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chubsonthemoon · 7 months ago

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It is done! This is The Death of Translation, originally written in English by @landwriter, translated into Mandarin by @thirrith. Binding is dos-à-dos, with English version on one side and Mandarin on the other. Bookcloth was handwoven by me, on my rigid heddle loom :3

More under the cut!

Typeset: Fanbinders are Liars

Full stop, this typeset would not have been possible without Eth and all their patience, enthusiasm, and willingness to do even more translating! I reached out to them *checks watch* nearly a year ago in July 2023 (lololol), asking if I could use their translation of TDOT in a surprise bind I wanted to send along with Gloam's author copy of Flower King. They were kind enough to say yes, and even kinder to answer my questions when I reached out six months later in January, when I was finally able to start work on the typeset.

We talked about the many delicious things that are bound to come up when discussing translating not just from English to Mandarin, but also from digital space to meatspace. Some topics I had anticipated, like font questions, translating the colophon, etc. But even with the topics I thought I'd prepared for, there were still things that came up that both surprised and delighted: for example, while AO3's website allows for italics in Mandarin--

--my publishing program doesn't (or at least, it doesn't without needing to manually tilt every character by about 10 degrees). So as a workaround, Eth suggested changing these cases of italics to the font 华文楷体:

Through no one's fault but my own, this ended up being only slightly less work than manually tilting every instance of italics--I wanted to be sure that I got all of them, so I ended up doing a lot of double-checking manually anyway, instead of relying solely on the Search function. There was a lot of cross-referencing with the Word document that Eth was kind enough to provide, as well as squinting and general swearing. I also did the same for the uses of Latin script, manually styling each instance as Garamond to keep it consistent with the English edition:

The only other time I've had to do font surgery this intensive is probably for my typeset for Tell Me About the Big Bang, which I had to port over from a PDF. Folks, hell on earth. Do not recommend XD I remember squinting at my monitor as I had to visually confirm every instance of italics, thinking I will never do this again. Welp, four years later, here were are: fanbinders are liars, LMAO. At the very least, using Eth's Word document at least allowed me to search by styles, so it was a little easier on my eyes. 🙏

Is there a script that I might've been able to use if I was more code-savvy? Probably. But I figured going at it sledgehammer style would be the least hair-pulling way to get the job done, weirdly enough. Still, despite my best efforts, there are a few instances of PMingLiU to Garamond and PMingLiU to 华文楷体 that I know I missed, and I know I missed them because I caught them after I'd printed/cut/folded/sewn/glued (cue more swearing), so Gloam and Eth, my apologies >.< please consider them artifacts of a uniquely handmade object ajslkdjfs

In addition to the fonts, there were also some other fun things Eth and I discussed, like how to translate the notes I usually provide on the colophons! In addition to information on fonts, I also usually include some variation of:

This private, limited edition published by chubsthehamster (Moonham Press, imprint of Renegade Publishing) in 2024. This is chubsthehamster's personal copy. Out of three existing copies, this is the first.

The thing that came up with this, which still tickles my brain to this day, was how Eth chose how to translate "Moonham Press, imprint of Renegade Publishing." To get a better sense of what word to use for "imprint," they asked what the relationship was between Moonham Press and Renegade Publishing, which got me thinking about the relationship between my lil imprint and the wonderful @renegadeguild:

What's all very funny about all of this is that we are now, in fact, going by the name "Renegade Bookbinding Guild," per our most recently updated Code of Conduct. While this renders the wording I asked for out of date (and thus, the wording that made it into the book out of date :'D), I think it's also a testament to how cool the work @renegadeguild is doing--like any artform, fanbinding is alive, with its own evolving language, communities, and ideas about the craft. And I love it, I love it so much. (Was this also a plug for our new-ish website? Perhaps).

There's more I could say here, but this post is already going to be long enough, so I'll move on for now! If you get anything from this section, it's that @thirrith is amazing and very patient and kind, and I'm so grateful that we got to talk shop together. Thank you so much for all your invaluable help with this, Eth! I hope the typeset, though undoubtedly flawed, does your hard work justice!

Binding: Or, SO Much Math. Like, So Much, Guys. (It was worth it, though!)

Whoo, boy! So math was never my strong suit in school, but when I set out to do this bind last year, that wasn't an issue. At first. The dos-à-dos binding, if anything, just requires a little bit of finagling on the usual case-bound format--a bit more math if you want to do an all-cloth cover, like I planned on doing, but nothing I couldn't work out with some trial and error. (My prototype below!)

Then came February, when I took a weaving class with my friend, and then everything kinda exploded.

My original idea was to use some green Duo bookcloth I had on hand (this color, actually)--for those of you not initiated into the Duo cult, Duo is a Rayon bookcloth with a very devoted fan following in Renegade. It's very pretty; the Rayon weave is one color, and the paper backing is usually complementary color, so it has this cool two-toned effect. Duo is in high demand in Renegade circles because sadly, the company that manufactures it went out of business last year. (Although I've heard rumors recently that there's another company making something similar, but the cloth has a really high purchase requirement and is, like, for businesses only I think).

Anyway, I also wanted to have a gold line around the whole book as a kind of bellyband/obi to further connect the two versions of the story (another reason why I chose the dos-à-dos format to begin with heh), as you can see from my scribbled notes here--

But alas! I knew going in that adhering things to Duo is often Problematic, thanks to one very painful experience trying to get some iron-on foil on another bind (the textured surface of Duo just makes it kinda hard to stick or paint stuff on it). So if I wanted a clean, continuous line, the remaining options were to either paint it on a strip of paper that I'd somehow...adhere to the cloth? Or maybe cut different slices of bookcloth and glue them on. I wasn't satisfied with either of those options, though.

Then--the weaving class. I made a scarf, and I love it and I loved making it. But the whole time, I'll not lie, my thoughts were elsewhere.

In short, my decision to weave my own bookcloth kinda came from a few different factors:

The desire to attempt to recreate Duo, that elusive beauty, the one that got away, etc. (I have several yards in my stash, but still). Others have also attempted to recreate it, and I thought I'd throw my hat in the ring.

My current spiral into the deep hole that is fiber arts (it started with crochet, then knitting, then sewing, then weaving, then spinning, and now I'm eyeing quilting! Please help me).

The gold line. It kept bugging me. And when I found weaving, I just thought there was something very neat about the process of actually making the cloth for a dos-à-dos binding from scratch, and especially for this binding. I wanted to bind a story about translation (or rather, the death of it, and yet still the necessity of it--how we must try to communicate, despite of, or perhaps precisely because of, everything that gets lost in the spaces between people, and the tragedy of that loss, and the beauty of what makes it through, and the love always present in the effort regardless), and also, the translation of that story. Weaving is a very meditative process, and with every pass of the shuttle, back and forth, building slowly but surely the fabric that would hold the story that Gloam had written and that Eth had translated, I thought a lot about translation, and the gaps between people, and how we choose our words not just when translating, but when we speak at all. From a design perspective, I used the same colors I would've used had I chosen the Duo bookcloth--green and gold--so the design wasn't too altered in terms of color scheme. But I think the choice to weave the bookcloth--the thing that bound it all together--made the project take on a completely new meaning for me, both in process and in scope, one that hadn't been there when I started. I saw the warp, perhaps, as the original story, laying the groundwork for the weft, the translation; or maybe it was the other way around, with the translation providing the scaffolding for its own, new meaning, choices that Eth had to make with this word or phrase or another building something new, something translated, and the original a live, moving thing that wove over and under each word turned phrase turned story; or maybe it was both. Maybe it didn't matter which was which, in the end. And as I wove, the thing that connected them, that gold line that had started all of this, slowly formed.

All that to say: Good God, was there a lot of math. So much math. That prototype pictured above was actually made specifically so I could calculate exactly how much I needed to weave, lol, because while I certainly had enough thread, I didn't want to have to warp more than once. I'd learned the basics in my class, but the training wheels came off here. I wanted to make my own custom fabric, which meant calculating things like ends per inch, picks per inch, loom waste, shrinkage after washing, the width of that damn gold line, how much I'd need for the hinge, the turn-ins, the boards--the whole nine yards (I didn't actually weave nine yards tho heh). It was all absolutely worth it in the end--so challenging and so, so rewarding!

(And my final reason for weaving the bookcloth? Not gonna lie, It was because I just wanted to see if I could do it LOL. I love trying at least one new thing with each of my binds, and this was it for this project. While I've been bookbinding for a few years now, I'm still very much a beginner weaver, and I'm so excited to continue to learn and experiment! Also, here's a video of me unwinding the cloth from the loom, heh. I used 10/2 Perle cotton in gold and green colors :3)

Also, turns out, you can back handmade cloth the same way you can any other cloth! I backed it using my usual heat-n-bond method, and with some Unryu Tissue in the color Forest. Since the cloth itself is a bit transparent, there are a bunch of really fun fibers you can see when it's held up to the light, but which aren't visible when the cloth is glued down to the boards. Still, knowing they're there still makes me happy :D

Finally, capping all this off, is one final, small detail I really liked: ginkgo leaf endpapers :3 this one's for me and Eth and Gloam specifically <3

Aaaand that's all from me for today, folks! Thus ends (several months late XD) my last Binderary project for the year. This was probably my most ambitious bind to date, and gosh it was so, so much fun.

And, of course, thank you so much to Gloam for sharing your story, and Eth for translating it. I can't wait for y'all to receive your copies soon!

All my love! <3

#the sandman #The Death of Translation #bookbinding #fanbinding #binderary 2024 #<<<lol #landwriter #Ethiseth #also IF YOU SAW THIS POST BEFORE I FINISHED WRITING IT. NO U DIDN'T AJLKSDJFS #weaving #rigid heddle weaving

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infiniteglitterfall · 5 months ago

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I do realize this is a real niche post but I cannot tell you how many damn times over the past 10 months I've seen gentiles tell Jews some version of, "Your own holy book SAYS God doesn't want you to have a country yet!"

And it's such an incredibly blatant and weirdly specific tell that they're not part of something that grew from progressive grassroots, but something based on right-wing astroturfing.

1. Staying in your own lane is a pretty huge progressive principle.

Telling people in another group that their deity said they couldn't do X is, I think, as far as you can get from your own lane.

2. It's also very clearly Not In Your Own Lane because I've never seen anyone actually be able to EITHER quote the passage they're thinking of, OR cite where it is.

It's purely, "I saw somebody else say this, and it seemed like it would make me win the debate I wasn't invited to."

3. It betrays a complete ignorance of Jewish culture and history.

Seriously? You don't know what you're referencing, its context, or even what it specifically says, but you're... coming to a community that reads and often discusses the entire Torah together each year, at weekly services... who have massive books holding generations of debate about it that it takes 7 years to read, at one page per day....

And saying, "YOUR book told you not to!"

I've been to services where we discussed just one word from the reading the whole time. The etymology. The connotations. The use of it in this passage versus in other passages.

And then there is the famous saying, "Ask two Jews, get three opinions." There is a culture of questioning and discussion and debate throughout Judaism.

You think maybe, in the decades and decades of public discussion about whether to buy land in Eretz Yisrael and move back there; whether it should keep being an individual thing, or keep shifting to intentional community projects; what the risks were; whether it should really be in Argentina or Canada or someplace instead; how this would be received by the Jews and gentiles already there, how to respect their boundaries, how to work with them before and during; and whether ending up with a fuckton of Jews in one place might not be exactly as dangerous for them as it had always been everywhere else....

You think NOBODY brought up anything scriptural? Nobody looked through the Torah, the Nevi'im, the Ketuvim, or the Talmud for any thoughts about any of this?? It took 200 years and some rando in the comments to blow everyone's minds???

4. It relies on an unspoken assumption that people can and should take very literal readings of religious texts and use them to control others.

