the usual script for saying goodnight.

“Moonshine,” Whiskey said, his voice unusually serious as he leaned forward slightly on his crutches, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against the plastic of the handles, “Tonight has been magical and I'm fully aware I should pull in my horns before I get greedy... but Honey...Darlin...you know I'm sweet on ya and... a better man than me would wish you sweet dreams and walk away. But I'm not that better man and I can't help but hope for just a little more...”

“Oh?” you said, blinking. You know I'm sweet on ya... You know I'm sweet on ya... You knew Whiskey was fond of you, that he cared for you. He'd shown that in a hundred different ways. But that kind of fondness wasn't what he was confessing to now, if his whole body language and the hestitation behind every word was anything to go by. No, this was something else, something more, and he thought you already knew. You felt a little lightheaded.

“A little more of what?” you asked, just to be sure, and Whiskey let out a breath you hadn't noticed he'd been holding. A hopeful smile began spreading across his lips.

“Well, with lips like those, maybe a kiss would be a good place to start?” he suggested and your stomach did a flip.

“I've never kissed anyone before,” you said and it came out sounding almost a bit hostile, like you were daring Whiskey to make the wrong comment in response. You'd seen other people's reactions when you'd previously mentioned your lack of experience and while you weren't entirely sure exactly what response you did want from him, you knew that pity wasn't it.

Whiskey looked surprised for a moment but then he quickly recovered.

“I'd be thrilled as any man can be to be your first, if you'd let me,” he said.

You nodded and stepped forward, figuring that since he was the injured one, he should get to remain stationary for this. Besides, you knew... in theory, how this was done. Whiskey made a surprised laugh when you gripped the front of his shirt with both hands to pull him in those last couple of inches. The laugh was cut short when your mouth pressed against his.

His lips were soft as velvet and the mustache tickled your upper lip. There was a deafening clatter in the empty corridor as one of Whiskey's crutches fell to the floor. A second later, his hand curved around the back of your neck and his lips began moving against yours. An unfamiliar heat pooled low in your belly and you gripped Whiskey's shirt a little tighter to steady yourself.

When you both finally pulled back, an eternity and at the same time not long enough later, Whiskey looked at you as if you'd hung the Moon.

“How was that?” he asked and, despite the cocksure smile on his face, there was a faint note of genuine worry to his tone of voice.

“I would like to do that again sometime,” you told him. Whiskey beamed and the smile was bright enough that it could probably have lit up all of Kentucky. He leaned in for another, and to your disappointment, much quicker kiss.

“I'd be happy to help with that,” he said when he pulled back. Your cheeks felt warm and somehow you knew that if you didn't go inside your room now, you'd ask Whiskey to come with you and he was not well enough for that.

So you blurted out a quick goodnight and before Whiskey could get a reply in, you hurried into your room and closed the door. With your ear pressed against the metal, you thought you could hear a faint chuckle before Whiskey left.

You reached up to touch your lips. You just kissed Whiskey.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 8: Accursed

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Eight: Accursed

Note: Oh boy, this chapter was fun to write. It also comes in at my quickest chapter so far, and it’s five-hundred words longer! Two hours! Wow! I’m getting a little bit better at this! But I hope that wasn’t at the cost of grammar… I’ll have to double-check that one.

-~-

There was no need to look to the sky for the answers that they sought. It didn’t take very much intuition to tell that darkness would be upon them within the next two hours or so. The snowy conditions that they found themselves in didn’t help that in any. Cloudy weather always helped make things darker quicker than they normally would be, and that wasn’t something that they had planned ahead for. Still, neither of them was willing to take this little adventure of theirs to the road, light or no light. It simply wasn’t a very good idea.

“At least it’s snowing, right?” morgan asked casually as she wrapped her arms tiger around herself, trying her best to keep the cold wind out. The colder she became, the harder it was to walk, and they needed to get out of there as fast as possible. “What I mean is, the sky is always a little bit lighter when it snows. That might help us see a little better, right? Even if we’re in the woods?”

V considered her statement as he hurried forward, trying his best to ignore the wind that had gradually started to pick up as they carried on. His coat wasn’t thin by any means, but it was getting gradually colder the further the sun sank below the horizon. They were going to have to get out of the open air sooner rather than later if they didn’t want to develop hypothermia or frostbite. But either way, he was at least somewhat sure he understood what she was saying. Or he thought he was.

“You may be onto something there. It does tend to be a little bit lighter, and there isn’t really any meaningful foliage to speak of, especially on the trees.” V glanced up towards the sky, noting that the sun had started to fade, even behind the clouds. A slight glimmer of panic suddenly shot through him. Suddenly the idea of being in a cold, dark forest unnerved him. Perhaps he was just late to react and he’d felt this way all along, but he wasn’t sure that was important right now. “Things might be in our favor in that regard, but the real danger comes from the elements. It’s quite out, isn’t it? Much colder than it was a few minutes ago. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

“I know, right? It is super cold out here all of a sudden, isn’t it? I mean, it was never that warm to start with, but this is another kind of cold altogether. Almost reminds me of the curse I was talking about before.” She shivered, forcing herself to hurry forward and closer to V in a hopeless bid to steal a little bit of his residual warmth by being in closer proximity to him. “Oh yea, I didn’t go into that yet, hu? You wanna hear about it now that we’re further from the road?”

He nodded, shivering along with her as he tucked his head down and drew his arms around himself closer. “I’d be willing to believe that there is something supernatural going on in regards to this weather. It feels at least a good ten or so degrees colder than it was before, and that is a lot for the temperature to drop all at once.”

Morgan shrugged and nodded, agreeing. “I’d check my phone and tell you, but I don’t have any reception out here. All I can really do is look at the time. This whole town is a dead zone for my carrier. Grandma used to blame the forest. She blamed everything she couldn’t explain on the forest. It was kinda annoying but funny all at once. I’m gonna miss her.” She looked mournful for a moment, her eye hazel eyes brimming with unshed tears. She wiped her face, the uncomfortable sting of cold air helping to pull her out of her momentary slump. She’d have to save her grief for when they escaped. “It’s probably rude of me to ask, and you don’t have to answer, but do you ever miss your family. I know you never met them, but do you?”

For a moment, V paused, taking several deep breaths. After a moment he wordlessly carried on, looking down towards the ground and then ahead again as though here were physically trying to put the past behind him. It was a touchy topic, and she’d been as tactful as she probably knew how to be when approaching something so sensitive, but it still hurt to contemplate. There were some things that he liked to keep private, and this was one of them. It was very much unlike him to indulge in such deep personal conversation with someone that he genuinely didn’t know very well, but there was something about her that almost compelled him to do so. Maybe it was just the part of him that didn’t like to see a sad child, and he hoped to distract her from the recent tragedy that she’d experienced first hand with his own somewhat painful experiences. He couldn’t imagine what kind of effect seeing your grandparents being murdered in front of you might have on someone. It was a wonder she’d escaped with her life.

Almost instantly, the superstitious corner of his mind considered that outcome a little harder than it needed to, putting him further on edge than he needed to be. Was it possible that she was…? No. There was no way. He’s seen enough horror movies to be able to say with certainty that he was simply falling into the depths of his own paranoia. She’s probably killed one of the men who she’d have to be working with the night before. That wasn’t at all conducive to the kind of tricks she’d have to be pulling on him in order to be in on this entire situation. If anything, they might have let her go in order to follow her, but it would be very illogical for him to believe that she was knowingly in on this plot to destroy the town. He needed to get out of that part of his mind. It didn’t help either of them.

In his momentary lapse of cognizance, he realized that he hadn’t given her any sort of answer. V mentally chastised himself for being impolite again, despite the fact that manners should have been at the bottom of his list of concerts at that given point. “... I tend to get lost in my thoughts, Morgan. Hopefully you’ll forgive my lack of conversation skills. It’s not often that I have long conversations with other people. Or conversations at all.” A sad smirk spread across his face for a moment as he considered the fact that this young teenager probably had a much more active social life than he did. But nothing about his upbringing had encouraged him to make small talk with other people. Quite the opposite. He was simply socially inept to some degree, and that was a fact that he was going to have to reconcile within himself. “I… I do think about them from time to time. And it never becomes less painful. If anything, it hurts more the older I get. It’s the not knowing, I think. Having no answers as to what happened to my parents weighs heavily upon me, but I don’t think I will ever be allowed such closure.”

Morgan gave him a hurt, sad look, taking a moment to brush her sandy brown hair out of her face. The wind refused to allow her to privilege of being able to see clearly, and her hair didn’t help that. She extended her hand with no hesitation, tapping him on his right side as if to gain his attention. V looked back at her, clearly unsure as to what her intentions were. When he noticed that she’d stopped for a moment, he halted and turned to face her, somewhat confused. “I’ve said too much, haven’t I. Forgive me.”

She shook her head, folding her arms. “You have to stop doing that to yourself. The blaming thing, I mean. It’s not your fault. People are just people sometimes. A lot of them are bad, but you deserve to be happy, too. Just don’t wait around for them to give it to you. Nothing good comes from that. Trust me, I know.” She started to walk again, hurrying past V as she tried to step through the deep snow that he normally helped flatten somewhat for her as a result of him walking ahead of her. There was a part of V that actually found it very funny how high she had to step in order to get her legs out of the snow, but he couldn’t imagine that she enjoyed having snow in her boots as a result.

After a moment to consider her words, he hurried after her, quickly supplanting her lead in order to make things easier for her. As much as he enjoyed watching her struggle pointlessly in the snow, he had to admit that it slowed them bot down significantly, and they had fought very hard to make sure that those hooded maniacs stayed as far behind them as possible. Any further delays only helped in their enemy’s favor. “Your right. Maybe a change is in order for both of us. We can start with a change of topic. I’ve love to hear that story now if you’re still willing to tell it to me.”

She shrugged, indifferent either way. “Sounds good to me. I’ve had enough sadness for one day. It’s not a super long story, but I think you’ll probably like it. It’s super spooky!”

V watched as she rested her chin on the backs of her nickels, raising one eyebrow. He wasn’t entirely sure if she was doing this just to mess with him, but he found it entertaining nonetheless. Morgan had a vibrant and interesting personality, and that was something that he appreciated in a situation like this. It helped distract him from the awful reality that he actually did have to walk through this forest and hope that the residents of the next town over were willing to help them. Or that there were any residents left at all. There was still a part of him deep down that had to wonder if there were simply working towards another worse deathtrap. He was pretty sure that neither of them could contend with that outcome in their current state. It was a terrifying reality that he was unable to face at the moment despite the obvious need to do so, and as such, he would redirect his attention to things that scared him considerably less. Once she was done with her story, he would revisit the bleak reality that they currently found themselves in, and try to come up with another contingency plan. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

Morgan nodded in agreement, clearing her throat as quietly as she could. The super-chilled air wasn’t helping her breathing in the slightest, especially with all of this physical exertion added onto it. “Ok, so if I remember correctly it goes something like this. Basically, the land that this town sits on used to belong to a coven of witches like four or five hundred years ago. I think it was more like five hundred years ago. They came here because of some sort of witch hunt or something and they were hiding out to avoid being hunted down and killed wherever they came from. They stayed here for like a decade or something with their families, and then one day a group of settlers tried to move into town and they didn’t want them to so they asked them to leave. Long story short, the locals told the church or something that they were up here, and they were forced to flee, but when they left, the sealed some kind of cursed vault or something in a cave up in the woods, and they cursed the locals. Now every winter when the black clouds roll in, things just kinda go wrong for the town.”

V had to admit that this story was more interesting than he originally assumed it would be. “What kinds of things happen? In what manager do things go “wrong” for the town? I noticed that no one lives closer to the forest than half a mile or so. That’s how I was able to move here so cheaply. The woods weren’t an issue to me, and my landlord was eager to offload the property to someone.”

She nodded, taking his words into account. “I noticed that you lived super close to the woods. Your house is really old. One of the oldest ones around her. People moved into the inner circle decades ago when people started hearing voices in the middle of the night and just started sleepwalking into the woods. They’ve never found anyone who went into the forest alive. And then the farm animals just break the fences at night and run into the forest like something is making them do it. Well, sometimes. Other times, they find like a whole barn door torn off in the night and all the animals are missing their blood and stuff. Supposedly, someone kid went into the woods looking for their missing dog, and when they came back, their family shipped them off to some insane asylum. From what I’ve heard, they didn’t talk anymore. They just sat there and stared at the wall and didn’t move and didn’t react to anything that their family did. It creeped them out really bad. Then one day the dog came back, but they couldn’t find it. They would just hear it barking constantly, but there was never any indication that it was actually there. No paw prints, fur, nothing. It’s super creepy. They moved out after a year or so, and no one has heard from them since. And as for going into the forest…”

He noticed that she’d stopped to look around, an uneasy look on her face. He wondered for a moment if he should ask, certain aspects of her story making him uneasy. “What does the legend say about that?”

Morgan shook her head. “You sure you want to know? It’s pretty creepy, and it affects you way more than it does me.”

V gave her a funny look but nodded in agreement, now more curious than he was before in a morbid sort of way. “You have my attention, so yes. I would like to know.”

The young girl shrugged, seemingly resigned to her fate. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Supposedly the leader of the witches left behind some sort of prophecy. Apparently one day her henchmen would, and I quote, “descent from hell and search for a vessel for their lord, and their lord would rain hellfire down upon the lands, corrupting and rotting everything they touched in recompense for the crimes that they’d committed.” I hear that the original “vessel” was supposed to be that witch’s son who she had with the devil or something, and that because he was killed in the raid that ran them out of town, she said what she said. Either way, it’s spooky because that kid was like your age or so, and guys from the town like to go missing into the woods around their 20th birthday. That’s why all the guys between sixteen and twenty one leave every winter. Your like the only one who’s in town right now, and they tend to just walk off into the woods at night. It’s never really happened with the girls. Just the guys. Some of them said they were called to the place where the vault is located, and then they just disappeared during the night. Some of them even fell to their deaths after being locked in their rooms during the night to avoid this situation. They broke their windows and that was that. Others mysteriously died after being left in their rooms, and none of the doctors were able to figure out why. Those people lived a lot closer to the woods from what I remember.”

Despite his general resolve to consider folklore as just that, he was suddenly very uncomfortable. “They just… disappear? And this has been going on for hundreds of years? Have you seen it happen?”

Morgan looked very creeped out, but nodded in agreement. “My grandparents lived next to the house that the dog people lived in. I used to watch them run around the house looking for it, and I talked to their son once after the accident. He just stared at me, grabbed my arm, and pointed to the woods. Took like ten minutes for his parents to get him to let me go. Left a really bad bruise on my arm. The next day I swear I saw that dog. I’m not kidding. It was just sitting in front of my living room window, looking in at me. It didn’t move or anything, and I swear it was bigger than it had been before. And his eyes were just… black, and ash or dust or something came out of his mouth every time he exhaled like his breath was hot or something. Scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life. That was the only time I’ve ever been sent home early, and I didn’t get to come back the next year. Most people got rid of their dogs after that, and from what I’ve heard, cats hate it here. They never go near the windows, and they are always stressed out or scared. A law was passed like three years ago banning them from the city for “health and safety reasons”, but we all knew the real reason.”

V found himself staring at her, actually unnerved by her statement. While it could easily just be the osmosis effect of an active imagination and living next to a house full of people that were clearly going through something mysterious and having to hear about constantly from the adults in her life, there was a part of V that believed that what she said was true. “... I believe you.”

A look of utter shock came across her face as they both subconsciously hurried forward, jogging towards the tops of chimneys now clearly visible ahead of them. They were close now, closer than they’d even been. But to what, neither of them knew. But what they did know was that there was only one way that they could ever find out, and that was to go down the embankment into the area and see for themselves. Even if everything in them was too scared to know the truth, they still needed to know. “Why do you believe me, V. My own mother doesn’t believe me. You have to have a reason, right? Tell me. Please.”

He looked away from Morgan for a moment before turning back towards her as they reached the edge of the woods, stopping to catch their breath for a moment. A sudden feeling of dread gripped V like a chest, threatening to crush every bone in his chest. “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve heard whispering coming from the woods at night recently? That I woke up leaned against the fence that surrounds my backyard and couldn’t remember for the life of me how I got there? Because I have. I’m certain that the only reason I wasn’t on the other side of it now is because it’s nearly twice my height.” He shuttered slightly, unwilling but unable to believe anything else. He was far from superstitious, but there was no denying what he’d experienced. I must confess that I’ve been seeing strange things like what you just described seeing with that dog for as long as I can remember. It stopped for a few years when I went to school, but ever since I’ve moved to this town, it’s started again. It’s infrequent, but it still happens. And the strangest part is that for a long time, I forgot that it ever happened. It comes back to me little by little, and I’m not sure what to make of it.”

Morgan stared at him, a concerned look on her face. It was as if he’d just informed her that he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. She looked down at the roofs below her and then back at him, something unreadable in her eyes. “I won’t pretend to know what’s going on in this town. I don’t know if I even believe in the curse. But I’ve seen enough spooky stuff in this place that I can’t explain to say that if you’re not lying, then we need to walk a little bit faster because that doesn’t sound good. And once we get out of here, I don’t think that either of us should ever come back.”

V nodded, assessing the quickest route forward that wasn’t straight down. They were on uneven ground, and neither of them needed to fall fifty feet to their deaths after coming this far. Mental and physical fatigue suddenly set in as he exhaled heavily, shivering both from their conversation and the elements. “I don’t think I’ve ever agreed with anyone more in my entire life. Let’s get out of here before it’s too late.”

-~-

Hey everyone! I hope you liked this chapter! I loved reading your comments on the last chapter! It’s always nice to hear from the people who read my fics. Well, unless they are those lovely people that contact me at least once a month to tell me how much they hate my au, but still. Just needed to get that off of my chest because dear god, it gets so old. If you have any questions, feel free to ask! I’d love to talk to you about them. Maybe I’ll even throw a few inspirations and such for where I got the ideas for this in the notes for the next chapter. I hope you’ve all had a good week so far, and I hope to see you again on Friday. Take care!

[pluckyredhead]

Director's commentary on It wouldn't be make believe? 🥺 Thanks I love your writing

Aw, thank you! This is a long fic so I’m gonna skim it and bullet some thoughts, let’s see:

Mxyzpills - I’m still so pleased with myself about this one. At the risk of over-explaining the joke, the “ninety-day high” is a reference to how when Superman banishes Mxyzptlk back to his dimension, he can’t return for ninety days. It’s also an insanely long time to be high for, why would anyone take this drug.

“He wasn’t naive—they could simply be sneaking upstairs to paw at each other.“ - I find Damian’s voice fairly easy to write in but this is a good example of where I struggled to find a balance between his very formal, disdainful word choices and not making him sound like a computer. I tried “fornicate” and “have intercourse” (lol) before I landed on “paw at each other,” which leans more on the “Damian is contemptuous of other people’s desires” side of things (as opposed to “Damian has never met another human but has read about them in books”).

The little knit cap on the TP in the frat bathroom makes me laugh so hard. Yes, I know I wrote it. If I can’t laugh at my own jokes, who will?

One of my guiding principles when writing Damian is that he’s really, really smart, but the problem is that he knows it, which means that he assumes that any idea he has is by default going to be intelligent. This allows him to do really stupid things like go undercover at a university attended by his best friend, who has super hearing and X-ray vision, and assume said friend won’t notice he’s there. Bless his heart.

“Please. I would never wear a shirt with this low of a thread count by choice.” - lololol

WAYNE GRAYSON god I’m a riot

I really wanted to convey a sense that Jon is very big and smells very good and has no sense of personal boundaries whatsoever, at least with Damian. Damian uses his body very well as a weapon but is otherwise completely disconnected from it, and Jon’s presence is a very physical one, and Damian has no idea what to do with that.

Love writing me some jealous Damian, especially because neither of them realize that’s what’s happening here. He only wants Jon to be friends with him! For reasons!!!

For some reason, Jon laughed at that. - It was important to me that Jon not come across as stupid in this. He’s puppyish and sweet, but he’s extremely bright and significantly more emotionally intelligent than Damian.

I think the fic is as long as it needs to be but I kind of wish I’d expanded on the idea that Jon is friends with everyone on campus and at least half of them have crushes on him.

Lian absolutely sent Jon the picture of him and Damian on the beach because she knew Jon had a crush on Damian. They’ve definitely talked about it.

“If I were your classmate, I’d be more curious about your apparently immortal dog.” - KRYPTO WILL NEVER DIE!!!

Damian’s insistence on paying for everything is basically a gesture of ownership, or chivalry if you want to be nice about it. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

Jon being secretly in love with Damian from practically the start of their friendship is firm head canon for me, I believe in it with all of my being.

“Jon probably shouldn’t find Damian more endearing the ruder he got, but, well, here he was.“ - Jon is wildly entertained by Damian being an asshole, which is lucky for him because that particular behavioral tic isn’t going anywhere. Another thing I really wanted to make clear was that Jon sees Damian for exactly who he is - prickly and cranky and arrogant and stubborn - and loves him for all of it.

“I assume you’ve been texting each other positive affirmations when I’m not looking.” - I want to be part of the Kent family group text! So many heart emojis, so many photos of outer space.

“The Big Apricot” - is 100% a canon nickname for Metropolis and it makes me so happy.

Jon’s eyes are canonically blue but fuck that, I gave him Lois’s violet eyes because a) she deserves to have some of her genes replicated too and b) the more of a beautiful anime prince I can make Jon, the better.

Damian trying not to look at Jon because he is TOO SEXY is everything to me, I am so delighted by my own story.

Also firm head canon to me: Jon’s hair only ever falls into two categories, somewhat messy and very messy.