And a sense of ownership and power over those texts, even without any accompanying knowledge about what they say.

It's kind of a supercessionist know-it-all vibe. It reads like, "I know what you should be doing. Because even if I'm not personally part of a fundamentalist branch of a related religion, the culture I'm rooted in is."

Bonus version I found when I was looking for an example. NOBODY should do this:

There are a lot of people who pull weird historical claims like "It SAYS Abraham came from Chaldea! That's Iraq!"

Like, first of all, a group is indigenous to a land if it arose as a people and culture there, before (not because of) colonization.

People aren't spontaneously spawning in groups, like "Boom! A new indigenous people just spawned!!"

People come from places. They go places. Sometimes, they gel as a new community and culture. Sometimes, they bop around for a while and eventually assimilate into another group.

Second: THE TORAH IS NOT A HISTORY TEXTBOOK OMFG.

It's an oral history, largely written centuries after the fact.

There is a TON of historical and archaeological research on when and where the Jewish culture originated, how it developed over time, etc. It's extremely well-established.

Nobody has to try to pull what they remember from Sunday school for this argument.

#jumblr #Jewish history #hamas propaganda and fundie Christian propaganda are a terrible mix #fuck hamas #depressing discourse #wall of words

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year ago

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Rigor Mortis (part 9)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 8, Part 10

summary: You both come to a realisation.

warnings: smut! f! masturbation, grinding, humping, fingering, (implied) recreational drug use, alcohol, dubcon (-ish! reader is drunk but the interaction is consensual, tagging just in case xx), teeny tiny bit of mutual pining. 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: yuhh

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 7.2k

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

all that light lost in gaps

You're gone, in the morning.

…he should've expected it. Miguel stumbles out of sleep, groggy and disoriented. He finds himself reaching out for something in the half-light.

He finds himself reaching for you. And when you're not there, leaving a person sized gap at the crook of his arm, his stomach churns. He pretends it's not disappointment, or the sharp crack of yearning ; settling at his chest like a crowbar, and prying open his ribs. It's worry, he decides resolutely, a perfectly normal, healthy amount of worry. As your roommate; and nothing else, he keeps reminding himself; he's just worried about where you've rushed off to, especially after yesterday.

Senior year. He was assigned a bullshit paper in a Civics class – one he'd usually half-ass for an easy A. He'd wax poetic about morality – amorphous, vague platitudes about duty and societal expectations. By the end of the year, he had it down to a science: a couple thousand words remixed and plucked from lesser known philosophers, videos online, and overdue library books. Either he was getting too good at it, or his teacher was too stupid to notice; but regardless, he coasted through the class right up until graduation. His last paper, and he remembers it distinctly, was on the book of the same name; aptly titled What We Owe Each Other. A plodding, pluralistic read; of which he had only scanned through, anyways. Extra credit, anything to graduate early, and he'd had more than enough on his plate at the time.

And so, he wasn't expecting the B+ underlined and circled in red ink on the front page. It felt like his teacher had handed it back to him face down, slammed onto the desk like the thunderous crack of a whip. And he didn't need that A, strictly speaking. Yet, he had found himself staying over after class, crinkling that piece of paper in hand as he'd asked why.

She sighs. Miss Hunter's glasses slip down her nose, as they are prone to do.

"You're an outstanding student. I hear you're graduating early, and you're off somewhere prestigious in the fall. This is… definitely not a bad grade, and it's nothing, I promise you."

It doesn't work like that, for him. His teacher doesn't get it, but it will eat him up inside-out if he's not able to understand.

"Was it my referencing?" He fumbles with the strap of his bag.

"No. Not at all–"

"I did the extra reading…the article you mentioned in class, and–"

He's cut off by the scrape of a desk chair. Miss Hunter gets up to close the door, before settling on her desk.

Arms crossed, she seems tired. Worried, maybe, but it doesn't register with Miguel. The thought doesn't even cross his mind, that there are others with the capacity to worry about him.

"Technically, it's well written. As usual, Miguel." She gives him a weak smile. "It just… lacked heart."

His brows jump up. "...heart?"

"There's not really a narrative voice, here."

He taps at the paper on the desk, frustrated. "You didn't ask for a narrative voice, though. You didn't ask for… for heart. I read the book, I did the extra reading, and I wrote a report. That was the brief."

"Not quite." She says it gently, but it still sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. "The brief was vague, intentionally so. 'What Do We Owe Each Other? Discuss.' I gave examples, sure: excerpts from the book we touched on in class, articles, academic papers, etcetera. They were… suggestions."

"...suggestions." He's incredulous.

She nods. "You followed it to the letter, Miguel. You gave me a summary, with a few key links. Fully referenced, yes. Well-written, yes. But this feels like a sum of parts. It doesn't tell me anything about you; your perspective, your angle. Your voice."

He's biting back choice words. It sounds like bullshit to him, for lack of a better word. Flowery, hoity-toity BS; served up to him on a steaming platter. That's it?

Maybe it shows on his face, because she's asking, as delicately as possible,

"Is everything okay?"

Instinctually, he seizes up.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm good."

"I know you don't take this class as seriously because it's not an AP, or an elective, or maybe not as challenging as you need it to be. And that's okay, Miguel. I'm happy for you to use my class as a break from all the other stuff." She swallows thickly. "You're not from our usual feeder schools. The Academy is particularly rigorous. But considering your… situation, we can make exceptions. If there's anything I can do–"

"There isn't a 'situation'."

"Right. Of course, I'm sorry. But if you need a couple days off of school because of…" She pasues, saying the next part softly. "Because of the baby… I mean, you're already acing my class–"

"No." He says it firmly, eyes trained onto the wood grain peeking out from underneath piles of documents. He wants to ask how she knows, and how he's always the last to find out that rumours have spread, and–

"Miguel." Her voice cuts through dense fog. She repeats her previous statement. “If there's anything I can do–”

“If you want to help, you can give me that A.” It's bone dry, said with the kind of sarcasm he's grown accustomed to. He wears it over his shoulders, sometimes; draped to keep out biting cold, or unfamiliar warmth from a stranger - it all feels the same, now.

She gives him a rueful smile. “Need more than that, m'afraid.”

Heart. Voice. What We Owe Each Other – and he doesn't know why that phrase sticks in his throat. It's been drilled into him since childhood; family and community, helping each other out of the starting blocks; and beaten out of him during adolescence. The creaking and cracking of bones after each step, where out in the world it's a different matter entirely.

His mama has bad taste in men, and he finds himself picking up the pieces. Gabi is more sensitive than he'll ever admit, trying not to cry amongst broken plates and chicken-wire hidden in a bouquet of peonies: prickly words that cut and hack, and it's Miguel that wipes the tears from his brother's cheek. That devastatingly gentle sigh when he had told his mama what he had done - how he had fallen for a soft bed and even softer lips at the ripe age of 16 and a half - and Miguel carries that weight. What We Owe Each Other – and he's only ever fed entitled egos. Not his family, of course, but he's been burned. He's had more than his fair share of it.

He doesn't owe the world shit, he thinks.

He doesn't owe you shit.

It doesn't help that he's been stuck in place, grasping at cushion covers and a raggedy blanket. Trying not to drown in the heady scent of you, he's been dragging thick fingers over the fabric as if in a trance. You don't owe him anything, either. Nary an apology, an explanation; so much as a sorry spilling from pretty lips in that way where they quiver like a gentle flame.

He's touched them, felt them drag across his skin like the finest silk, and dropped to his knees in search of something you've never given him. It doesn't matter if you don't; kiss him , that is; the swirling, desperate sort that leaves him heaving and creaking and begging for more. He thinks he'd still scuff up the denim at his knees if you asked, regardless - he'd do anything , if it was for you.

It's not realistic to expect anything from you. You don't need to tell him where you've gone or why you've left so early. You don't need to, and yet he finds himself reaching for his phone.

Miguel sends a well placed message; deft fingers tapping away at the screen. Before he changes his mind, it's sent; and he's chewing his lip whilst waiting for a steady three dots. Lyla is slower than usual, but she comes through. She doesn't ask questions - because she knows him better than he knows himself - and gives him a thumbs up.

They'll call each other later, that much he's sure of, but for now he reads between the lines. Short bursts of text, like firecrackers flashing across a night sky, and only through nonsensical emojis and odd slang can they understand each other.

This part, he can do. And he'll do whatever he needs to, not what he owes.

~~~

You make it to Pam's just after it opens.

At 7 o'clock sharp, you've made the journey; in an empty subway car, spilling out onto the streets like treacle left in the neck of a bottle. It's not quite a squeeze, passing by only a handful of people, with nothing but a jacket thrown over last night's clothes. In a daze, you realise too late: it's Miguel's. A dusty, worn thing; brown leather crackling at the sleeves and heavy on your shoulders. It feels like a hug, and it feels like him : warm and stiff. It smells like him too, and you bury your nose in the collar on the subway, sleeves kissing your palm like his hand is in yours.

It's a feeling that takes you all the way to the doors: past the slats bolted shut and down a familiar alley. You push past them, sneakers on slick tiles, and give a weak smile to the woman that perks up from behind the counter, kicking away the mop and bucket.

"Hiya, welcome to Pam's! How can I–"

"Oh, God , no." You wave her off. "Take your time. I need a minute, if that's okay."

Settling on the barstool, you watch as the young woman smiles, picking up a rag and wiping at the counter. You sit in it, for a while.

Dregs drip in through the front. The bell at the top of the door chimes, tinny and cheerful in the relative gloom of a quiet morning.

It's cold , outside. Autumn, biting at your fingers and nose. Eventually you opt for a coffee, piping hot to stave off that chill. Bitter, the aftertaste lingers at the back of your throat. You find yourself picking at the chipped mug, chasing away that taste with fluffy pancakes. The combination doesn't feel quite the same – not after many a morning with your roommate.

You settle into the seat. You wrap that old jacket around you. You sip at tart coffee and pick at your nails. A quiet morning, one to yourself, one to keep hidden at the crook of your chest. Some semblance of peace , wrapped up in the spindles of a dandelion. That is to say; delicate and fleeting, whipped away by the breeze.

You've decided not to think too hard about it. That kind of thinking ends dangerously, you've realised: with long, hot nights spent tossing and turning. It ends with a head full of cotton, and a pounding at your chest. With blood, with tears, with a stranger in your bed. And so, you go for the cleaner option. The safer one, all things considered, that's less likely to end in a broken heart.

You float around for a while. Walking without a real destination, trying to ground yourself. Eventually, you end up home, opening the door to an empty apartment. There's no traces left of a night spent in Miguel's arms. Good, you think, slipping your shoes off at the door. It doesn't feel good , but if you say it enough times you just might believe it.

The cleaner option; the one with less gristle and bone; is a familiar one. You settle into a shower; steamy and soapy, taking your time to clean out the blood from under your fingernails. The grime, the dirt ; you watch it swirl into the drain, hands running across soft flesh. You try to do it like Jamie did, once upon a time. It doesn't feel right, and has you leaning onto the cool tile. The shower head sputters, a shaky pressure on your back but you lean into it and close your eyes. You rub a hand at the crook of your chest, and then down, down, down, circling your breast and then following the curve of hips to the apex of your legs. Tipping your head, letting the hot water stream through your hair and then your back; and you touch, feel , and you can almost taste him ; sweet and saccharine Miguel, at your lips.

With two fingers flat against your clit, you rub little circles at the nub, dipping into your hole for much needed wetness. Your other hand travels up soft skin, pads of your fingers grazing collarbone, and then they curl around your neck. With a little pressure, your thumb grazes your jaw. Like he does, except your hands aren't as deliciously rough or as large. You slip a finger in, and then two, water pounding your back and eyes screwed. You push past that initial tightness, searching for a little give. When it comes, cunt clenching around your fingers, just shy of that sweet spot as you press your clit with the heel of your palm; you're imagining it's your roommate. He'd wrap those thick forearms around you, press his cock to the crest of your back and touch you like you deserve.

You do it like Miguel would, reverent , touching you as if you were clay at a potter's wheel. In the hands of God herself, you cum; falling, falling, falling; tumbling down white water rapids and spit back up into the rushing water. You're panting, now, out of breath.

When you sink onto your bed, you realise it's not quite enough. Still in a fluffy robe, steam curls from your skin like clouds – ones that smell of cheap body wash and shampoo. Before you know it, you're reaching for your phone, sending two quick messages to a certain somebody.

[Sent: 15:32]

hey mig

[Sent: 15:32]

where did u go?

You don't expect a quick reply - he's never been much of a texter. But those three dots pop up in no time at all, much to your surprise.

[Received: 15:33]

Out.

[Received: 15:33]

Running errands.

It's succinct and to the point – of which you expect nothing else from Miguel. Your thumbs fly to the screen to reply but another message tugs the rug out from under your shaky legs.

[Received: 15:35]

Is everything okay?

[Sent: 15:35]

yeah

[Sent: 15:36]

all good

When that provides no response, you're left chewing on your lip, anxious. He's seen the message, he's read the message; but for some reason, several minutes go by and there's no response.

You're ready to give up and chalk it to your roommate's hot-and-cold nature, when your phone rings.

Immediately, you pick up.

" Don't believe you." His voice rings out, tinny, nestled amongst the covers.

"Hey, Mig." You settle down on the bed, putting him on speaker and placing it by your ears.

" Did you hear what I said?" His tone is deep and intense, making you shiver. It's not quite the same, of course, but you're reminded of nights spent with his lips tucked close the shell of your ear.

You swallow. "Yeah. I… I did."

" You sure? Because you suck at lying."

"Don't be an asshole."

" Think I get a free pass when you disappear for the whole day."

You roll your eyes. “You didn't call–”

“ Would you have answered?”

Ouch. He sounds frustrated, the quiet chatter of his background bathed in heavy silence. Silence thick with tension, and you almost choke on it.

He breaks it with a heavy sigh. “ You okay? ”

“No. Not really.”

“ Okay. ” He lets it sit for a while, before saying, “ I'll be home, soon. There's leftovers in the fridge, and you should eat, sweetheart. You want anything from the store? ”

His voice is so, so soft. It crackles like kindling on a fire: warmth that blooms and spreads to your chest. Like slipping off frozen gloves to thaw off in front of a heater, and he just makes you feel impossibly warm.

“Not really, thanks.” You mumble it, and hear a satisfied grunt from the other end. Before you change your mind, you say, “Sorry. M'sorry.”

Miguel gives a light chuckle and you think you can hear him smile, the kind you always chase after a stupid argument: one that tugs at the corners of his pretty lips.

“ You've got nothin' to be sorry about .”

He gives you a moment to feel the weight of his words, and ends the call. That heat at your chest blooms.

If Miguel O'Hara is the Sun, then maybe you don't mind being pulled into his orbit; bathing in steady light and warmth.