Damian removed his arm from Jon’s trim waist, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. - I didn’t do a lot with it here but part of why Damian is so deeply repressed about his feelings for Jon is because of the age difference - he feels guilty being attracted to Jon, even though the difference between 19 and 22 is much less significant than, say, 12 and 15. I think Damian already has a lot of shame and guilt hardwired into him re: bodily pleasures - thanks, both of his parents! - and Jon’s age just makes it worse.

The scene where Damian wakes up from a nightmare and almost stabs a practically naked Jon was one of the reasons I wrote the fic. 😈 One of Damian’s greatest fears is hurting his loved ones and he really can’t do that to Jon, at least not by accident. Also Jon is not the slightest bit afraid of him.

Relatedly, Damian has never been safe or secure a day in his life, but Jon represents absolute safety. Damian is 100% not ready to process his feelings about that or even admit that he might like to be able to let his guard down for a little while.

Aw yeah, that good good part of the fake dating where they’re both uncomfortable because they want it to be real dating and are picking up on the other’s discomfort and totally misreading it. Love that shit.

Damian: “If I have to kiss Jon again to save our lives, I will do it. I will fall on that sword. It’s a sacrifice, but one I’m willing to make.” ok bro

"Frat Chat” lololol

JON’S PARENTS ARE BOTH INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALISTS, DAMIAN, HE CAN TELL WHEN YOU’RE LYING

Is this how parademons work? Who knows? Who cares? My apologies to Jack Kirby, if they are necessary.

As you will know if you’ve read...anything I’ve ever written, “character’s loved one is hurt so they go fucking feral” is MY FAVORITE THING, which is why there’s a twofer here. And Damian goes feral so well.

Also my favorite thing: the sweet one asking the feral one to spare the bad guy’s life. Ahhhh this fic is so self-indulgent and I’m not even sorry.

I wanted both Jon and Damian to be right about Chazz - he was involved, but not willingly. Their partnership works not because Damian is The Smart One or Jon is The Good One, but because they balance each other out - trust and cynicism, evidence and faith.

Damian totally kissed Jon better. ;)

Damian: “Oh, I’m in love with you? Wait, I need to analyze every thought and feeling I’ve ever had in light of this new information, give me a minute.”

And Jon teases him about it because teasing Damian is his absolute favorite thing to do. <333

IN CONCLUSION, THESE BABIES ARE IN LOVE AND I’M SO HAPPY ABOUT IT.

[the-nysh]

At what point in the story you started liking Garou as a character? What was his first impression on you and how did it changed later as the story progressed?

Oooh! What a GREAT question, I’m so glad you asked! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ (Cause yes, my perceptions of him certainly did change over time! And that’s one of the fun things I love to see happen with other opm fans too.) So let’s see…*pulls up a chair and shovel to dig thru nearly 5yrs of archives* where to begin~

It was definitely a gradual process (so buckle in, this is gonna be a looong chronological trip thru memory lane. About 3500~ words!)

First impressions

Early on (and cause I’m skeptical to most new characters who I don’t ‘know’ yet), I remember feeling kinda like ‘huh? Who the heck is this guy? This wannabe Hiruma-lookalike (recognizing some of Murata’s recycled Eyeshield 21 char design elements for him) with some silly double Vegeta hair? The hell does he think he’s doing??’ Beyond being kinda incredulous about him, I honestly didn’t really give him much passing thought or attention either, and definitely not anything on a deeper level yet. He was just kinda there (I suppose?), but also out there forcefully (cockily and somewhat annoyingly?) inserting himself as the ‘villain’ into the story at times (which wasn’t really my thing), seemingly WAY in over his head with reckless antics and overambitious about what he was claiming to be and challenging himself to do (which I thought seemed both ridiculous and ironic to set up like that when characters like Saitama exist to directly check/refute his aims).

So at the time I wasn’t fully ‘on board’ or invested much in his story/concept yet cause I hadn’t really seen him…define himself (beyond those first impressions) into his own fleshed-out character. Because he still kept reminding me too much of other characters (I even heard him with Hiruma’s voice) rather than breaking out on his own. Murata’s early art also had yet to really evolve and settle him into his own distinguishable ‘face’ for that matter too (he would though later, when he’d draw ‘Garou’ recognizable as himself and not like…‘Hiruma’s shadow’ anymore). So with all that coming in, it’s hard to ‘see’ or genuinely ‘like’ a char at first when they haven’t done much yet to distinguish themselves from others and grow into their own. (Oho, how time will tell~)

This impression of Garou hadn’t really changed much and continued all thru the Metal Bat fight, by the way. (I actually caught up to the manga around the time Murata introduced MB with the centipedes and was about to start his fight with Garou. Events which weren’t on my highest priority to see either, cause I still mostly preferred seeing Saitama + Genos interact instead.) But on a surface level, I at least knew Garou was fun/impressive to watch and his excitable/feral energy was infectious and entertaining (Murata really knew how to hype him up too), but other than that, I’d yet to really ‘like’ him on his own (enough to talk/blog about) still.

I first eased into reblogging stuff with him back in Oct 2016, which included the first reblog of his back muscles (lol) appreciating how Murata drew him facing Watchdog Man so ksjggh that part of the story (when Murata was teasing their fight) was also when Garou starting having a presence on my blog. :O

First turning point

However, I distinctly remember the first ‘aha I see now’ point in understanding him better was when I did a second reread of the webcomic. (I don’t exactly remember when that was, but probably sometime during the tournament arc when the pace was kinda dragging, so I prob reread the wc around then for fun.) It was around early-April 2017 when I later admitted that (in the tags):

I’ve come to really like Garou, a second read of the webcomic made me fond of him, of his background and ideas he wished to set out and change, his heart was in it and he had his set of morals, but he was young and brashly took the wrong path, I really want to see him return someday now that he's learned better

Cause following the big webcomic reveal at the end of his arc (when Saitama calls him out), going back thru his entire story again you could totally spot all the consistent hints and signs (from both his backstory and actions) ONE sprinkled the entire time, making everything revealed about him true, and not suddenly sprung up outta nowhere. It was finally like ‘aaah, I understand what’s up with him and can sympathize where he’s coming from. Yes that makes sense. :O’ However, this clarity/acknowledgment had yet to shift from simply ‘seeing’ or understanding a thing as knowledge, to actually feeling it (connecting on a deeper/personal level) later. That’ll remain a big distinction.

May 2017, I first started writing some early meta break downs about him, starting with his end-arc parallels in Suiryu’s despair moment and from this, there was acknowledgement how all ONE’s manga additions (up til then this was still all tournament arc stuff) were only building further context towards what’s to come much later on in the webcomic.

June 2017, I started posting stream coverage about him (vs Watchdog Man stuff when he intercepts King and Saitama.) Around this time I also admit this kinda stuff in tags ‘goodness how I love that this nerd has a soft spot for that kid (truthfully he's not monstrous at all)’ for appreciating the manga’s wholesome extra Tareo moments.

Second big turning point

Around Sept-Oct 2017 was when post content/stream coverage kinda started exploding during the whole vs A/B heroes + shed fight. This whole sequence, following the tournament arc, was the first big long-awaited return back to the wc’s script (with style!), but with significant expansions (esp to his character) never seen before. In particular, the bullet shielding moment was changed/revised from him simply standing there in the wc, to Garou protecting Tareo in the shed.

Truly awesome and moving because dang, he selflessly put his life on the line for that ‘Garou the determinator fending off the impossible while protecting a kid ;o;’ Firmly standing up to (injustices) and revealing his solid moral core, like wow, what a guy. <3

Murata’s stream output picked up significantly back then too (compared to his slower pace drawing the previous arcs), so I also admitted: ‘gosh been cheering for Murata's hard work just like Garou's in-chapter determination!’

But also cause this whole fight was like the first actual, legit demonstration (shown, not told) of Garou’s prodigious fighting skills, intelligence, tenacity, resourcefulness, perseverance, etc. Like this is what he’s actually capable of when pushed to the brink; testing the actual quality of his character (showing his true colors) and allowing those merits to shine while under unfavorable, difficult, and desperate conditions. And all impressively done in a way to make the audience both believe it and root for him (presented from his side much like a protagonist? Wild! 8D) It was extremely thrilling and badass (truly that whole shed part was brilliant, narratively and spectacle-wise. As I’ve repeatedly gone back to write about many times and again. :’D) My impressions of Garou around this time:

yoooo boi see I really like Garou, the wild prodigy determinator with a misguided goal, going all out and demonstrating his talent and prowess (even tho he gets in over his head), PROTECTING CHILDREN WHEN HE PRETENDS HE DOESN'T CARE, omfg what a softie (as Saitama would say) :'D, yaaa see he was never a 'real' monster at all, Saitama can see straight through him, and what he REALLY wants to achieve

Dec 2017, first started getting some sporadic Garou anons after the whole epic manga spectacle vs Genos + Bang + EC fight with everyone.

Jan 2018, back when Garou was captured in the MA base and then left to his own devices above ground…things started getting really interesting. Including noticing ONE’s more careful (or perhaps more transparent?) approach to writing Garou’s manga portrayal this time around. Different and more nuanced from the wc for instance, so there were many fascinating contradictions and complexities to uncover (break down meta-wise) about his convictions, beliefs, thoughts, feelings, and how he applied those thru his actions and behavior (revealing decisive acts of character). This was when @gofancyninjaworld also started joining in to discuss and explore Garou’s ongoing dilemma with his goals and mindset. “His heart is in the right place, but his means are not, because at his core, he’s not a monster.” I admitted ‘Garou’s one of the most well-written characters in the story, I feel.’ And I was really looking forward to all the significant changes ONE was doing to make his manga story all the more defined and cohesive than it already was in the wc. That made things extra engaging (when there’s a desire to look deeper into things for fun and excitement for more).

Third turning point

Feb 2018 Oooh man. It was around here, (when Garou saves Tareo from the bullies and confronts RR and Bug God) that I was really starting to feel that shift happening (the impression of him turning into something more), so I had to comment on his ongoing characterization presented thus far (budding into a well-rounded, 3 dimensional character) and how ONE was (re)writing him in a more personal, sympathetic light that made him so easy to root for and genuinely likeable. I was fully AWARE of this happening and what both Murata and ONE were doing to increase his appeal. Admitting the more they revealed of him the more I was falling deeper for him, and fully welcoming it by narrative design. (Like alright let’s goooo! 8’D) Cause it was obvious how much differently and expansive he was getting portrayed vs the wc (with much less moral ambiguity). I said:

“Garou’s not simply a rogue, prodigious teen going on a spiteful rampage with an overconfident, slasher smile. Consistently, he’s been shown what really makes him tic: what gets him serious, passionate, sincere, and desperate – things that force his hand to either fight or defend against, with standards and ideals that he’d put his life on the line for. All of it is great: a variety of expressive emotions and definitive acts of character that all build towards the whole. Which we’re then left to ponder exactly what that is. Is he truly a villain or a hero? Is he really a troublemaking bad guy or actually a misguided ‘nice guy’? The answer isn’t so black and white; it’s more like a mix of ALL of the above. And I LIKE that. As ONE has presented him, Garou is Garou, and not really someone to align or classify as simply one or the other. He’s in that kind of delicious gray zone where he’s getting put to the brink to show his true colors. And it’s so GOOD and refreshing to see.”

That plus the manga showing his deeper bond with Tareo, his gruffly protective qualities (ok but that’s kinda hot?) and a more sincere showing of his morals (which he refused to budge on no matter what anyone else ordered him to do), brought on all the feels. :’)

Stream coverage + ch commentary devolved to like unintelligible screaming, with some ‘man he’s so fucking cool,’ or ‘damn protective Garou’s SOO good,’ or ‘I swear the more Murata draws of him the more I fall for him like wtf,’ or even the flat out ‘GODDAMMIT MURATA ;A;’ types of suffering reactions, ahaha.

At this point I was all ‘bring on the Garou appreciation; he deserves it; I have a mighty NEED’ but was kinda annoyed/frustrated with the fandom cause there was hardly any recent fan content of him (relevant to his current plot progression, it was all suspiciously dry or old ship-related content I wasn’t interested in cause the plot had moved on, so I was like omg where is everybody, hello?!) It was already a dry spell in between seasons so overall fan content was slow anyway, but it seemed like there were so few actual fans of him (to my confusion?!) So I started making my own content (beyond just the stream coverage and ch reactions/commentary + meta) with the expression posts appreciation.

March 2018. U-uhoh, things (and posting frequency especially) were starting to escalate. His reaction to literally getting backstabbed by the monsters and losing Tareo (his quiet but seething controlled feral rage) definitely had me feeling™ things.

Final nail in the coffin

April 2018 Oshit;; Garou forcefully storming and bulldozing his way thru the MA base, his awesome BIG DAMN HEROES moment rescuing Tareo from Royal Ripper, to his hilarious absolute tsundere™ moment denying it (before running into Rover and immediately protecting the kid again) pretty much destroyed me. This was also like the first time I’d seen ONE make a character go full tsundere mode and pull it off in a genuine comedic way (with the classic ‘it’s not like I came here to save you or anything baka’ line and all) so pfft, that was so much endearing icing on the cake. :’D

At this point someone even asked me who’s my favorite opm character, to which I was all, ‘Garou’s current manga content has been on fire so he’s been quickly skyrocketing into my favs (if he wasn’t there already)!’

But then Murata soon dropped THIS ‘protect the child’ page all with perfect timing, and I was…fucking doomed.

'sugoi ojisan' was pretty much the moment of instant death for me ;A; my constant reaction to the streams has been that gaijin 4koma meme with laser heart eyes for emphasis, and I'm pretty much losing my ability to articulate much beyond screaming at this rate

Garou’s behavior could then be summarized as ‘a very stubborn and in denial asshole tsundere little shit nerd. <3’ But there was classic ONE heartwarming irony in there too, cause Garou hadn’t fully ‘lost’ his battles either…during those critical times where he actually assumed the role of the ‘hero’ for Tareo instead. (Oho~)  

basically Garou is a great character, the more you look into how ONE has built him the more meta af it gets

May 2018 (the long-awaited debut of the wc ‘scarf’ vs Rover towards Garou vs Orochi’s epic wtfshitstorm) lolwhoops~ I finally made the inevitable back muscles compilation while also writing longer, more in depth meta posts about him.

Murata delivered some of the best stream content we’ve seen of him. (Completely on FIRE, both literally and figuratively. And looking back, this was probably some of the most fun Murata’s stream sessions ever got. :’D Was awesome to be a fan tuning in during this time.)

even Murata was doodling chibis of himself freaking out in the margins XD

Delivering content from the pose of peak badassery…to dropping stream doodles of peak heartwarming/cuteness (Garou & Tareo in suits) on the fans for good measure.

bam Murata’s out to kill us with his art ...Murata can you like -maybe- chill? ABSOLUTELY NOT

Basically Murata knew exactly what he was doing, always delivering and servicing the fans (drawing the coke bottle was a fan suggestion too) yet also remaining a huge tease~

Towards S2 and beyond

June 2018, following the Orochi fight, Garou was put on a bus and absent from the manga for a while, so I went back revisiting older content again (rereading the manga for fun) and realizing/noticing/wondering stuff I hadn’t really caught about him before like…oh no why is he cute?? Was he always this way or had my eyes finally opened after everything??? (Cause aside from him being a little shit or a cool badass, he was also a complete dork and a nerd, and an oblivious dummy, and just…that was so…wtf endearing, a full package of fun to enjoy.)

But we soon got clips of Midorikawa’s voice reveal (from the opm drama cd) and all hell broke loose among the resident Garou fans. 8’D Especially cause his voice was ‘dark/smooth/mature/sexy’ as opposed to a higher-pitched, unhinged teen voice many had expected (remember that old Hiruma voice I first thought for him? So interestingly many fanboys were disappointed with this deeper voice casting). But also cause Midorikawa said “I’ll do my best to make Garou even more charming than before,” so we were excited to see Garou’s popularity spike even more cause of s2.

Aug 2018, the s2 key visual revealed with Garou prominently featured up and center and I WAS NOT PREPARED!!! I remember having like a full hyper-incoherent breakdown because of this so…yeaaaaah. 8’D I was all rationalizing,

If anything it’s all Murata and ONE’s fault that (the hype and appreciation for him) feeling’s grown even stronger. He was already a thoroughly fun walking meta source, but the manga made his softer/compassionate moments much more obvious (than in the wc). Just watch as this badass dorky nerd becomes even more hugely popular than he already is!

April 2019 was his anime debut…coincided with his post-arc WEBCOMIC DEBUT AFTER 5 FUCKING YEARS (before he even returned in the manga even) IMPECCABLE timing from ONE, holy shit people lost their minds. Including Murata, who had to draw him too! With all that and the anime airing (adding even more wholesome cute Tareo interactions not seen in the manga), fandom participation (+anons) really started to kick off.

I remember seeing the influx of new fans and how so many (who didn’t ‘know’ him yet either) would unironically label him as genuinely ‘evil’ or a ‘heinous villain’ at face value, which….uhhhhhh were the kinda takes that were hard to take seriously, but I appreciated how ONE’s writing allowed the readers to see and think for themselves as the narrative revealed more (rather than believing everything the characters said or claimed), so it’d only be a matter of time until they ‘saw’ the truth about him too. :’)

May-July 2019 the anime continued airing with fandom activity popping, until August when he finally reappeared and ‘awoke’ in the manga! ;A; After like an entire full year of him mia too. This was also the time frame when all the thirsty (and interestingly meta-hungry) Garou anons started (finding me???) regularly chiming in with fun participation. I was grateful though, cause they prompted certain takes I couldn’t have come up with on my own, and allowed me to think, examine, and explain things much more closely and thoroughly than I had ever posted before. (Yaaay~) Such as looking into just what IS it about him?!

“Garou wouldn’t be as compelling, engaging, and appealing as a character without (all) those other interesting layers and nuances to talk about too! :D It’s even better that way! Cause Murata can draw everyone looking drop-dead gorgeous and conventionally attractive, so just having a pretty face and impressive muscles isn’t enough to make him stand out in a special way from the rest of the cast. Already all those things (about him) are certainly impressive, so just what is it about him in particular? (That makes him unique.) The fact Garou has all that AND those other compassionate & interesting qualities to him just makes it the icing on the cake for a complete, well-rounded package. The fact we can know him, for all his feelings and attitude why he behaves and acts the way he does, such as when he’s contradictory, troubled and tsundere-like sometimes, to hardcore and badass other times, to softer and empathetic to fiercely righteous, protective and determined other times, and all portrayed in the way he’s capable of the range (and makes us feel) the entire spectrum of emotion too. …Like whoa (I could keep going but I’d be preaching to the choir at that point aha), all that only enhances what’s already there. In this way, I feel the Garou we’ve come to know by now is much more endearing and appealing than the one we were introduced to at the start. Because as he appeared then, he may have seemed like just another wannabe thug-of-the-week we might not have given much passing thought & attention to. But now…uhoh, you could arguably say he’s grown to the point he’s almost taken over the rest of the manga (within good reason!) by challenging our perception of who’s even the active protagonist. :O Who keeps us engaged and tuned in to see more. Buaha, just what the hell happened?! Now that’s quite the impressive feat from both ONE and Murata to create a character with a lasting impact like that!”

…So that’s what happened. :’D In my opinion, I feel Garou’s best moments where we (or really, I) got to know him better (shed scene, Elder Centipede aftermath, dine n dash, rescuing Tareo, all up towards his fights vs Rover & Orochi) mostly only happen until after s2 so… Since those were some of my absolute fav manga moments (which only enhanced my perceptions of him), those’ll be the moments I’m really looking forward to see animated in s3. But most of all, I’m hoping to witness some of that same ‘aha!’ gradual realization process happen to newer fans who come to appreciate him too. :’3

[goldenhemmings]

When You Love Someone | Streetfighter!Shawn

Pairing: Shawn x Reader

Warnings: profanity, violent situations, a creepy guy that can’t take a hint

Hello, friends! Back at it again with some more writing that demonstrates my incapability of creating anything that’s not an AU. This is a bit different, but I’ve been working on it for literal months because I love the concept and I wanted it to be something I was proud of (I promise I’m not neglecting Stealing Second, though). So, here are 7.5k words of Streetfighter!Shawn. I would love to hear your feedback, and I hope you enjoy!!

Shawn was aware of the crowd behind him, but he acted as though he wasn’t.

He pretended not to hear people placing their bets, he pretended that he couldn’t feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he pretended to not be aware of the annoyingly piercing pair of dark eyes staring a hole into the back of his head. He just sat stoically on the hard pavement, his back to everyone else as he went about the routine process of wrapping his hands to prepare them for the blows they were about to administer.

His bubble of peace was short-lived, however, as he felt someone approaching him. Shawn always knew when someone was behind him; he’d become well-practiced after spending his entire life watching his own back.

“Hey, Sugar.”

Shawn sighed and turned over his shoulder to be met with the same feminine pair of eyes he’d known had been trained on him since his arrival to Dynamite several minutes earlier. He shrugged and returned his focus to his hands, beginning to tape the left one as he finished up with the right. “Was wondering when you were gonna quit staring.”

A look of confusion flashed over her face, but it was gone as soon as it had come. “Just wanted to see how you were feeling.”

“Same as always.”

She scoffed. “Which is?”

He finally looked up at her as she tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and it took everything he had not to be dismissive. This was his fault, after all. “I feel good,” he finally answered, less coolness behind his tone, “and ready.” She smiled, misreading this as an invitation to sit down across from him.

Shawn knew how Raven felt about him; he wasn’t dumb. He also knew he’d been needing to put a stop to it. And yet, he always seemed to find himself ducking out of her apartment in the early hours of the morning making the same repetitive promise that that time would be the last time; a promise he never could seem to keep.

It was just that people who understood his lifestyle were hard to come by, and Raven happened to be one of those people. She was tough, attractive, and, most importantly, she always seemed to be wherever he was. He knew it was wrong of him to lead her on just because he was lonely and she was readily available, but it was a cycle he couldn’t force himself to care enough about to actually break.