~~~

He comes home with flowers. A beautiful bouquet; delicate and balanced, featherlight wildflowers and brush, interspersed with sprays of blue and purple and pink. It's wonderfully dense, reminding you of the tangles of colour a child might decorate a picture with in wobbly crayon. Simply put, it's nothing short of a vision, and you notice how delicately he places it on the dining table.

With the rest of the grocery bags, Miguel clatters in, and you can't help but be curious. You're poking through the bags, sitting on the counter as he puts them away – after offering to help, of course, but he bats you away easily. Your bare legs bristle in the chill brought on by the window cracked open, and he just breezes past.

The cabinet opens with a thud , and your roommate busies himself with putting away food. Carefully, you watch the way the muscles of his back flexes this way and that - cut and lean under that thin sweater. He’s otherwise occupied, and so you take the opportunity to stare, playing with a loose string at the hem of silky shorts. And so, it makes you jump when your phone buzzes beside you. Innocuously, you glance at the notification, and your eyes go wide.

“Who’s that?” Miguel asks, voice light. With that freaky sixth sense of his, he doesn’t need to turn around to know, it seems.

“Lyla.” You murmur, reading the rest of the message.

“ ...And? ”

“Uh. Well…” Blinking, you can’t quite believe what she’s asking. “ Girl’s Night . I-I mean… she’s asking me to come with her for a Girl’s Night.”

“Really?” His tone is surprising, and you can hear how he beams by its lilting nature. Maybe he’s laughing at you, maybe he’s not, but you snap back regardless.

“ ... don’t act so surprised.”

“ You sound surprised.” He laughs.

“It’s different when I do it.” You say simply. “I just… I didn’t expect it. I didn’t even know we were close enough to–”

“Bullshit. You text her all the time.”

“A couple of times, Mig.” You correct him, trying to pin down a suitable response to give Lyla. You draw a blank. “I don’t want her to feel like she has to, or anything.”

He turns around, sleeves still rolled up. The look he gives makes you wither: one that could say about a million things. You think it means cut the crap , but he could just be constipated: you haven't quite mastered the art of reading Miguel O’Hara.

“Do you want to go?” He gets closer, hand flat on the counter next to your thigh.

You nod, and his hand creeps up and up.

Giving you a little smile, he shrugs. “Then go.”

It makes you shy. Bashful , even; and you’re wriggling as he squeezes the flesh. A hand on his forearm, and he’s close; so much so that all you can feel is the press of skin, and feel gentle breath fluttering past your cheek. You’re stuck underneath the gaze of his pretty lashes, and entranced at the way he licks his even prettier lips. A sudden thought seizes you - so heavy it makes your chest tight and leaden.

Oh. You want to kiss him.

In a moment, it’s gone. A broad palm nudges your thigh aside, and you’re shifting so he can reach the drawers just by your legs. You oblige, falling back into familiar routine.

Life moves on. Like Miguel said it would, and you find yourself entwined with the idea of time passing. Lying awake each night, picking out sand from underneath your fingernails, after clawing your way out of the hourglass. Steady, slow dregs; and it's tipped over each morning, restarting the clock.

The flowers disappear from the dining table. Miguel retreats into the folds and dark corners of your apartment; you see him less and less. Passing ships in the night, you seem to miss each other by a fraction of a second. All of a sudden he's busy , and all of a sudden you're swamped with work. You only see each other at night, looking out for the bits and pieces left as proof of life: sometimes he'll leave a hot flask out for you in the mornings, and you'll greet him with a cheesy soap in the evenings. If he's not leaving later and later after work, that is.

He looks tired, you note. Exhausted; prone to little yawns as you turn to him every now and then whilst watching on the couch. It's sweet, the way his frown has made way to a dopey smile, but it's frayed at the edges, tinged with something you can't quite place. You let him sleep that night, bringing pillows to lay his head on, and wrapping him up in that old blanket.

Girl's night creeps up on you. It shakes you by the shoulders when you collapse on the sofa after a long day – and you're rushing to get ready. There's no Miguel to make sly remarks or prod you into action, this time. You wonder what he'd say about what you're wearing; a leftover dress buried in boxes from your ex's apartment.