“Well,” Raven continued, the ends of her long hair tickling Shawn’s knee as she leaned towards him. “Have a good fight, Sugar. I’ll see you later tonight?”

Shawn didn’t answer, but Raven was unphased. She pushed herself up off the ground, dusting off her jeans with a smirk, and sauntered back over to rejoin the crowd. She hadn’t waited for Shawn to reply because she didn’t need to; the answer had only ever been yes.

Shawn audibly exhaled and rubbed his hands across his face, daring to glance over his shoulder where his opponent, Mateo, was standing surrounded by people, talking animatedly and with exuberant gestures. Shawn smirked to himself at the display. Mateo seemed confident for someone who was undoubtedly about to get his ass kicked.

“Three minutes til fight time, Dynamite! Last chance to place your bets,” Raven called, sending a ceaseless and uncontrollable flood of adrenaline washing over Shawn. He stood up, shaking his body out to keep it loose as he took in the familiar sight of the most constant place in his life.

Dynamite wasn’t much; it never had been. Aptly named after one of the streets it was situated along, Dynamite was home to the city’s most niche, secret form of entertainment: Streetfighting. A hidden courtyard of sorts, it sat on the other side of an alley just off of Dynamite Road. It was a large, open block of pavement sandwiched between several abandoned buildings and separated from them by a worn-down chain-link fence. The people who came to spectate had been coming for years, and any new faces only learned of what Dynamite was home to via word of mouth. Fights were only held two or three times a month, which meant that the nights they did happen—like tonight—were a big deal.

Dynamite had much more of a long-standing history than Shawn was aware of. He was fairly new on the scene, as he was just now reaching the age at which people would take him seriously as a fighter, but he’d quickly and effectively established himself as a real competitor. Every streetfighter--from experienced to novice and all that was in between--had his own reason for being attracted to combat, but the common denominator between all of them was purely the fact that they all enjoyed, in some way or another, the thrill of the fight. It was something they knew, and for years Dynamite had proven itself a safe, supportive place to do it.

Shawn took a deep, steadying breath and walked over to the edge of the crowd, sensing the energy that came with the fact that the fight was about to begin. As if on cue, Raven hoisted herself up onto the top of a sturdy piece of fence at the corner of the arena and gave her usual “Listen up!” in order to get everyone’s attention.

The crowd, maybe thirty or forty people large, went quiet for the first (and probably the only) time that night for the reading of the rules; an unnecessary tradition, but one that continued nonetheless. The mass of people backed away, leaving Shawn and Mateo facing each other in the middle of the makeshift ring. Raven stepped down now that all eyes were on her, pushing her hair behind her shoulders as she moved to stand between the two men. She’d been doing this long enough that she no longer “read” the rules; she had them memorized.

“Just in case they slipped your minds, here’re the rules one more time: Combat is hand-to-hand only, absolutely no weapons, ever. Fight’s over when one of you taps out, stays on the ground for longer than five seconds, or in the event of a direct knockout. There’s no time limit—we go until one of those circumstances or if I decide it needs to end.” She paused, turning her attention solely to Shawn. “Don’t let yourself get too hurt, Sugar,” she added quietly, with a sly grin that Shawn pretended not to notice.

Raven backed up, once again leaving a space between the two men whose faces were each a mirror of the other’s; narrowed eyes, clenched jaws, and mouths set in a hard, straight line. “Fight starts on my count.”

“Three.” The crowd began to creep in all around them, eager for their personal entertainment to begin. Shawn bounced on the balls of his feet, raising his fists and squaring his shoulders. He stared straight into Mateo’s eyes, ready.

“Two.”

“Mendes!” Shawn’s head whipped over his shoulder, furious at the interruption, but his blood ran cold at the sight of the man walking through the alley towards him, flanked by two of his unshakable cronies. “Hoped I’d find you here.”

Shawn took a breath to keep his body loose and ready to fight, but he couldn’t help the slight tension he felt building in his chest. “Can this wait, Axel? I’m in the middle of something.” But the man was silent, his eyes narrowed in what seemed like amusement, and Shawn let out a stubborn puff of air before finally continuing.

“What do you want?” he asked, though it came out flat.

Axel laughed, his beady eyes pointed right at Shawn. “Guess.”

“Still crying about last month?” Shawn deduced smugly, tugging a hand through his hair. Axel was once again silent, forcing Shawn to continue filling the air with words of his own. “I’m not fighting you tonight, if that’s what you’ve come for. If you want a rematch, we can set one for another time.”

A deep, guttural laugh escaped Axel’s mouth as he came within a foot of Shawn’s face. “Too scared for a round two?”

“If anything, it should be the other way around,” Shawn added with a smirk, and he could hear the muted laughter from the crowd around him. “You should be the one that’s scared of me.”

He came off as though he was irritated with Axel’s presence, but Shawn would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he was enjoying reliving his victory just a little bit. He’d messed Axel up to the point where it was embarrassing, and everyone at Dynamite knew it. Until Shawn, Axel had been undefeated. His loss was made worse by the fact that Shawn was younger, slightly smaller, and significantly less experienced; Axel had originally been trained as a boxer, whereas Shawn’s resume was blank.

Needless to say, Axel hadn’t taken well to losing.

Shawn had known it was only a matter of time until Axel tried to catch up with him, but he never thought the dethroned legend would be able to bear showing his face at another fight so soon. Shawn admired the boldness. He laughed at it, too.

“Are we fighting or not, Mendes?” Mateo, Shawn’s scheduled opponent, began griping from behind him.

“Gimme a minute, would you?” Shawn huffed, and Mateo continued grumbling under his breath as he swung his arms back and forth to keep them warmed up.

Shawn turned back to Axel, who was standing with flared nostrils and his arms folded tightly across his chest. Shawn could feel the crowd growing antsy behind him. “Why are you showing up at my fight and trying to make it about you?” he seethed through gritted teeth. “These dramatics are bullshit.”

“You humiliated me,” Axel sneered, so that only Shawn could hear.

“Tough shit,” Shawn scoffed. “All I did was beat you.”

“And now we’re getting even.”

Shawn let out an agitated puff of air. “I’m fighting Mateo tonight, not you. Like I said, if you want a rematch in a few weeks when I’m healed from this fight we can--”

Like a jolt of lightning, Axel’s fist came flying through the air directly at Shawn’s jaw. Shawn should have known better than to waste time arguing; what Axel wanted, Axel would always get.

The mass of people erupted into noise. Shawn managed to duck Axel’s fist, barely, then hooked his arms around his unexpected opponent’s ankles and pulled towards himself until Axel’s body hit the pavement, his head making a loud smack. Axel’s buddies immediately rushed at Shawn, but he was too quick. Shawn was an incredible fighter, but even he knew better than to take on two men at once—three, as soon as Axel got back up—and he also knew nobody there would help him. This was the kind of action they craved seeing; why would anyone jump in to stop it?

Shawn waited until another fist was coming his way, then grabbed it at the last moment and shoved one guy barrelling into the other. Shawn hurdled over Axel, who was dazedly beginning to get back up, and took off running down the alley towards the street. He could hear footsteps echoing behind him, but he didn’t dare look over his shoulder for fear of slowing himself down.

He hung a left as soon as he came to the street, his legs moving as fast as they could carry him. He didn’t know where he was running to, but he did know that he absolutely could not stop until he’d shaken whoever was hot on his trail.

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

If Y/N had it her way, she wouldn’t have even left the house that night. She would be at home enjoying a cliche night with takeout food and a Netflix movie chosen at random, relaxing after an especially stressful week and enjoying the calm of having a few hours to herself; a rarity in the small house she shared with two other girls. Her roommates, however, had taken it upon themselves to talk her into going bar-hopping with them, convinced that it would somehow be an even better way for her to de-stress.

“Y/N,” Brooklyn pressed, towering over where Y/N sat at the kitchen table typing away at her phone as she tried to decide what kind of food she wanted to order. “Just come out with us tonight. You never do anything fun anymore.”

Y/N looked up with heavy eyes, her hand threatening to no longer be able to support the weight of her head resting on it. “I don’t have time to do anything fun,” she mumbled, sleepiness evident even in the way she spoke. “This week sucked and I’m exhausted. All I want to do is just eat and watch a movie until I pass out and sleep for a day straight.”

“Or you could come out with us for a few hours,” her other roommate, Jade, repeated, a coy smile playing on her mouth. Y/N rolled her eyes, continuing to sift through the menu of the Chinese place she’d decided on.

Jade, however, was not having this. She reached out and snatched Y/N’s phone from her unsuspecting hands, earning a series of anguished cries to give it back. Jade handed the phone off to Brooklyn, who tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Come on, Y/N. You’re not even gonna consider it? Remember how much fun you had the last time you came to the bars with us?” Brooklyn smirked, her blue eyes sparkling in bemusement. Y/N groaned, fighting off a grin as she buried her head in her hands at the memory.

Jade laughed, taking it upon herself to pipe in. “Yeah, you’d just dumped your asshole boyfriend and then you made out with that guy who--”

“Okay!” Y/N cried out as she finally cracked a smile. “I remember, you don’t need to remind me.”

“See!” Brooklyn exclaimed, pulling out the chair next to Y/N and sitting down at the kitchen table. “You had a good time that night, I know you did. How long has it been since you had fun like that?”

“Too long,” Jade answered for her, dark eyes wide and silently begging Y/N to give in.

“I don’t know, guys,” she muttered, the idea of dinner and her warm bed still causing her to be apprehensive.

“Just try,” Jade pleaded. “Come out with us and at least try to have a good time.”

Y/N sighed, running her hands over her expressionless face. She was exhausted, yes, but she also missed going out with her friends. And what was the worst that could happen? If she was miserable, all she had to do was say so and go home. What was the harm in trying?

“Fine,” Y/N finally--albeit, reluctantly--agreed, earning excited squeals from her two friends, who wasted no time whisking her away to start getting ready.

By the time they were on their third bar of the night, Y/N was sipping on her second drink and starting to feel slightly loose. Her friends, however, were bounds ahead of her, and their ceaseless energy and giggling was only reminding Y/N of how tired she really was, evidenced by the dull pounding that had started in her head. She was trying to enjoy herself, but despite her efforts she just couldn’t seem to break free of her sleepy haze. Needing a temporary break from her friends and all the noise, Y/N stood up from the table, grabbing her purse as two very confused sets of eyes immediately turned to face her.

“Where are you going?” asked Jade with a hiccup, her brown eyes glossed over as she reached a hand up to haphazardly move a piece of curly dark hair off of her forehead. It fell right back down where it was, but Jade seemed none the wiser to it as she finished off the drink she had been nursing.

“Bathroom,” Y/N replied, forcing a small smile as Jade and Brooklyn both nodded. “Be right back.”

She turned over her shoulder and headed to the back corner of the crowded bar, pushing through the mass of people to get to the sanctuary of the restroom. As she pushed the door to the women’s room open, she breathed a sigh of relief upon noticing it was empty. Dirty, but empty.