Short, tight, snug; it has you feeling glamorous – but you hope it doesn't look as fanciful as it feels. Too much; yet again, you're worried about being too much. Even though you're running a little late, you take the time to carefully apply makeup; something shiny on your lids, a dab of blush, and gloss slathered onto your lips. When you sling on little heels, and snatch a petite bag from the hooks near the door, there's barely enough time to catch that last glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Down and out you go, into a dusky night.

~~~

“I had to go through her manager– and wait, can you believe this girl has a fucking manager, now?” Lyla bats at MJ's shoulder, and the redhead laughs good-naturedly.

“It's not– she's exaggerating! My manager's just my mom, I swear.”

“It's a good thing, no?” You smile, taking a healthy swig of a brightly coloured cocktail.

“It means she is booked, and–” Lyla hiccups, raising an unsteady glass that threatens to tip. MJ straightens her elbow instinctually, before raising her own. “ – very busy .”

It's your turn to laugh, glass held high in the air. With a clink , there's a clash of crystal that's all but drowned out by the chatter in the upscale bar.

Somewhere fancy, courtesy of Lyla. One of those places that serves tiny portions in big, empty plates, a fusion of cultural food with white, upper class owners. No-doubt the result of summering somewhere in the ever-broad global South , Lyla had said slyly, under the lip of a menu.

There's powdered sugar on the rim of your flute. It dissolves on your tongue. You down the rest. Sickly sweet, and you wipe what drips onto your lips.

It has you checking your phone. Miguel hasn't called, not that you were expecting anything. Whilst Lyla and MJ talk, you scroll mindlessly through his chat; a smattering of one word answers. Missed calls. Unanswered messages.

" –what about you, babe?"

Your eyes snap back up to meet Lyla's, expectant.

"Uhhh…"

"Nevermind." Sharp eyes travel to your phone, and there's a flash of recognition. "Miggy said you're in school. He said you're gonna graduate early, this year."

"He said that?" You're confused. "I mean… I'm trying but it's not looking like that, right now."

She wags a finger, shaking her head like she's trying to remember something. "No, no, he seemed adamant. Said you're working hard, doing well."

"Doing better ." You correct her, shyly.

" Bullshit. " She says it the way Miguel does, and it makes you laugh. You see it now; he's the product of the people he loves. A kind of Frankenstein's monster, he's stitched together those bits and pieces; he's made himself beautiful. You wonder what piece of you he carries. If he even holds you that close to his chest.

"I bet you're doing amazing. " MJ finishes. Her smile is warm, and copper-coloured; it feels hazy and ambered in your little corner. "Better than me, anyways. I would rather die than go back to college."

"Back?" You ask.

"Oh, of course! You don't know." She giggles, leaning in like she's about to say something scandalous - the drink is clearly doing its job. Her next words are an exaggerated stage whisper. "I dropped out."

" Seriously? " You play along, with faux shock.

"...damn right she did." Lyla gives a drunken wave to a nearby waiter, asking for another glass of wine. Something expensive, she whispers, giving a deceptive smile.

"It just wasn't for me, I guess. I went because everyone around me was going, even Pete. Uhh, English Lit, or something. And it didn't… I–I mean it just wasn't–"

"It didn't click."

" Right!" She snaps her fingers. "It was too much. I didn't know what I was doing, I was 18, for God's sake. Think I stuck at it for a bit too long, honestly."

"...and the world didn't explode." You breathe.

MJ answers with a knowing nod. She chugs the rest of a crisp Mojito, raising the empty glass once more.

"To doing better ."

You're quick to follow. "To doing better."

Lyla frowns, looking for a glass that's tucked into the corner. The room must be spinning already, with the way she pats around for it. You nudge it towards her with an elbow, and she's raucous; crumpling into a fit of giggles.

One drink turns to two, two turns to three, and then four ; until you're ready to spill out onto the busy strip. When the waiter places a slip of paper into the centre, one with so many zeroes it makes your eyes bulge, you don't even have to pretend to reach for your wallet. Gleefully, Lyla picks up the bill, sliding a shiny Amex card onto the dish.

She's generous, you note, as she buys a bottle of wine to go when MJ picks up her bag. She's perceptive, too. You see it when MJ wrings her hands, still tipsy and stuttering in her heels as you pile onto the street. She's making apologies already - I've got an early start and need to see my May - but Lyla intercepts. There's the gentle clink of a bottle thrust into her hands, something expensive, and she kisses the apples of her cheeks before sending her off in a taxi.

Her own cheeks are ruddy, rosy with drink and she splits into a wide smile. The back of her hand comes up to your neck. Warm , she whispers, before linking arms with you like a schoolgirl off to do something they shouldn't.

Eventually, with shaky legs, you end up in a nightclub. She knows someone who knows someone, apparently, and you're ushered into a packed place just off 76th. Lights and pounding music, a flurry of limbs; you let the crowd take you in. If this is what it means to be a part of a whole; some writhing, heaving beast, to be more than your hand in someone else's and theirs in yours; then you could live here forever, you think. Forever, for the night, for the next ten minutes; you blink , and time passes.

You're having fun, you think. Letting the blood rush to your head, hips swaying to the music and you don't push away the quiet snap of a phone camera, nor it's red recording light. Dancing, singing, many seem to be pulled into orbit around you. This is how it works , pushed into an ebb and flow of people held together by broken lyrics and a thumping bassline. You let it wash over you, all-consuming, dragging yourself into murky depths.

You're in a booth, now, anchored by a dainty hand around your wrist. Pupils blown, she cups your face to inspect you, to figure out where you've gone. Someone's bought you a drink, there's a stranger's arm around your shoulders, but Lyla pushes them both away. Too much? It's a question, of which you shake your head firmly - lolling and with a distinct lack of fine motor skills - no. Not enough.

You blink. Bitter liquor hits your throat, and you chase the taste of somebody else's lips. A stranger, and even under the influence you know it doesn't feel right. Bile rises, and you're gone, clamping onto your stomach and trying not to hurl.

You blink. You're on the sidewalk, with a heavy head on someone's shoulder. The strap of your heels dig into your ankles and you fumble with it, trying to stop the road from spinning. Lyla holds you up, not much more up to task than you are.

A car pulls up, and at first you don't recognise it; entranced by shiny rims coming to a stop. You look up, still buried in Lyla's thick jacket; and you see it. You see him.

Miguel's wearing glasses. That's the first thing you notice, stumbling to your feet. Immediately, your face cracks into a dopey smile, leaning onto the lip of the open window. He gives you a once over, swallowing thickly, brows drawn.

Quiet chatter flys straight over your head. Lyla arguing, Miguel wagging a finger at her; but all you can see is him. It's like you've got blinkers on, tunnel vision making you focus on the curve of cheekbone, and the way his eyes scrunch up around black rims and glass.

You clamber into the backseat.

“Get in, Ly.”

The other woman seems resolute. “ M'not –”

“Did you take something?”

“Fuck you.” Flashing a middle finger, she wraps up her coat like a robe, walking away down the road.

He's adamant, driving up next to her. You keep your head on the glass where it's cool.

“Let me take you home. Please. ”

Frowning, she stops. When he leans over to open the passenger's side, she slips off her boots, and sidles in.

Their voices feel like a blur. You can barely register, only picking up half of the words hissed under their breath.

“... I called you, you can't give me a lecture…”

“...not fair, Lyla…. can't keep babysitting…”

“... fucking hypocrite… not the only one… I'm going through some shit…”

“...too far…. always taking it too…”

He drops her off outside of the apartment. From the backseat, you're sobering up; able to catch his heavy sigh as he watches her through the window. It's only when he sees her walk in does he turn to you, passing bottled water kept in the console.

“You want to come out to the front?”

You like the way he says it, for some reason. Any anger or frustration he had towards Lyla dissipates. He doesn't bring that into a quiet conversation with you.

He's too solemn, too serious, and so you clamber into the front over the console; limbs and legs everywhere, as obnoxiously as you can. A slight elbow to his chest, a hand clutching his shirt; you want to make him laugh. As you settle onto the seat, you see it: huffing dramatically, he gives you a small smile.

Miguel reverses back out onto the road.

You blink, and you're home. Legs still shaky, he helps you up the stairs, settling you onto the sofa. Car keys clink onto the dish by the door, and he slips off his coat – that brown one, your favourite, you think.

Fumbling with the strap of your heels, it must be too painful for him to watch as Miguel settles by your feet. His big, strong hands are surprisingly deft when he undoes the dainty buckle.

“Are you mad at me?” Meekishly, you watch and he shakes his head, not making eye-contact. Maybe it's the alcohol, but you're staring; looking for that light in his eyes amongst the dark room.

Now, he looks up. “What?”

“M'just looking.” You say, chewing the inside of your cheek as one shoe slips off. “ I'm not allowed to look?”

The other one comes off, and he hisses when he spots a little cut where the strap dug into your ankle. He can't help it, rolling it gently in his hands, trying to ease the pain with a massage.

“You wear glasses.” You say it softly, more to yourself than to anyone else. Giggling now, you cradle his face and he sits up. “I didn't know that.”

“ That's not – I've always worn glasses. You're just not paying attention.” He shrugs lazily, but he's smiling.

“Not true , Mig. I would've noticed.”

“You're drunk–”

“When it's you, I always pay attention.” Absent-mindedly, your hand curls into his hair. He keens . “Like… your hair's getting longer.”

Gently, he shakes out of your grip, getting up. “I know, I know. I need a haircut.”

“I like it.” Starry-eyed, you look up at him. “You're so pretty, Mig.”

It makes him heave. Still tipsy, your legs spread ever so slightly, hand taking his and pulling him closer. Placing his hand on your thigh, you let it trace up, up, up, catching at the hem of your short dress.

He practically caves in, collapsing next to you on the couch.

“You should–” His eyes are glassy as you ease yourself onto his lap. “ F-Fuck . You should go to bed, sweetheart.”

Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, you roll your hips, watching as he groans wantonly.

“But I'm not tired.” His hand ends up on your waist, applying just the right amount of pressure. Underneath, you can feel him stir, increasingly hard under loose sweats. “And you haven't touched me in weeks. ”

You're exaggerating, but it goes to his head anyway. He buries his head into the crook of your shoulder, whispering into the bare skin.

“I know, I know…”

“Just the tip, Miguel.” You're grinding your clit onto him, pussy barely covered by a thin thong. Whispered into the shell of his ear, you're a siren, honeyed words dangerously close to breaking him down. “Just the tip, and I promise , I'll let it go. Please , baby.”

Your dress rides up, and his hands come down to palm at your ass.

“ Please…” You're pleading, lips on his neck as he squeezes, forcing you down to hump directly over his cock.

“Oh, shit.” His hips jump once, twice; and then he stills, hands at your hips and ass to stop you.

Desperate, you whine, trying to fight against it. He doesn't let up, hand cradling your chin so you can look him in the eye.

“ Bed .” He says, shakily. “Not like this.”

He slips you off, noticeably adjusting his pants. Legs spread wide, head tipped back as he sighs; he looks delicious , and you're fighting off the urge to let him take you right there and then.

You stumble through the little hallway, pushing past some doors. Something clatters into your thigh, and you hear a dull thud as another thing falls to the floor. Frustrated, you strip down to your underwear, something light and lacy and it leaves very little to the imagination.

There's a bed, and you collapse on it; swimming in the silky sheets. It smells like him - musky and oaky and gentle - and you think you must be dreaming already. And then, you sit up, realising too late - this isn't your room.

Miguel wasn't too far off, hearing the thumping and clattering; hesitant as he opens the door. You're wrapped up like a present, spilling out of lingerie on his bed. He swallows, turning away to dig into his wardrobe, intending to pull out a baggy shirt for you.

“ Miguel .” You croak, but he ignores the want in your voice, so heavy it goes straight to his cock. “Miguel, please. ”

All his shirts blend together. He can't concentrate.

“Do you think I don't want it? Because I do, fuck, I need it. So bad, baby, please.” Your body heaves with a half sob.

Heart splintering, he turns. Finally, you meet his eye. You spread your legs.

“ Here. Right here .” You tap your clothed cunt with shaky fingers, pulling your thong to the side. His eyes drink it up, the way you glisten when your cunt eats up the fabric. You know he's watching, and you take advantage of it, circling your clit with the pads of two fingers. “Like this . When I touch myself, I think of you… d-did you know that?”

Swallowing roughly, he can't take his eyes off of you.

“What… What else?” He croaks.

“I think of your tongue, a-at my pussy. And your fingers… God. ” You slip a finger in, and he watches as your cunt clenches around it; gushing and sloppy. “Your l-lips. Meant it, before. When I said you were pretty. Want to sit on that pretty face and watch you melt– oh-h- fuck- ”

He wants to lick it up, all that slick that sluices from your hole. His mouth waters, just thinking about it.

“Put another one in, for me.” He says it low, sinking to his knees to watch you fuck yourself.

Nodding, you oblige.

“Does it feel good?”

“ Yes. ” You don't hesitate.

“Can you fit another one? Want to see how good she looks when she comes, sweetheart.”

Three fingers in, now, and he slides your thong a little further aside; reaching up to press his thumb to your clit. Light streams in from blinds cracked open and highlights your thighs perfectly. Nevertheless, he adjusts his glasses to make sure he doesn't miss anything.

The twitch of your leg, the way your hand cramps up, the way your lips curl into a delicious O - he sees it all, commits it to memory.

“ Faster , please.”

“ Doesn't –” You're frustrated, clearly chasing something that refuses to surface. “Not the same. Can't fucking reach. ”

He titters, nipping at your thighs and soothing the bites with the flat of his tongue.

“Poor baby. Will you let me help?”

Fervently, you nod, slipping out your fingers as he takes off his glasses. They're discarded, too foggy to be useful right now.

“Did I tell you to take them out?” He sighs and gestures for your hand. Wrapping his lips around them he sucks them clean, humming lightly. He pats your clit with a wet slap, content. “Put two fingers in, sweetheart.”

Doing as he says, your head feels full - cotton wool and bubble wrap, only able to focus on the pleasure building behind your clit. And when he slots two fingers in next to yours , it rips out a gravelly moan.

“ Here? ” He says dragging himself deeper, curling his fingers up. “Or is it… here? ”

You groan, limp against his hand as you feel impossibly full. It reminds you of the stretch of his cock; creaming around the base of his two fingers and yours. That wonderful curl as he pumps himself in and out, cupping your hand in the process to make sure you match his pace. He can feel your walls spasm around him, impossibly soft and velveteen.

“Can't say no to you,” His eyes are low, grunting as he palms himself roughly. “Even though… fuck … even though I should.”

It's wet, the slap slap slap of skin against skin echoing in his room. Miguel sits up, pressing his lips to your neck, and you take the opportunity to slip your other hand into his sweats. You start pumping, in time with his ministrations, eyes blown as you swipe your thumb over his weeping slit.

You know he likes it rough, and you jerk him into your palm; fast and hard and you watch as he matches your pace. Even now, you're competing, trying to catch the him up; to see who can make the other cum first.

You push back on his fingers, hips slotting against his, whispering nonsense into his neck. You're too fucked out to care; confessions you never thought would see the light of day. All the little things you like about him, things he says, things he does; and you don't even register the ochred flush smattered along the ridge of cheekbone.

He spills into your hand, and you're quick to follow; cumming around him as his fingers stutter in and out. It feels good , dangerously so, and has you pressing shaky kisses around his mouth, and nipping at his bottom lip.

He stills, but you're greedy, aching for more. You want him in you; seating his thick cock deep inside, painting your walls with hot cum, and pushing it back in with deft fingers. Every part of you is on fire, barely satiated by your heated foray.

You tip back onto the bed, and he joins you; caging you in with thick forearms, looking at you like you've stolen all the stars in the sky. That feeling , again, slams into your chest like a bullet. Messy hair, ruddy cheeks, hand gently tracing your jaw; he looks gone, and oh so soft. You want to kiss him ; and it's a thought that sticks, embedding itself somewhere you can't reach to dig it out.

“ Miguel .” You whisper, enough alcohol at the edges of your mind to stop thinking and spill your guts to him, unfiltered. “Are you sleeping with someone else?”

His eyes flit over your face before answering and he shakes his head.

“No. No. Just you. Only you.”

“ Don't believe you .” But you want to. So, so desperately. “Promise me?”

“I promise, sweetheart.” He swallows. “Are you?”

“No. Don't think I could if I tried.” It comes out watery, stuck at the back of your throat.

He just looks, for a moment, cradling the back of your head.

“I want to kiss you.” It spills out from your lips.

“I know.”

“Then why won't you kiss me?”

“Not a good idea.” He strains, kissing your forehead, and then each cheek. Hesitating, he places a gentle peck to your chin. “Ask me tomorrow.”

He says it simply, too easily; and it makes you want to sob. When Miguel slips away, and you hear the sound of a light turned on in the bathroom, you can't move. Catatonic; you blink, and he's cleaned you up, and slipped a shirt over your shoulders. Laying back in his bed, you watch as he lingers by the doorway, shrouded in shadow.

Goodnight. Y ou think you say it out loud, but it echoes in your head.

He says back, but not really. Instead, he leaves that goodnight hanging by the doorway like an old coat, and you wrap it over your shoulders.

It keeps you a little warmer through the night.

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#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #angst #heavy angst #mutual pining

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ghost-proofbaby · 8 months ago

Text

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER EIGHT: LOML

AND I'LL STILL SEE IT, UNTIL I DIE - YOU'RE THE LOSS OF MY LIFE.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, consumption of alcohol, (overly poetic) smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, technically unprotected sex even after the idiots discussed protection, minors dni

☆ WC: 3.9K+

☆ A/N: extremely sorry for the shortest chapter in this series yet. also, out of all the songs referenced for the title of chapters, this one might be the most on the nose. i kid you not, i cannot explain how perfectly loml encapsulates reader/sugar's emotions during this chapter. if you'd like the extra hurt, 10/10 recommends listening as you read. :)

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“Can I kiss you, Sugar?”

You’ve made your fair share of dumb decisions in your life. Plenty of moments have slipped right between your fingers due to hesitation that you’d later regret, you have a catalog of embarrassing encounters to serve you a lifetime. You’ve said yes when your answer should have been a resounding no, you’ve made promises you knew were impossible to keep, and you’ve always had an unexplainable habit of digging yourself into graves that will surely bury you alive.

This moment is no different.

The correct reaction is to tell him no, to push him away and end the night here. You should leave before either of you make any mistakes and ruin whatever fragile thing resides between the two of you any further. There’s a million other options you should be taking, but at the end of the day, you still nod your head.

Not even a second later, Eddie’s lips are on yours, and it’s hard to call it a mistake when it’s the first time you’ve felt like you could properly breathe in two years.

He tastes like bourbon, and mistakes, and regret, and a youthful type of love impossible to grasp onto. A vague memory you never get to hold, but always learn to miss. When his hands travel slowly to your hips, you’re only pressing closer, deepening the kiss with the desperation of someone starved. Someone stained.

You were an idiot to think it wouldn’t end this way. You were in his apartment, and you were drunk. You were brimming with bad decisions. It was always going to end up this way.

Your knees somehow end up digging into the sofa cushions on either side of his hips, your recollection of how you climbed into his lap nonexistent. Had it been his doing, his own needy hands guiding you here? Or had it been you? You, with an ache that rang throughout your entire body, soothed only by sharing each of his breaths with him when he finally pulls back from the kiss.

“Are you sure you want thi-”

“Don’t ruin it,” you beg, silencing him as you look into those deep autumn eyes, memorizing rivets of soft auburn that never really changed. An ever changing kaleidoscope, but there were simply parts of Eddie he’d never be able to hide from you,to change, “Not yet. Please.”

You don’t know if you’ll want it come morning. You can’t estimate just how deeply the regret will burrow once it’s all said and done; you’re not in the mood to think sensibly. No hypotheticals, no curiosity for the future.

You just want him. Right here, right now. Far beyond just sex, and far beyond casual touches. But it’s the only way you can have him, the only way he can have you, for now.

His fingers are more skilled these days. More deft and nimble as they race up and down your sides, quickly undoing the button of your jeans and easily sneaking beneath your shirt. Two years could be two seconds with the way he still knows you and your body, knowing exactly where to apply more pressure as he plucks on every string beneath your skin that makes you sing out for him. Hums, gasps, moans – they all sort of blend together at some point, don’t they?

“I’ve missed you,” you swear you hear him mumble against the skin of your neck when his mouth begins to wander, “I’ve missed this.”

You convince yourself he didn’t say it just to avoid ripping yourself apart any further.

Instead, you busy your mouth with kissing him harder, faster, more desperately. You’re all but burying yourself in him. Your hips grinding against his, your lips swallowed in his, your hands finding themselves tangled in his hair.

You’re drunk enough that you convince yourself that this is it – this is home.

It feels natural to let him run you down this way. It’s instinctual as he takes his shirt off and your hands roam over bare skin that whispers with the ridges of paths you’ve traced before. You know that scar on his right hip from when he got his appendix removed as a child, you know that lightened patch of skin on his left thumb from when he’d managed to burn himself with a lighter while cutting class one day with you. You know him – so much better than you’d let yourself believe these last few weeks.

“Do you have a condom?” you pant, and you both pretend like your words are choked up from gasping to recover the air you’d offered to the kiss, and not the emotions rearing their ugly heads.

He does. Of course he does. He’s a rockstar now – he has women throwing themselves at him constantly. Of course he’s prepared.

It happens somewhere between him pulling the condom out of his wallet, and managing to pull his own shirt off. At some point in which you’re left in nothing but your undergarments, hips grinding down on his in sloppy circles, he lets out a low and drawn out moan. All your movements stutter, nearly halting, as that sound rings out around you. You swear, it echoes off the walls of your own head and not the eerily empty apartment.

You break as you gasp out, “Fuck, Eddie.”

Another dumb decision for the books. All it takes is you sighing his name for him to flip the entire script. Suddenly, you’re no longer straddling his lap, no longer biting his lip and gripping onto the back of the sofa for balance.

Your back collides with the cushions below and he hovers over you, kissing with more intent and purpose this time. Each press of his lips is followed by the nipping of teeth, desperately trying to mark you up along your chest, completely oblivious to the way he’s already left his stain.

You’re convinced if he presses his lips just hard enough, if he bares his teeth just sharp enough, he’ll see right through you. Your skin will become all but cellophane and he’ll see all those blooming violets and deep maroons still left behind in the shape of his mouth. He’ll see the way another has never followed these paths, not after him.

All the failed rebounds, all the failed distractions. There’s never been another person capable of taking your mind off of Eddie Munson. No one’s kiss ever made you bleed the way he’s capable, no one’s touch could ever erase the mark of his.

The wine still makes your head swim as your chin tilts to the roof, giving him all the room possible to paint whatever picture he’s vying for on your skin. You let him leave his physical mark; you let him leave a physical reminder of something to regret.

“Do you know how many times I played this moment back over in my head?” his voice is a murmur that vibrates against your sternum, words not quite slurring, “Do you know how many times I swore-”

You don’t know – and you never find out what exactly he had sworn time and time again as the trill ringing of a cell phone shatters the entire atmosphere.

One moment, Eddie’s lips are painting portraits along your chest and neck, the acceptance of making a mistake settling deep into your bones. And the next, he’s lifting up, looking wildly towards his kitchen, where you’re sure that it’s his phone buzzing erratically on the counter.

“I-” he looks wildly between you and the distant phone, pupils blown out and lips swollen, “Fuck, I-”

All the air leaves your lungs.

There will be no mistakes tonight.

“Go answer it,” you whisper, deflating as you accept the interruption. The moment’s over, fading in between the lipstick marks on your wine glass and the glow of the lamps scattered throughout his living room, “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. It’s written plainly across his face that this is the furthest thing from fine at this moment. But duty calls; his phone is ringing, your mind is buzzing, and the moment is simply gone.

It has to be fine. You have to be fine with it.

“I’ll be right back,” he swears as he lifts himself up off the couch, but you know he won’t be.

Your shirt is already back by the time he’s reached the counter, laptop already tucked safely back into your bag as he answers the call.

“Hello?” he asks, eyes flitting over to you as he watches you gather your things, picking up the wine glass that had been yours the entire night in order to carry it over to the sink he leans against the counter next to. A bit of chatter comes from over the line, and Eddie’s entire face twists, “Am I busy? Yeah, yeah – as a matter of fact, I am.”

Just as you sit the glass into the sink, you bring a hand to his bicep, letting it rest there selfishly. Feeling his bare skin one final time, drinking in the heat he radiates through your palm, giving yourself one last chance to memorize it.

You’re not busy, you mouth to him with a sad smile.

He’s not. Because there will be no mistakes tonight.

You go to pull your hand away, prepared to somehow call an Uber or taxi, but he’s quick to wrap his fingers around your wrist just as your skin slides from his. It’s not forceful, but simply firm. Clinging with a desperation you can’t recognize.

Stay, he mouths back, the person over the line clearly continuing to speak without Eddie paying them any mind.

You almost do. You falter and consider dropping your bag then and there. You nearly stay, wait out the phone call, sit pretty and patient until he returns to you just as he had promised.

But he had left you with a promise of later once before, and he hadn’t kept his promise then.

“Oh,” you whispered, disappointment gripping your lungs, “Oh, that’s fine! Go, they need you.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. You missed hearing that in person, that soft laughter in the shell of your ear over inside jokes and one too many glasses of wine. “Rockstar duties and all. We’ll talk more later?”

Later had never found its way back to the two of you all those years ago – why would it now?

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Eds,” you whisper, soft enough to guarantee whoever was on the other side of the phone call wouldn’t hear you. The fall of his face is almost enough to make you take back the words and swallow them back down.

“Wait-” he’s not whispering, almost as though he’s forgotten about the call entirely. You can hear the silence over the line, probably in confusion, as you walk away, “Wait- No- I-”

You motion to the phone still pressed to his ear and cheek, trying to remind him that someone else can hear.

He removes it and ends the call before you can protest.

“Eddie-” you start to scold, but he refuses to hear any of it.