She turned the faucet on to let cold water run over her hands, catching sight of her reflection in the mirror. She looked as tired as she felt, and her eyes were slightly glassy from the alcohol that had only managed to make her sleepier. The pent-up exhaustion from three exams, two papers, and a plethora of random small assignments all packed into one week was enough to have Y/N ready to fall asleep on the bathroom floor. She began thinking of excuses to give her friends as to why she needed to head home when she was startled by a sudden commotion coming from outside the restroom. She frowned, drying her hands on her jeans and heading towards the door to investigate the source of the noise; likely just a few rowdy drunks.

But suddenly the bathroom door burst open, Y/N instinctively jumping backward with a start, and in charged a very flustered man she’d never seen before. He rushed past her, venturing further into the bathroom and ducking behind the wall perpendicular to the side of the sink and mostly out of sight of the door. His eyes were wild and his cheeks flushed with sweat, his curly brown hair matted to his forehead.

“I--what?” she stuttered, unable to string her thoughts together quickly enough to inform him that this was, in fact, the women’s bathroom.

He simply raised a finger to his lips to plead for her silence and Y/N noticed that his hands were wrapped in some sort of black tape, the purpose of which she was unsure. She brought her eyes back up to his face as he whispered, “Don’t freak out, I just need to hide in here for a second.”

Confused, Y/N made a move for the door, unable to get out of there fast enough, but she froze as the man continued talking. “Please don’t open the door. They might see me.”

She rolled her eyes and continued to make her way out anyway, not caring who “they” were, but before she could get her palm on the handle the door flew open once more to reveal a large, sweaty man with the fire of Hell in his eyes. Y/N felt her stomach drop, immediately paralyzed with fear as his angry stare landed on her.

His expression shifted as his eyes made their way up and down her body disgustingly slowly, and Y/N found herself instinctively taking a step back and folding her arms over her chest. The look on his face made her skin crawl. “Sorry for barging in, gorgeous,” he sneered, his stare unwavering despite the terrified expression Y/N wore.

“This is the women’s room,” she spoke after a few seconds of silence, trying to keep her voice even.

The man laughed at this, licking his lips before continuing. “Are you alone in here?”

“I’m--Please leave,” she stammered, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder in search of the other man.

“So soon?” he smirked, taking a belligerent step towards her and reaching out to twist a piece of her hair around his stubby finger.

“Don’t touch me,” Y/N gasped, swatting his hand away and registering the man’s increasingly furious demeanor.

“Feisty.” He laughed lowly and mockingly, and Y/N held her breath as she desperately tried to recall the things she’d learned from that self-defense class her dad made her take in high school, cursing herself for not paying better attention. But before she could get the chance to put her limited knowledge into practice, the guy was being flung against the wall by the throat at the hands of the first stranger that had barged in.

“Get off of me,” the man growled, but his words were strained with a hand clenched around his neck. His hands came up to claw at the foreign one anchoring him against the wall, but his efforts were futile; the first man was obviously much stronger.

“I’m pretty sure she asked you not to touch her,” he bit back, with an extra slam against the wall for good measure.

Y/N was paralyzed. She couldn’t think quickly enough to process what was happening or to make a conscious decision to get out of there. Her exhausted limbs were frozen, her feet rooted to the ground; all she could do was watch with wide eyes the scene unfolding before her. It wasn’t until someone was waving his fingers in front of her face that she realized she was even being spoken to.

“Go lock the door,” the first intruder commanded, but Y/N was still. “Hey. Did you--”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Y/N gushed, the words finally hitting her ears as she moved to twist the lock. “I heard you.”

He turned his attention back to the man he literally held in the palm of his hand. “Give me your phone, Damon,” he continued, but the man against the wall was silent. Y/N’s defender wasn’t having this. “I said give me--”

“I don’t have it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuck you,” Damon seethed, and Y/N swore the veins in the forearms of the man holding him against the wall would burst.

“Guess it’s gonna be the hard way, then,” he replied, almost nonchalantly, and it startled Y/N more than was necessary when Damon went from being held against the wall to being pinned on the floor as his phone was wrestled from his pocket. It was like a trainwreck Y/N couldn’t look away from; this man was holding almost all of Damon’s upper body down with a single arm while the other searched for the device.

“What are you doing, Shawn?” Damon grunted, flailing under the weight of the body that was pressing him into the ground.

“I’m texting your boys,” the man, Shawn, responded through gritted teeth as his free hand typed furiously,  “that I was nowhere to be found in here so you went to look for me someplace down the street.”

Damon scoffed. “You’re an idiot. They’ll never believe that I would fucking message them instead of actually checking in.”

“This’ll be a fun little trust experiment, then.”

Y/N had pressed herself against the door by this point; the furthest possible place from the action in front of her. She jumped a little when she heard the handle wiggle, praying that it wouldn’t come unlocked--though she knew that was an exceedingly irrational worry to have. This is what you get for leaving the house. You should’ve just stayed home and gone to bed. Good things hardly ever come of any outings you’re involved in.

“What do you know?” Shawn continued, sarcasm dripping from his slightly upturned lips. “They’ve already responded, and they’re headed to the next street over.” He stood up and tossed the phone in Damon’s face, who immediately grabbed it and scrambled to his feet. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the imprint of red skin that covered his neck from where Shawn’s arm had been.

Just as Y/N thought it was over and that she could finally leave, Damon was once again back against the wall, being held there by the collar of his shirt. “Now, here’s what’s gonna happen,” Shawn began, his tone an impossible mixture of menacing and calm. “You’re going to leave here, and you are not going to tell anyone that you saw me. I’ll know if you do, and I also know how to find you. Don’t make me spell out what would happen if you decide to ignore me. Do you understand?”

For the first time since Y/N had seen him, Damon looked genuinely afraid. His jaw was clenched and it was clear that he was trying to maintain a tough demeanor, but his wide eyes gave his fear away. “Yes,” he muttered. It was all he could say.

Shawn looked back at Y/N, and she felt her heart begin pounding even faster. But he turned back to Damon, his grip still tight. “And you’re going to apologize to her.”

Damon scoffed; a bold move coming from someone who was literally being pinned against a wall. “Why the fuck do you care about--”

“You’re going to apologize to her,” Shawn seethed, and Damon grunted against the strength of Shawn’s hold on him.

“Fine.”

With that Shawn released him, and Damon’s hand instinctively came up to readjust the collar of his shirt. “Good. Now get the hell out of here.”

He turned to storm towards the door and Y/N threw herself out of his way, but she didn’t miss the sting of the words sorry, bitch muttered in her direction as Damon finally left. She wasn’t sure whether she should stay or leave, but before she could come to a decision she realized she was being spoken to.

“W-what?” she stuttered, looking up at the man she assumed was Shawn as he took a soft step closer to her.

“I asked if you were okay,” he repeated, and if Y/N hadn’t known any better she’d be convinced she was talking to a different person. His face was kind and boyish, but Y/N still nervously avoided his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Thanks, I guess. F-for stepping in.”

Shawn shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been dying to get my hands on that asshole anyways.” He paused, almost hoping she’d laugh, but then he realized how scared she looked--and rightfully so. It wasn’t often that Shawn had run-ins with people who weren’t accustomed to his fighting, and he was obviously clueless as to how to not come off as an intimidating douchebag. He took a breath, reconsidering his approach as he studied the girl’s fluttering, downcast eyes. “I’m Shawn,” he finally said, and this was enough to get her to at least look up at him. He only got a brief glimpse of her eyes before she averted her gaze again, but it immediately left him starved for more. She was clearly unlike the girls he saw on a daily basis--girls who were all, in some way or another, like Raven. Shawn knew he was intrigued, though he wasn’t yet sure to what extent.

“I’m Y/N,” she responded, and he noticed how she laughed nervously in uncertainty of what else to say. She was saved, however, by her phone suddenly buzzing incessantly from the back pocket of her jeans. “Sorry, let me just--”

She pulled it out and illuminated the screen to find a string of texts from--unsurprisingly--Brooklyn.

Jade had way too mucg to drink and was about to throw up but the bathroom was locked so I took hwr outside

Where r u?!?!?

We had to go home shes really drunjk Im so sorry I couldnt find u

Pls come back to house Im gonna need help

“Damnit,” Y/N muttered, pressing an anguished hand against her pounding forehead. “You’re kidding me.”

“What’s wrong?” Shawn asked, concern lacing his newly softened features.

Y/N looked up, embarrassed of her inadvertent outburst. “Oh,” she started, clearing her throat. “I just...My friends had to leave, so I have to get home on my own.”

Some friends. “Do you want me to walk you?” Shawn offered, crossing his arms over his chest. “That way you don’t have to pay for a ride. I don’t trust that Damon’s not gonna be hiding in the shadows or some shit, anyways.” He wasn’t sure why he was proposing this, knowing Axel and his boys were surely out there somewhere to wait for him, but there was something about this girl that was beginning to compel him. He found himself concerned for her; protective, almost, though that was illogical considering he hardly knew her name. He had no idea why he suddenly cared so deeply about the situation she was in, but the fact remained: He did.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Y/N replied softly. She didn’t believe the words, but she was more worried about inconveniencing him than she was for her safety. “I’m sure that guy doesn’t want anything else from me after what you did to him, anyways,” she continued, forcing out a little laugh, but Shawn’s serious eyes were still fixed on her with an intensity so strong she had to make herself look away.

“Even if that were true, you still shouldn’t be walking alone this late at night.”

“I do it all the time,” Y/N lied, looking up as she stifled a yawn.

Shawn smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes darted to the side. Y/N’s gaze bore into the side of his face expectantly, not understanding why he appeared to be amused. “It’s just,” he began, looking back at her and wondering yet again why he even cared. “It’s obviously not safe. I’m not gonna try anything, okay? I would just hate for something to happen to you on your way out of here.”

She blinked up at him, considering. She was stuck somewhere between he seems genuine but he barely knows your name, he already saved you once but he’s so intimidating.

Seeming to sense her apprehension, Shawn interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t mean to make you stressed out about it, alright? It’s just an offer.”

Y/N checked the time on her phone, sighing when she saw that it was nearly one in the morning; she knew walking home by herself would be a bad idea, and her bank account probably wasn’t too keen on the idea of her calling an Uber after she’d already spent money on drinks. She looked back at Shawn, who was leaning against the side of the wall with his arms folded over his chest. He was a safe distance away, but close enough that Y/N could take her time studying his demeanor with enough intent to decide that he seemed to mean well. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” she asked, reaching for her phone once again to ensure that her location was on for her roommates to see--just in case.

“Not at all,” Shawn said, half of his mouth pulling up into a soft, crooked smile as he caught sight of her phone screen.

She looked up at him to say something, but her eyes locked on his face until an abrupt opening of the door made her jump; she’d almost forgotten they were still in the bathroom. Shawn let out a little laugh as he looked through the doorway to a group of three clearly inebriated girls. “Obvious much?” one of them tried to lean over and whisper to her friend, but lost her balance in the process. Y/N fought off a laugh.