“No, no,” he sounds as though he might be begging. And you can’t tell if he’s begging you to not reprimand him, or if he’s begging you to not leave, “I don’t care. It was just Matt, he can wait till morning.”

It doesn’t answer the question of what he wanted from you.

“It’s getting late, anyways,” you’re still trying to detect your escape route, the longer you spend in the aftermath making your chest tighten more and more.

You can’t do this.

You can’t stand in this room with him and pretend that it’s all okay. You can’t act as though the wine’s effects are slipping away from you and you can’t brush off the feeling of his lips across your chest. You have no patience left to act as though your lungs aren’t shriveling up in your chest, unable to get enough air when he’s too close all while being all too far away.

It would have been a mistake, and you’re both better for the interruption.

Eddie shakes his head, letting out a dry laugh, “We aren’t doing this again, Sugar. We aren’t going to just pretend that didn’t happen-”

“Why not?” you challenge him, “This… it’s better this way, Eddie. If we kept it up, we both would have regretted it, and it’d just be another mistake-”

“Who’s we?” he cuts you off.

We. You, me, both of us. We’d both regret it, wouldn’t we?

But you still didn’t regret kissing him. You still didn’t regret sitting in his lap and drinking him in, you still wouldn’t take back whatever moment was shared prior to the phone’s interruption.

All your regrets are spoken in future tense. All the mistakes are somewhere ahead of you, your mind running to things that haven’t happened yet.

How do you know if you’d regret it? How do you know if he’d regret it?

Your hold on your bag begins to loosen, “I- Both of us. We’d both regret it.”

“I wouldn’t regret it. I don’t think I could ever regret you.”

This is the part you walk away. You sling your bag onto your shoulder, you tell him to have a goodnight, and you leave. You’ll see him tomorrow, and you’ll pretend this conversation never happened.

Except you don’t.

Your bag falls to the ground, a muted crash that probably pisses off his downstairs neighbors. The toes of your shoes knock into the worn bag, kicking it to the side with more gentleness than you should be capable of right now. When he reaches out a hand to hold you, you take it.

You let him get his hot palms back on your body. You let his lips find their way back to yours.

You finally just let the mistake happen and take the chance on finding out if the regret is nothing more than shadows in the closet, make-believe once you turn the light back on.

The couch isn’t the destination this time. You’re almost sad that you don’t get to admire any of his decor as he drags you down the hallway, but you also doubt there’s even a sliver of the ghost of the man holding onto you in any of it. He’s not on the walls, he’s not in the pictures; he’s right in front of you, kissing you heavily and desperately, letting his feet stumble right over yours as he finally reaches blindly for the knob of the door behind you. He’s in the rings pressing into the skin of your hips and he’s in the wavering cologne that bursts from his sheets as he carefully drops you back on a bed far too large for one man.

He’s in the shadow hovering over you, he’s in the slide of his leg as he spreads your thighs to find home between them. He may not haunt this apartment, but he haunts you. Your body, your mind, your senses.

Always have, always will.

Alcohol isn’t clouding the moment anymore as each kiss is gentler, retracing the bruises already forming across your collar bones. He’s taking his time, enjoying himself, no longer rushing through the process of getting to know you again. The loss of your shirt and the unbuttoning of your jeans is done with shaking hands this time. Less sure, but far more determined.

Your own hands are steady, though, as you undress him. You’re sure. This is your mistake to make, your mistake to regret. And maybe he had a point – maybe it is impossible for either of you to regret each other. For all the tears shed and all the nights spent cursing his name, it’s never once crossed your tongue that you wanted to erase him. You think if someone were to try and take him, take all that you two had shared together from you, that they’d be met with white knuckles and deathly screams. A rancid animal foaming at the mouth, refusing to let go of the one thing it had ever managed to sink its claws into.

You’d forgotten just how well you know him.

It was beyond superficial scars and childhood stories. You still remember the exact pulse point that makes him moan out with just a brush of your mouth against it. You can still find that spot above his hips that spasm when your hands grip them, encouraging him to grind down onto you. You know his body, you know his past, you know his mind.

Words are no longer necessary as it finally happens.

Prayers of each other’s name, ignorance in the way this entire moment was becoming too gentle for two fools rekindling. A practiced dance you once only ever dreamt of swaying to with him.

You would have given him everything. You did give him everything. Your youth, your future, your aspirations, your daydreams of a glittering gem on your sacred finger and a list of baby names the two of you had argued over endlessly. All those things still belong to him, even now. Even as this new version of him hovers over you, lips trailing with purpose over your abdomen, making his way down to your core.

You can’t tell if he’s a stranger when he places a hot kiss over the cotton of your underwear. You can’t tell if you ever spent two years away from him as his hands hold down your hips when they buck in response.

“Eddie,” you beg, fingers lacing into his curls just as they had earlier, gripping onto him for dear life. You’re looking down at him between your thighs, refusing to blink on the off chance that he’ll simply vanish when you do, “Please.”

“Please what, Sugar?”

“Touch me,” you gasp out as his fingers toy with the waistband of your underwear, colossus course against soft skin, “Kiss me, fuck me- I just-”

No further explanation is needed. Your wish is his command.

Your panties are tossed to the hardwood floor at the edge of the bed as if they always belonged there. His mouth ravishes you as if this was just a nightly routine between the two of you. As if he didn’t have to second think what pace you might prefer, or when to add the first finger. Or the second. He plays you beautifully, crooking his fingers and nipping at sensitive skins and nerves alike, listening to the way you only seem to remember his name. Like you don’t remember the sound of a dial tone instead of declarations of adoration, like you don’t remember the excuses for him denying you all his attention.

You wish you could just stay in this moment forever. Him, buried between your thighs. All hurt and all stains forgotten when he builds you up to the edge, when he murmurs against your clit about how pretty you look for him right now.

Cheap wine soaking Halloween costumes. Hazy rooms, smokey with youthful desires and incense. Dancing in an apartment filled with boxes not yet unpacked. Whispers of something being real. Late night trips to the gas station and all the pride in your eyes as you heard his song played on public radio for the first time. The terrible waiting, the messy kisses of more teeth than lips. A simple necklace adorned with a simple ring, burning with more promises than either can comprehend, still gathering dust at the bottom of your jewelry box to this day.

Just in case. Just in case he ever came back; just in case you ever returned.

By the time he’s climbing back up your body, you have one foot in the past, cleaving yourself in two as you cling to him like water.

“Look at you,” he whispers when his face is back above yours, lips still slick with you, “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You swear, for just a moment, his eyes are mirrors. And you can see that dazed look you wear, the face of a woman still trapped by her past. The face of someone who can’t let the dead stay buried. Someone you wouldn’t describe as beautiful, but Eddie would.

You should have left. You should be regretting this. You only pull him closer.

His boxers bunch at his ankles, your fingernails dig into his back. When you feel him press against you, the tip of his dick just barely tapping against your clit, your entire body tenses. This was it. This was the mistake you had taken responsibility for, this was the choice you’d decided was worth damnation. A simple slip up, a quick fall backwards, and you’ll be right back where you started two years ago.

“You still want this?” he sighs into your ear, clearly feeling the way you’d froze up.

Your breath catches for just a second. More memories, more images that cut straight through you. Every careless afternoon, every serene morning. Every haunted night.

“Yeah,” your entire body relaxes, muscle by muscle, “Yeah, I still want this.”

You mean more than just the sex.

The press of your heels into his lower back is all the encouragement he needs to finally push into you. The stretch burns, but it’s welcome all the same. Just an aftereffect of years of emptiness, of failing to ever find something that could make you feel as whole as he does.

The moan he lets out as he’s wrapped in your warmth sends shivers down your spine. You swear, laced in it, there lies a gasp of relief. A sigh of coming home after a long tour, the huff of an exhale just before he crosses the threshold of a front door and has you in his arms again.

You don’t know when the tears started.

But between his thrusts, between all his wanton groans and your own quivers of excitement, your cheeks turn wet.

“Then I say let it burn.”

You can’t tell if it’s sweat or his own tears seeping into your skin as your bodies press together harder, your head thrown back in ecstasy.

“I love you so goddamn much, it hurts. I can’t believe this is real.”

You find your hands tugging on the roots of his curls even harder as you try to tether yourself back to him, but it’s no use.

“When I get back, all I care about is you.”

It all comes crashing down on both of you as his face is buried in the crook of your neck and your thighs squeeze around his hips – all the love that was there, all the love that was lost. All the love that still remains.

“Something for you to always have as a reminder that I’ll come back to you. You’re it for me, sweetheart.”

He’d always warned you this would happen. That one day he’d come back to you. That he’d only ever come back for you.

It doesn’t matter how deep of scratches you leave across his back, or how many hickies he paints your skin with. There will never be enough bloodshed between the two of you to wash away the truth. It’s not a mistake, it’s not something to regret. You wish it was; you wish it were so simple. No, this moment was one thing and one thing only – inevitable.

They always did say that your life would flash before your eyes right before you die.

And flash it does – a lifetime of love that was had and love that will never come back to you – as Eddie brings you both to your graves from the most cursed of little deaths.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #maroon #this is not edited please don't come for me PLEASE #that phone call in the middle of it all is important btw <3 #truth be told i think this had also been my least favorite chapter to write #it gave me fucking hell

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cixrosie · 8 months ago

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Dream Boy

Summary : In which the sweet dream boy you saw freshman year turns into Your dream boy sophomore year

You and Gavin first met a Umich your Freshman year in the first week in one of your many classes you had together . But you first saw Gavin at freshman orientation and immediately had a crush on him . You and Gavin basically had almost every class together . You can't lie he was hot and sweet but you didn't want to get in a relationship as this was your start to college and you knew most college guys that were freshman were just looking to hookup .

Over the first couple months after meeting Gavin you had gotten close, you guys had had study dates even though both of your friends you brought along to make it less date like told you they were just third wheeling and it was indeed a study date . You brought one of your friends from your theater class and Gavin brought one of his teammates from the hockey team .

After that you and Gavin got even closer now from the study dates you were now going to each others events you invited Gavin to your showcases and he invited you to his hockey games and sat with the other girlfriends . This went on for the rest of the year .

Then the day you had been dreading since you met Gavin had come the last day of classes , which meant not seeing Gavin as often due to summer break and you hated that .

At least for now you didn't have to think about that because there was one big event left : The Umich Hockey End of Year Party which the hockey team . Gavin had invited you saying that is was one last big hangout with all the guys and your friends to hand out before you left as his friends and your friends had kind of meshed into one big group. So as your leaving your last class you are texting Gavin and he let you know the dress code is just umich colors .

Later that night about an hour after the party started you are almost done getting ready. You decided to wear a dark maize tube top and blue shorts with a university of Michigan jacket but left it unbuttoned in the front . Just as you were putting on your shoes you got a text from Gavin :

Gav 🥰 : where are you I don't see you ? 😢

You : im done getting ready im heading over now lol

Gav : ok see you , when you get here park next to my car

About 10 minutes later you arrive to the frat house and park nexts to Gavins car . The house pretty crowded but thats to be expected with an end of year party . You enter the house and the sound of music and laughter fills your ears . You look towards the kitchen and see Gavin and his hockey teammates and some of the girlfriends laughing and drinking so you head over.

" hey Y/N's here " Ethan yells drunkenly , that makes Gavin turn towards you at the speed of light . You both make eye contact and it holds and you can feel the shift in your relationship. You had started to notice it about a week ago the subtle touches around your waist , the excuses made just so he can hold your hand and now this something is shifting and you aren't complaining

After coming back to reality and hear Ethan still screaming about the house reaching capacity but I couldn't really make it out since he 1. was drunk off his ass and 2. You couldn't stop staring at your boy . You can't believe your referencing him as your boy but you are and you love it

You and Gavin are still making eye contact but you are saying so many words his eyes are saying " come here " your eyes are saying " come get me " but both are saying " you feel it too" at this point Gavin has had enough and as you continue staring at his eyes as your standing against the counter he comes over to you trapping you in between his arms , " come to my room with me yeah" he asks . You nod your head as you look up at him.

He grabs your hand as he leads you up the stairs and his teammates see and they start whooping and whistling and you definitely hear Luca yell " Finally " you laugh as Gavin continues to lead you up the stairs to his room. You finally get to Gavins room and he ushers you in with his hand dangerously close to your ass which makes you smile and make your heart flutter a she closes his door .

Gavin walks to his bed as he takes off his shoes and sit on the edge . You stay back towards his door and lean on it as you both make eye contact . " c'mere pretty girl" he says. You walk over and you see him spread his legs open to accommodate your body , as you fit perfectly between his legs he holds the back of your thighs and pulls you as close as possible , he pulls you with so much strength you have to hold onto his shoulders , after you catch your balance you wrap your arms around his neck and stare into his eyes.

He inches his lips closer and closer as you say "Gav" in a breathy tone " I know baby I feel it to" " what are we now" you question " You're mine and I'm yours if you'll have me " he says. Thats all it takes for the damn to break and for you to crash your lips onto his , he groans as you quite literally take his breath away . He moves his hand from the back of your thighs to you waist as he pulls you so you're now straddling him and from there his hands move to your ass pinching and pulling which you take as a sign he's enjoying himself among other things .

After a while you pull away to catch your breath. "wow' you both say at the same time you laugh and blush as you hide your face in his neck. He then lays flat on his back as he takes you down with him so you're now laying on his chest . He laughs as you still blush with your face in his neck. " don't blush now baby you literally shoved your tongue down my throat a couple minutes ago" this makes you groan as he laughs even harder , that beautiful laugh you love so much .

After you both settle down and change out of the party clothes and into pajamas and for you thats just Gavins clothes you both cuddle up on his bed as he choses some random show to watch. The room fills with silence until Gavin says " its always been you since the day we met our first week of class " You look at him from his chest and smile as you say " its always been you too Gav ever since I saw you in freshman orientation " " But we didn't even meet yet we met a week later during the first week " he cocks his eyebrow " exactly my dream boy ive had a crush on you since I saw you during freshman orientation " . Gavin smiles as he leans down to connect your lips for the sweetest kiss you've ever had .

Note: HIIII I haven't written anything in a while but im back with this sweet piece for Gavin . As always requests are open send them my way if you have them

Im tagging my favorite people on this app who ive read phenomenal fics and AUs from and are overall great people and my mutuals . feedback's appreciated but done feel like you have to ok bye <3

@sc0tters @lennysfridge @yankstrash @heavenlyhischier @sweetestdesire @thatintrovertedwriter @starry-hughes @drewsbuzzcut @bedsyandco @slafkovskys @theywantedplayer @bitchinbarzal @babydollmarauders @nicohischierz @nicohersheys @sunkissed-zegras @uluvjay @letsgetrowdy43 @mirrorballmcgroarty @ilyasorokinn @hischierdevils @jackhues @swissboyhisch @perfectlysaltycat32

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lets-try-some-writing · 3 months ago

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I have observed several types of fic writers, and so for kicks and giggles, here they all are. Each of them scares me for different reasons.

The Prepared And Ready To Publish™:

Several documents dedicated to worldbuilding, planning, cross referencing, character lists & traits, plot twists, and then the actual fic document.

Dedicated to the max to creating a rich world. Probably knows more about the niche thing than you ever will. 100% could have written a thesis and chose to do fic instead (or did both at the same time).

Created a masterpiece and promptly vanished off the face of creation before coming back in with another banger to crush souls and save fandoms.

Their arrival is akin to the birth of a new era because they never fail to somehow make a niche ship popular, make a headcanon fanon, or otherwise give so much depth and interest to a character or setting that whatever they have devised is largely accepted as gospel by their readers.

They either use a high end writing program or wordpad. There is no in-between.

Mysterious. Very mysterious. Reasons for this mysteriousness vary between fics and authors.

100000/10 would be friends with them if I could. Legendary writers. But also they scare me because ??? What void offered you such power ?????

The Baby Writer:

All vibes and loosely strung plots.

It may not make the most sense, but good gracious the dedication is there.

Notable lack of comprehension when it comes to characters and places, but it's bad form to not leave a kudo because it takes guts to post anything in fandom.

They are still figuring things out and their grammar or formatting (possibly both) is probably a mess, but they've put heart into their work.

Sweetest rays of sunshine who want to be involved and are eager to learn the ropes.

The fandom's young ward or despised new arrival (depends entirely on fandom popularity and age).

8/10 would happily offer advice to them. Just can't read their work for too long without wanting to throw it into grammarly. The fear factor comes in the form of the miraculous misuse of fandom terminology. (Yeah it's tough bud, the fanon is wild. But goodness that term/canon word does NOT mean what you think it does.)

The Smut For Your Soul:

Meticulously plans the smut with all the loving care of a sculptor.

Somehow plot got involved.

Miraculously, they managed to not include an iota of plot and it has somehow managed to work.

Headcanons abound and cuteness and or angst lurks merrily behind every corner.

The tags mean everything and nothing at the same time. They are but faint guides to the fae wilds ahead. Tread lightly.

Has a mountain of unfinished WIPs that will follow them to the grave or emerge ten years after conception to grace whatever fandom spawned the idea.

The fandom thanks them for their service, although often that praise is late or hits like a freight train.

???/10 I personally avoid smut but I have friends who write it so it really depends. Terrifying because you never know who falls into this role of writer. It could be anyone. Normalcy is a mask poorly adorned for the sake of conforming to The Great Machine.

The Angst Lord:

Has a million slightly different ways to hurt their blorbo. Each are somehow more horrifying than the next.

The embodiment of the iceburg videos seen all over the net. Ask one question and you shall unravel and scheme of torment so great you shall regret having dared to speak up.

Has dozens of WIPs or unwritten ideas that they claim they will return to.

They are controlled by passion and emotion and can and will insert their own complicated situation into a fic.

Almost nothing is off limits.

Arrives to the fandom ready to brawl and somehow ends up respected or feared. They often stare in bafflement as they end up unscathed and watch angry comments fly toward the arguably innocent shippers.

Generally some of the nicest people who happen to enjoy inflicting The Horrors upon someone fictional.

'10/10 would befriend and promptly regard like a wild racoon. Offerings of angsty ideas yield delightful commentary. But also I need to prepare myself for anything they say because O U C H my SOUL.

The General Writer:

Fluff, cuteness, possibly a delightful touch of angst and pure unbridled creative simplicity.

They may not have the most brutal or soul wrenching tale, but they always manage to write something that someone, somewhere, desperately needs.

Devastatingly underrated and deserves far more praise for their contributions to the fandom.

Produces some of the softest of scenes and the most touching of interactions between characters in a contained, careful crafted, tale.

Introducing new ships or family dynamics in such a tasteful manner that brain chemistry can easily be altered.

Arrives to the fandom as a lurker and shows their appreciation through their work. Oftentimes, they are very quiet and go unnoticed.

INFINITE/10 Love these writers, honestly a gift to fandom. The sheer level of dedication to producing fluff is astounding and scary all at once.

The OC X Canon:

Has so many ships and headcanons that it's astounding.

The lore development rivals IDW and Lost Light combined. All the kudos to them for putting their souls into their characters.

The dedication is mind boggling.

They put up with so much crap they could be in MMA Wrestling if the verbal assaults translated into physical strength.

Has so many adjustments to lore and whole AUs devoted specifically to creating a perfect world.

Skilled in the extreme (or not) at integrating their ocs into canon.

Arrives to the fandom not intending to make ocs. Leaves with seventeen leashes for their new abominable creations. Is loved or hated by literally everyone, sometimes for no reason.

6/10 perfectly lovely people but very niche in their interest and thus not everyone's cup of tea. Scary because that level of sheer willpower is meant for demi-gods.

There are more types of writers, but these feel like the big overarching ones. Which kind of writer are you? :D

#fic writer #fanfic writing #types of writers #fanfic stuff #lets try some writing mumbles

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voidcat · 3 months ago

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i. welcome to summoners rift

characters: narumi gen, gn!reader

a/n: the game i had in mind while writing this is league of legends.. boo i know. anyways i tried to keep the LoL terms down so itll be easier to understand. reader is implied to be a part of first division- part time operations leader but more involved in data collecting and medical side of things, (I’ll decide fully later)

. i need to make this pathetic loser suffer in games so bad its not even funny anymore... first of many more fics to come im afraid

The first few times to play it safe and because it’s what you’re used to, you take a generic support class— Seraphine got crowd control, enough damaging spells to trigger a DoT or do some extra last minute damage, provides shield, speed and health.

A well balanced support and pretty, Narumi cannot help but think as the Seraphine on his screen hits ctrl+3 and dances for the third time while waiting for the opposing team to make a move. You seem to know what you’re doing, you placed wards, dance when it seems idle but keeping your attention enough to cut it when you suspected an ambush few times. Plus it’s one of the most recent skins you got for the champ so he knows you know how to play the champion, despite your low score on her-

After all, not everyone has been playing this damn game for 5 to 10 years now, a newbie is no problem as long as they know how to play and show it. You leave the minions to him, heal him at critical moments the enemies thought he was dying so he can attack back and get them one by one— you’re good, and you’re especially good with him.

By the time the entire team gathers on the same lane, pushing to the opposing team’s base, you send your ult at the perfect moment, charming four enemies at once and creating the dream situation of any player.

Well, the rest of your team slowly dies because of heavy damage over time they took but it’s alright. The screen says in big letters: PENTA KILL! With his champion icon right under it, and in the game chat even the opposing team congratulates him, saying it was insane game play.

Then Narumi hears that same melody since the beginning of the game whenever you hit the dance animation and a new message in the game chat:

> victory dance for that lovely penta ( *｀ω´)

Reading the message, he watches your champion dance with his eyes glued to the screen, heat rising up to his face… absolutely adorable is what it is. Standing there with his champion, he then hits ctrl+3 as well to join you on the dance, letting the minions carry on.

The game is about to end, the opposing team begs in the chat to not end, to keep playing, meanwhile his team makes some jokes referencing early minutes of the match. Then at the last second, Narumi quickly types in and hits send.

The chat box reads: ‘support diff’

Before queuing up for another game, his hand acts on impulse and invites you to the lobby.

And to his surprise, you accept!

The sound of message notifications reaches his ears short after and he quickly reads over.

>awww >seems like someone enjoyed my presence;P

Adorable and cheeky, this just might be his best in game interactions by far. without a word, he queues up another game and another, the night goes on.

messages from you in-game keep on coming, at one point he thinks to himself "what he hell is a fryslan bop" to which you just send a keyboard smash followed by a "its a song lol"

so you are a chatter, he gathers quickly. not often but when you do, you send in a lot. he soon catches up to when you're actually talking versus spamming a song's lyrics while having Seraphine dance in your stead.

until you cancel the queue start up and send a message.

>gotta go >its late >booo >we jst got started >work tmr sry T-T

with a sigh, he watches as you leave and tries playing another match, but for some reason during the entirety of the match, he has no fun.

when you log into your game accounts in the evening, relieved to have an easy day, you notice a few friend request. "kaijuslayer"

you click accept and before you can open another tab, you instantly receive a lobby invite. its unreal how quick this person is... and how much he enjoys gaming, apparently. with no plans for the night and no desire to do anything else, you accept the invite.

Narumi is over the clouds to see not only has his request being accepted but also his invite too. gaming is more fun when you are winning, and thus playing with people who know what they're doing. you pick the same champion again and accomodate to his various picks, supporting him however he needs. it's perfect, it's distracting. while the two of you wait for the client to find another match, you begin to talk. since it's a friday, he tries his shot and asks if you'll stay for longer this time.

>nah >my v much serious v grownup job has saturdays too >and awfully early waking hours >sucks to b u> v serious v grownup huh >yea? >im starting to suspect u might b a child >OLIFSDJFIGOJSDOLŞGJSDFOLŞG >the calls coming from inside the house

before Narumi can send a reply, the 'match found' screen pops up and the two of you leave it there.

the match starts off smooth. he's farming a good amount, the two of you reached level 6 before the others, and as the opposing lane tries an ambush, you hit them with your ult, charming them in the process. as narumi begins to unleash his combo, your slowing down waves slither there gently, quitely. then follows your shield and speed buff, and right before his very eyes, your now-powered-up-double skill hits the enemies and the screen reads: "TRIPLE KILL" with your icon next to it.

as much of an ideal support as Seraphine is, Narumi remembers the fact all too painfully that Seraphine was first released as a midlaner... a very much capable AP damage unit if built that way. a part of wants to see, and a part of him is afraid of what he might see if he goes to check which items you have purchased- or if it was a brilliant calculation by itself.