“After you,” Shawn’s amused voice said from behind Y/N, his breath tickling her neck as he gestured out the door. She shook off the chill that made its way down her spine and stepped out past the girls in the direction of the bar’s front entrance, rolling her eyes at the suggestive shouts from the people around the door as Shawn darted out of the bathroom after her.

“Wait,” he started, reaching to grab her wrist. “We should leave out the back.”

Y/N turned around and quirked her head to the side, a semblance of a smile playing on her lips. “How come?”

“Just being careful,” he shrugged, his palm sliding down her wrist to grab ahold of her hand. She took a deep breath as she latched onto his hand, rough from whatever was wrapped around it, and allowed him to pull her through the crowd that had only managed to get bigger since she’d first arrived with her friends.

Shawn let go of her hand as they came to a back door, and he pushed it out to reveal a dimly-lit side street that ran parallel to the back wall of the bar. He poked his head out to look around, then nodded his head back at Y/N to signal that the coast was clear.

“I don’t live too far from here,” she explained as she got her bearings, smiling at him in thanks as he held the door open for her. “It’s right near the university.”

“You a student there?”

“Mhm,” she nodded as she set off in the direction of her house. “Are you?”

“Nah,” Shawn shrugged, turning his head to the side as though he were suddenly particularly interested in the buildings that lined the sidewalk they were walking down.

Y/N hummed in acknowledgment of his answer, but didn’t press him with the questions she wanted to ask for fear of coming off as judgemental. But Shawn somehow seemed to sense her curiosity to know more, and he kept speaking unprompted.

“College wasn’t really in my capacity when I graduated high school, so I took a couple years off to sort things out. I’ll probably apply at some point.”

“You should!” Y/N encouraged, and Shawn smiled. “What would you study?”

“Haven’t gotten that far yet,” he laughed, and Y/N joined in as she felt herself begin to relax.

As promised, Shawn stayed with Y/N all the way to her doorstep. The two fell in and out of conversation and comfortable silence as they walked, and as Y/N saw her small home come into view she almost wanted to pretend that her house was the farthest one down the street just to have a few more minutes with him, as foolish as she knew that sounded. But she stopped as she approached her own driveway, nerves beginning to fill her stomach for a reason she couldn’t ascertain.

“This is me,” she announced, sighing as she saw through the windows that all the lights were still on, meaning her roommates were still awake and likely making a drunken mess of things. She turned to face him, the streetlights casting a shadow over his face but still giving Y/N one of the clearest views she’d had of his features that night. It was almost paradoxical that someone with a look so boyish and soft had just threateningly pinned a fully grown man to the floor as though it were an action as trivial as tying his shoe.

“Thanks for walking with me,” she mumbled, reaching to toy absentmindedly with the strap of her small crossbody purse. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he grinned, and even in the low light his smile seemed to glow.

“Um, how much farther are you?” Y/N asked, timidly looking up to meet Shawn’s eyes.

The same crooked smile remained fixed on his mouth. “Not far. It’s not too bad of a walk.”

“I could...drive you?” Y/N continued, kicking her toe into the ground as she once again hid her eyes from his. Jade wouldn’t mind lending her car, right? “It’s the least I could do.”

“It’s okay,” Shawn replied immediately, and Y/N snapped her head up. She hadn’t expected her offer to be rejected.

“A-Are you sure? It’s late, and it really would be no trouble.”

“I—,”

“Shawn,” she interjected, with a little more conviction in her tone. “I really don’t mind. I want to.”

He sighed, raking a hand with ring-laden fingers through his matted curls. “No, you don’t. Trust me.”

“Yes I do, or I wouldn’t offer,” she giggled. “C’mon, where do you live?”

“Westgate.”

Y/N inhaled sharply before she could stop herself. “You...live in Westgate?”

Shawn scoffed, reaching a hand up to scrub at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I do.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—,” Y/N interjected, feeling guilty for questioning him, but Shawn cut her off.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, smiling lightly. “I expect that reaction. It’s a real shithole, I know.”

“It’s not that b—”

“Y/N,” he started, staring at her with an amused glint in his eyes. “It is, and you know it.”

She held her breath, letting it out gently after a short pause. “Okay,” she replied, because it was the only neutral thing she could think to say. “I just wish you’d let me make it up to you somehow. To thank you for pulling that guy off of me and then walking me home. You didn’t have to do either of those things.”

Shawn froze, brow creased as he studied Y/N’s face. “I absolutely had to pull that guy off of you,” he stated matter-of-factly, but Y/N just shrugged. “What kind of person would I be if I hadn’t?”

“A predictable one,” she answered quietly, squeezing out a little laugh, but Shawn was silent as he struggled to come up with an adequate response.

“Well, there are plenty of other ways you can repay me besides driving me home,” he finally continued, and Y/N’s eyes snapped up, wide and hopeful as she looked back at him.

“What did you have in mind?”

This threw him, because it was new. What did he have in mind? What was he supposed to say? What was anyone supposed to say? “Do you like coffee?” he finally blurted, because it was the first thing that he thought of. You hate coffee, you idiot. Why would you say that? But then Y/N smiled a little, and he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“I do, yeah,” Y/N answered, shoving down the nervous energy she felt bubbling up in her chest that would surely make her voice start coming out about three octaves too high.

“Cool,” Shawn assented, lamely, and the two were silent for a bit longer than what was comfortable.

“Can I ask you something?” Y/N finally spoke, almost inaudibly, and if it weren’t for the way her bright eyes looked up at him expectantly Shawn would’ve thought he’d imagined it.

He simply nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets and waiting for Y/N to continue. Her lips parted as she sucked in a breath, crossing her arms over her chest either from nerves or the slight chill that had made its way into the air; Shawn couldn’t tell which.

“Why were you hiding?”

He paused, taking the time to choose his words wisely. “I was trying to get away from some guys who started something I didn’t really want to finish.”

“Like that man that came in after you?”

“Exactly.”

“What was he trying to start?”

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Shawn joked, but he immediately regretted it as he saw Y/N’s face fall.

“Sorry,” she muttered sheepishly, and in that moment Shawn swore he’d never felt more stupid.

“No, it’s okay, I didn’t mean to--I was kidding, but I--.” He broke off to regain his composure, allowing the sentences to actually form in his mind before they left his mouth. He’d never felt so out of control around another person before, and it was driving him crazy. He wasn’t yet sure if he was drawn to the feeling or if he was averse to it. Y/N remained still, looking up at him in anticipation of his long-awaited answer.

“Long story short, I...fight. Like, as a sport. And so do those guys. And they’re not exactly my biggest fans.”

“Oh,” Y/N mused, mulling over his words in her head. “Like what kind of fighting?”

“It’s complicated,” Shawn explained, exhaling heavily.

“Oh. Okay. Is that why your hands have that stuff wrapped around them?” He looked down to his knuckles as if he was unaware that the wrappings were still there, and then nodded his head. “I used to, um, to go out with this guy who liked boxing,” Y/N rambled, because she wasn’t sure what else to say. “If that’s kind of like what you do?”

Shawn smiled; he found her timidity endearing. “Kind of,” he laughed, and Y/N felt a small grin cross her mouth at the sound. “I can elaborate the next time I see you.”

“Coffee,” she blurted, as though she were worried he’d already forgotten.

He laughed again. “Coffee,” he affirmed, with a smile that almost made Y/N dizzy. “I’ll probably need your number first, though.”

“Oh!” Y/N gasped, immediately reaching into her purse in search of her phone. “Right, of course. Here--,” she continued, but stopped herself upon the realization that her phone screen remained dark despite her pushing every button she could. “Shoot,” she muttered, looking up at Shawn sheepishly. “My phone must have died. Can I see yours?”

“I don’t actually have mine on me,” Shawn replied, plagued with the sudden realization that he’d probably left it at Dynamite. But as Y/N’s teeth latched onto her lower lip to bite back a smile, he suddenly couldn’t care less.

“I…might have a pen?” she offered, once again reaching into her purse to retrieve it. “Let me just run into my house really quickly to grab something to write on.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Shawn dismissed with a shake of his head. “You can just write it on my arm.”

“Are you sure?” Y/N queried, always cautious. “I don’t wanna--”

“Y/N,” Shawn cut in, his amber eyes glowing with amusement. “It’s fine. I’ll put it in my phone as soon as I get home and then it’ll wash right off. Been wanting a new tattoo for a while, anyways.”

“Okay,” she assented with a soft giggle, moving closer to Shawn’s outstretched forearm. She uncapped the pen and gingerly took hold of his wrist to get a sturdier grip as she began to etch her phone number onto his skin. She added her name underneath the numbers for good measure, then stood back and buried the pen back into her bag.

Shawn looked down at his arm, noticing that her name was spelled differently than how he’d imagined. He liked it better this way. He glanced up at her in time to catch her take her lower lip between her teeth as she focused on reclosing her bag.

She tilted her chin up to face him, feeling heat rise to her cheeks as she saw that he’d already been looking at her. “Thanks again,” she said softly, folding her arms over her chest. “Get home safe, okay?”

He stared down at her, focused a little too intently on her hand as it came up to brush a piece of hair away from her face. “I will,” he agreed, taking a step back towards the sidewalk.

She smiled, moving towards her front door. “Bye, Shawn,” she threw over her shoulder as soon as her back was turned, finding it easier to talk when she wasn’t looking at him.

He watched her hurry up the steps to the door, and he gave a little wave as she looked over her shoulder to see if he was still there. Caught, Y/N felt the same heat come to her face as she turned to hide her flustered expression from him, though she knew he couldn’t see anyways, and pushed her way through the door. She was almost thankful that she immediately heard her roommates calling out for her; it helped her fight the childish urge to run to the window and watch him walk away.

Shawn let out a deep breath as soon as Y/N closed the door behind herself, reaching up to run his hands through his matted curls. He began to unwrap his hands as he set off towards Dynamite to retrieve his phone and finally go home.

He knew he should be more concerned with Axel tracking him down than he was about Y/N, but he wasn’t, and it made him uneasy. He couldn’t tear his mind from the eyes he’d wished he’d seen more of, the pendant hanging around her neck that fit perfectly into the V of her white top, or the way it felt--although it was only for a short time--when he’d held her hand. It was all new, and different, and it was driving him so crazy he still couldn’t tell if he liked it or hated it.

When he finally reached Dynamite, his phone was exactly where he’d expected it to be; right by where he’d sat to wrap his hands before the fight that never ended up happening. He picked it up and tucked it into his pocket, but almost as soon as he started walking towards his apartment he felt it buzz. Annoyed, he reached for it and illuminated the screen to find a slew of messages from Raven.

Where did you go, Sugar?

Are you okay?

Answer me, maybe?

Would it kill you to pick up the phone?

Shawn couldn’t help but roll his eyes. I’m fine, he eventually typed back.

An almost immediate response: Finally, jackass. Good. My place at midnight?

Shawn paused. For the first time, going to see Raven was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. He felt warmth rise to the spot on his forearm where Y/N had written her phone number, and it was as though he could feel the soft pads of her fingertips gently pressing into his skin all over again. It didn’t take long for him to decide to quickly silence his phone and tuck it away after typing back a brief Not tonight.

Feedback is so appreciated, and let me know if you want a part two!!

[gold-from-straw]

A week of prompts

One of my fav authors, Marian Keyes, has started running a weekly chat on instagram live (Mondays at 7:30pm GMT, but she uploads on youtube after) where she talks about her experience of writing novels, gives advice, and answers questions. It’s great fun, and I love her for doing it (she’s adorably flustered when she sees how many people love her!) 

She’s given us ‘homework’ for this week. Every day she’ll set a prompt on Twitter, and we have to write 500 words to engage our subconscious and just get into the habit of writing rather than overthinking. So I thought I’d post each one here. Should be silly and fun! I hope you enjoy!

TUESDAY

“The doughnuts have failed to de-escalate the situation,” said the text. Runa blinked at it. One eye refused to open, crusted shut with sleep.

“What the fuck?” she said aloud. Her voice was gravel and she reached for the water by the side of her bed. Empty. Fucking hell.

“What should I do?” her phone pinged. Runa slumped back and laughed once, a sharp ha.

“I’m gonna need more context,” she replied. “And maybe your name.”

She smirked to herself and let the phone fall onto her chest as her eyes closed. She draped one arm over her face and let herself drift back towards sleep. Doughnuts would realise they had the wrong number and go bother someone else more invested.

Her phone buzzed. Apparently not.

“Isn’t this Hannah?”

“No. You’ve got the wrong number.”

There was radio silence. She found herself looking at the phone a little longer, a twinge of something like disappointment as she clicked the off button and let it fall again. The siren call of sleep was quieter now, the itching in her dry eyes more annoying, less outweighed by the need to burrow down into the covers.

She sighed and flipped the duvet down to waist level. “If you’re looking to de-escalate, maybe you should try something with less sugar,” she sent. Fuck it. If they were going to wake her up after a measly four hours sleep, they could continue to entertain her. “Perhaps some bran muffins.”

The reply came quickly, disdain audible even through the technology. “Please, that’s a myth. Sugar isn’t a stimulant. And can you imagine what they’d do with bran muffins? Those things are a war crime.”

Runa laughed out loud and sat up. “OK, I have to know now. What are you trying to de-escalate?”

The ellipsis ran for a long time. Enough for Runa to get up, go to the loo, brush her teeth. Tug her hair back and inspect herself in the mirror. Stretch out the sore muscles from yesterday’s workout.

Her phone pinged. Runa expected a novel-length message, but it was just two lines. “I called him fat. I didn’t mean to.”

“OK, I can see how doughnuts would not de-escalate that,” she said. “How do you even call someone fat by accident?”

The phone rang. Runa nearly dropped it, fumbling for the off switch.

She hit answer instead.

“What the fuck?” she squealed as the video popped up. “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m in my undies here!”

“I didn’t mean to call him fat!” wailed Doughnuts, who turned out to be a pretty blonde with significantly more clothes on than Runa. She was pulling her hair and seemed entirely oblivious to Runa’s spluttering. “I just asked him if he’d stopped his exercise regime recently because his face was looking less thin – I meant it as a compliment! He looked ill recently!”

“Excuse bloody me!” Runa yelled.

Doughnuts stopped and blinked at her. “Oh. Hi.”

“I am in my undies!” Runa said, gesturing to herself. “Who the bloody hell facetimes a stranger at…” she checked her watch. “11am… oh, well… but still!”

Doughnuts slumped. “Apparently the sort of person who calls someone fat by accident and then adds insult to injury by giving him doughnuts.” She dropped her face into the crook of her arm so that her fluffy blonde hair was the only thing in view.

Runa sighed and propped her phone up on the chest of drawers, pulling a t-shirt over her head. “Tell me everything,” she said, and sat cross-legged on the bed.

[moviestorian]

Im glad the asks helped! I have anxiety and depression and can understand what youre going through. My ask today is what are your thoughts on Bo Rhap as a movie?

Thanks! :) I’m above all extremely happy to see people on this site being so kind and supportive in time of need, it’s a human quality that will never get enough praise! I’m also really sorry to hear about your problems. :( I send you lots of love, I can imagine how difficult it must be for you, but I’m sure you're strong and coping❤️

As for your actual question - that’s some truly excellent and interesting timing, considering that I rewatched BoRhap (with @incblackbird) literally three days ago. :P It was already my third rewatch, and while I enjoyed the movie overall, I liked it quite significantly less than upon the last time I saw it. Of course, there’s been gazillion discourses about BoRhap, whether it’s genius, extremely evil, etc., but since it’s such a broad topic (and I think some of my opinions could potentially outrage certain parts of the fandom), this time I’m going to stick to purely cinematic terms.

Needless to say, the soundtrack is excellent - with music such as Queen’s you don’t really have to do much, but they made a good choice of songs, alternating between their best known hits (We Will Rock You, Somebody to Love, Bohemian Rhapsody) and songs to fit the narrative (Doing All Right, Now I’m Here, Who Wants to Live Forever, Love of my Life). It’s practically impossible to leave the screening of BoRhap without at least one Queen song stuck in your head.

The cast was overall very good, too. My personal favourites in terms of acting were Gwilym Lee (who I liked even more than Rami), Rami Malek, Lucy Boynton and Allen Leech - I think they did a great job with their roles as they were written (whether their characters were well written or not is a subject for a whole another discussion). All the side characters were well acted, too (Mike Myers, Meneka Das and Aaron McCusker, for instance, I found particularly memorable), but I must admit I wasn’t a big fan of Joe Mazzello and Ben Hardy, but even they weren’t bad. So, acting is definitely one of the strongest points of the film.

Moving on, I also think they did a great job when it comes to costumes (Brian lending some of his old clothing definitely helped) and make-up (except for Roger’s wigs, perhaps); the choreography and stage movement for the characters were super well done, too - and it definitely wasn’t an easy task!

Now, let’s discuss cinematography. I will talk about editing in a separate paragraph, so for now I’m gonna stick to other aspects. The composition of shots struck me as rather mediocre, nothing particularly exceptional in either good or bad way, it was pretty basic but rather correct. Of course, there were some shots I really liked, but if I were to start adding screenshots the post would become way too long. XD The colours I really liked, especially in the musical scenes - they were vivid and lovely, and they used a combination of colours that I tend to appreciate in cinema, like various shades of blue and red. Finally, the camerawork - for dialogue scenes it was correct; again, rather average with some use of handheld camera which served no particular dramatic purpose, but it wasn’t nowhere near very bad, also it’s quite a common thing in modern biopics I would say. Handheld camerawork isn’t bad in default, but my comment largely comes from my personal preferences: in most cases I don’t really like it, especially when it’s particularly shaky. Then, there are scenes in BoRhap which display excellent camerawork, namely Live Aid and We Will Rock You scenes. If most scenes were filmed like that, I would give the movie a higher rating.

Before I move to the worst (imo) cinematic aspects of the movie, let’s have a look at writing. It is probably the most divisive thing in the fandom - people seem to either adore or absolutely loathe it; my stance lies somewhere inbetween. The first time I saw the film (I’m gonna remind you that I’ve seen it four times), I had certain objections, but the script didn’t bother me all that much; I was mostly simply having fun in the cinema. With every next watching, the experience was getting gradually worse, but even now I don’t hate the movie. Yes, some of the dialogue is cheesy, trite and makes me cringe a bit - certain parts of the script definitely end on an “overly sentimental” territory, I can’t deny that. Knowing quite a lot about Freddie, Queen and their stories, I generally think they deserve a better script; some characterisation was a bit offputting and chronology was all over the place. Having said that, I understand where some of those narrative choices come from, as scripts for mainstream movies require oversimplification of events, archetypes, and patterns. And quite frankly, I don’t think BoRhap differs any drastically from most modern biopics; it’s not a masterpiece, but - in my opinion - it’s also not bad overall. Regardless the flaws of the script, the movie still managed to emotionally affect a huge, if not major, portion of viewers, entertain and move them, and honestly? I think that was pretty much the point. Btw, there were some lines that I really loved, like “Puritans in public, perverts in private”, and I still think that their decision to cut from Live Aid performance to Ray Foster’s grim face during We Are the Champions was the funniest shit ever. XD Would BoRhap’s script benefit from sticking to historical accuracy? I’m gonna say yes, I think so - the scenes that were the closest to actual events are definitely the strongest - but this approach would require tons of changes, including narrowing down the narrative scope and probably the characters, too. Also, a lot of people keep forgetting that this is not an arthouse, niche film and therefore resorts to narrative and cinematic choice that compromise between satisfying the fans and the newbies; it’s meant to tell a (simple) story and entertain, not educate and provoke existential and philosophical debates. Still, I think the script could have been done a bit better, because some scenes  (the tour “Now I’m Here” montage) feel a bit...random?

Finally, the infamous editing. I totally agree that it was one of the most undeserving Academy Awards that year, because some scenes were simply atrocious, with their unmotivated and overly fast cuts and unreasonably ridiculous face that doesn’t fit the dialogue scenes, and those are honestly the worst when it comes to pacing and editing. I think the editing is the worst aspect of BoRhap; but even here, I could point at some examples of pretty amazing editing (Oscar-worthy? Not necessarily, but definitely very good); again, I’m gonna bring up Live Aid and “We Will Rock You” scenes, especially the latter, because less people talk about it. I already mentioned that it has some really nice camerawork AND colours, but also the editing is actually really cool, because it’s cut to the music! Which makes me think: “what a shame!”, because if they went with different editing choices, the movie would be affected in a positive way. The way we have it, it’s either a hit or miss (sadly, mostly miss), and the badly edited scenes are pretty striking, so the ones that are done nicely are unfortunately a wasted potential.

Okay, this is already waaay too long, so I’m just gonna finish with a few general remarks. Well, despite BoRhap’s flaws, I still like and enjoy it. With every screening slightly less, but enjoy it anyway. I don’t think any amount of discourse will ever take away my positive experiences and memories from seeing it twice in cinema. It sparked my previously dormant love for Queen and united me with some people in the fandom and in real life; making this movie made Brian and Roger happy; as a result, I like this movie. It brings back a lot of positive recollections, which sometimes is more important than critical discussions. And boy, do I adore those - I’m often critical and I adore analysing stuff academically; but I think that not all daily interactions require those and depending on who’s asking and what about, I’m capable of switching between the two options. If somebody asks me in 25 years whether I remember the times of BoRhap’s release, I’ll be far less likely to say “yeah, the editing sucked and writing was cringy, I remember the discourse on tumblr and instagram” than “Yes, I remember that chilly evening in December when I had a really fun time and ended up with 10 Queen songs stuck in my head”, because the latter is the experience I want to remember.

Thank you for this ask! Hope it wasn’t overly exhausting to read, I didn’t proofread this, sorry! xx