as Narumi stares at the screen, Seraphine dances again, sometimes ending the animation to go around him. seeing him frozen for far too long, you ping him few times. as if his misery, and his kills stolen wasnt bad enough already, your team's jungle has the audacity to send a message to in-game chat. 'supp diff'’

complimenting his support? his duo? Narumi begins to see red.

as you begin to teleport back to the base, you send an emote of one of the characters, tongue poking out, winking and doing a peace sign.

and on his side of things, narumi gen cannot find it in him to stay mad at the turn of events- because just look how endearing and cute you are! it's alright if you took a kill or two by accident, you're still his support, his duo after all!

despite the... technical errors, the game ends in another victory and with you doing a victory dance again, now pinging him if he's staying idle until he joins you as well. his heart cannot take it. it's too much... and as if you are dead set on being the final blow, you send cute emotes, and whenever he sends one back, you reply with another, it goes and goes until the matches end.

a flood of message notification sounds brings him back to earth again.

>heeeey >r u gonna start the queue some time this year? >oh btw pick a color

puzzled at the last message, he says a color, not expecting much out of it. until he sees you have picked another skin with the chroma he said. candy and teeth- you are so adorable and charming, so bad for his poor health. waiting in your lane, you begin the dancing animation again and narumi grins at the screen, watching you dance.

oh no, this is bad. this is pathetic even for him now... he cannot be possibly finding some gamer maybe across the country, someone he never saw nor even heard the voice of charming...

maybe that annoying part time operations leader was right about his... pent up frustration... if he's this down for a game model supposedly representing a person, maybe you had a point when you implied he goes to seek some action and revive himself of whatever's been building up down there.

there is no way he can let anyone learn about this- worst of all, you. with your stoic face and condescending eyes, you'd never let him live that down.

Him! Narumi Gen! the first division captain and the strongest anti-kaiju combatant! he'd rather die than give you the satisfaction of knowing he's so desperate to get some sort of friction he's starting to mix an online person with the character they're playing.

aggressive pings snap him out of his running thoughts and he realizes he's a little behind game-play wise.

now, looking over at the match stats, it doesn't seem all to unsalvageable. he better get to it, there's a match to win and a lovely duo to impress.

#narumi gen #kaiju no. 8 #narumi gen x reader #narumi x reader #narumi x you #narumi gen x you #kaiju no. 8 x reader #kn8 x reader #the hedgehog’s dilemma.series

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ch4nb4ng · 2 years ago

Text

Stress relief

Pairing: afab!reader x Chan

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: friends to lovers

Warnings: Kissing, mentions of gentalia, handjob, tit job (?), praise, creampie

Note: idk if anyone is actually going to read this because I haven't posted in like 10 months so yeah but rusty but genuinely enjoy writing this so much

Summary: You were a great student, and Chan was struggling, bad. This is what happened when you tried to reduce his stress by 'studying.'

Time was nothing but a mindless construct for you and the many young individuals that attended college. Prestigious or not, it was deep into the second semester of your second year, and if you had to look at one more textbook about a specification type of referencing, you were going to explode.

Being a psychology major was something you had worked toward for a long time. Having a job that nurtured people back to optimal health and wellbeing was something that always felt nice on the tip of your tongue. Nice to tell people, nice to give to people. That didn’t mean it did not come with its challenges. Researching, literature reviews, group assignments… It was hard and enduring work.

It was helpful that by the end of the first year you had discovered others on the same greuling yet rewarding path. Having a decent support system was essential, especially when traveling to the other side of the world to study. The 4 boys and two girls, who would be named Felix, Changbin, Hyunjin, Chan, Mina and Lia would be the be all and end all for you. Crying together, partying together, doing everything together. Traveling to South Korea was difficult at first. Adapting to the culture and language, so having them by your side got you to where you were today. Life is stressful currently, but then again, things could be worse.

“Okay class, this is the last class for the semester, so if you have any questions, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

You listened eagerly, wanting to pick up on any tips or tricks necessary to ace the exam. Cognitive psychology was a piece of cake to you, so this exam was in the bag. The others… not as much. Changbin and Felix were pretty good, thanks to Lia helping them every other day, and Mina only liked to study alone, got too distracted by the lot of you which to be fair, isn’t hard. You were a loud group. Most of the time you studied on your own as well, the occasional time with Felix if he was bored or needed to catch up on notes from readings (and by catching up on notes, basically just stealing yours). But most of your time was spent with Chan. He was good, but always needed a little bit of extra help. He was kind of whisked into psychology, not really sure what he wanted to do. Therefore, Chan had little to no background before coming into the degree.

“Ms, is Piaget theory required for this exam?”

“Tsk, yes Chan,” she replied, much disdain to her tone, “have you not been listening to anything for the past 6 weeks?”

Tiny giggles permeated through the room after the professor's sarcastic response. It made your skin crawl, and not in a good way. It was quite rude if anything. Chan laughed it off as well. He was the type to just laugh things off, but you could tell on his face that he was nothing but serious when asking his question. His ears began to turn red, sinking into his chair simultaneously.

Luckily the bell rang, and you had never seen someone zoom out of a classroom as fast as Chan did. You chase after him, wanting to make sure he was okay and not feeling completely humiliated. It felt like a marathon, you were very much out of breath by the time you caught up to him. Slapping a hand on his shoulder, he turned around, the unintentional force causing him to face you.

“Jesus christ Chan,” you stumbled, completely out of breath, “why did you have to run so fast?”

You looked, a weak chuckle coming from his lips, a single tear simultaneously dripping out of the corner of his eyes. Your smile faded, beginning to feel really bad for your poor friend.

“Sorry Y/n,” he whispered, wiping it away quickly with the sleeve of his hoodie, “you’ve caught me at a bad time.”

You motioned to the bench next to you, sitting next to him as you rubbed his back in circular motions. Chan was such an intelligent individual, it made you feel sorrow when he doubted himself, and this was one of those moments.

“Oh Chan don’t even worry about that,” you cooed, “she’s been rude all semester, definitely had a stick up her ass or something because I have no idea what her problem is.”

That made him giggle, turning to you and grabbing your hand as a silent thank you.

“Yeah you're right aha. I’m really struggling with the cognitive stuff though, and I have no idea how I’m going to do this exam.”

The other, who moved at a normal, not heart attack inducing pace, finally caught up to the two of you,lips pouted and solemn as they noticed Chan was having a down moment.

“Aw Chan it’s ok,” Felix hummed, giving him a bright smile, “we will all help you, promise.”

“Yeah,” Changbin chimed in, “let’s have a study session at Chan’s, tomorrow, 3pm good for everyone?”

Everyone nodded in agreement, you and Chan following behind the rest. He grabbed your wrist, making you stop in your tracks, “Y/n, could you come an hour earlier? Just so I don’t sound like a complete idiot? Also, they’re kind of hard to keep up with. I like the way you explain things.”

You’d be lying if you said the skin on your arm was burning up. He didn’t know, too innocent to realize, but his praise had an effect on you, one too many times. You would like nothing more than to take care of him, in all the ways anyone could imagine. Wash his clothes, feed him an insurmountable quantity of food. Was his hair in the shower, lather his body in soap and just, well, you know. The chiseled state of his body was no secret. The many beach trips accounted for that. Chan was a very good looking man, one of the first things you noticed when Felix introduced you to his friends. However, it was something that you suppressed deep down. A romance was the last thing you needed.

Your cheeks follow a similar temperature. The thought almost made you dizzy. You blinked a couple of times, coming back to your senses and not trying to look out of the ordinary.

“Uh yes,” you shrieked, the attempt to act normal utterly dismissed, “of course. Anything to help you out.”

You continued to walk together, a million thoughts running through your mind as you attempted to keep them subtle, failing to rope them in and keep them at a minimal level.

To describe you as nervous was an understatement. Your hairbrush ran through your hair in a frustrating manner. You felt stupid, ridiculous even. If you had a dollar for every time you went to Chan’s dorm, you would be a millionaire, why did this time feel different? Looking at yourself in the mirror, you sighed, putting the last touches of your makeup before grabbing your keys and walking across campus, heading to your ‘friends’ door.

A gentle couple of knocks was all it took for you to be greeted by your handsome friend. His hair was swept back, forehead showing. His outfit was casual, black hoodie, black tracksuit pants. It was nothing different to what he usually wore, but he looked ten times hotter than usual.

“Y/n,” he groaned, “thank god you’re here.”

He dragged you inside, closing the door behind you. He began to pace back and forth, biting on his fingernails simultaneously.

“Chan slow down, what’s wrong?”

“I opened the textbook, and I can’t stop freaking out. Y/n I’m so stressed, why are you not pacing with me?”

“Because,” you laughed, gripping his forearms stopping him in his tracks, “by the end of the day, you will understand Piaget, and every other theory we need before the exam, okay?”

You were close, eyes piercing as you gave him a loss of reassurance. You weren’t sure if it was your mind playing tricks on you, but it felt like Chan was moving closer. His eyes began to bore into yours, holy fuck he was hot.

You broke away, not wanting to misinterpret anything. Taking a seat on his couch, you picked up his textbook, scanning and analyzing what he was trying to understand. Chan sat right next to you, thigh distractingly touching yours as you attempted to read. You could feel his gaze over his shoulder. The smell of his cologne flowing into your nostrils, becoming intoxicating. Your frustration began to increase. You knew that you were being unreasonable, but it was like he was trying to seduce you. You were already out of your mind, and nothing in the slightest of being sexual had occurred.

“Chan, I can hear your breathing down my neck.”

“Oh,” he moved away, “sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you sure?”

“What?”

You put the textbook down, turning your body to face him. The look of concern on his face, like the one you were met with when you opened the door had not disappeared. A look of disapproval now on yours.

“Can you please talk to me?”

“What do you want to know?”

“What exactly is stressing you out?”

A large sigh escaped his lips,

“I just feel like I’m failing. I had to convince my parents to live here instead of Australia, and I just feel like I’m not living up to what they expected.”

Your heart sank at his words. You sat there for two minutes of silence. You weren't sure what you could say that would be perfect and what he needed to hear, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t attempt to.

“Chan I-”

“And I have other needs as well.”

At first you were confused, completely unsure of what he referred to. Your mind was ticking once again, rummaging to what he referred to. But when it came to your mind, your eyes widened, mouth dropping before you spoke.

“Oh, I get what you mean.”

“Yeah.”

Another couple of minutes of silence passed as you looked around, refusing to make eye contact with each other. An idea popped into your mind, but it was way too inappropriate to ask. You wanted to help him so badly though, a proposition if you will. It was such a fine line to cross. It really was inappropriate, but the innocent look on his face was triggering something in you, sparking your innermost fantasies and desires.

You don’t know what took over or what in your right mind possessed you to do what you did next, but time moved and all of a sudden you were on top of Chan, arms wrapped around his neck as you looked down at him, like a predator hunting his prey.

“You know, I can help you if you want?”

A large gulp was evident as it paced down his throat. He wasn’t sure what to say, him now analyzing if he himself was being too inappropriate to take you upon your proposition. His hands spread across your rear, gently nudging you forward. He was in unfamiliar territory, not sure how to proceed.

“Did you mean with studying or, you know, my needs?”

The look you gave him was priceless. It was amazing how genuinely oblivious Chan was sometimes. You got up from his lap, saying nothing and walking towards his room. He followed, closing the door behind him, even though nobody else was home.

“Sit on the bed.”

He did as he was told, legs spread wide at the edge. He always sat like this, and it turned you on, every single time. Chan, without knowing it, just looked so cocky, so arrogant, and fuck, did you used to like arrogant men. The ironic thing was that he was the complete opposite. Smart, kind, generous and warm to others. He was probably the only guy that you met that had all the qualities you looked for.

But that was irrelevant now. This moment wasn’t about how likable he was, it was about how hot he was. You took two steps closer, lifting your arms above your head and discarding your shirt. You could hear the audible gasp that escaped his lips, stunned by the way your chest looked. You did not assume that this would happen, therefore the reason why you had no bra on. You stood there, chest inline with his face as he watched you with so much intent. The way he was taking you in, drinking you up like a crisp, refreshing beverage. Chan, not a complete virgin, had little experience. He was a hard worker, never giving into his temptations. If anything, it kind of explained why he was so intense ¾ of the time. Nevertheless, it made your insides throb the way he gazes at you like you were the most beautiful woman on earth.

“If you don’t want this, talk now.”

You waited for what felt like 5 hours, but was really thirty seconds before he shook his head, vigorously. The notion made you smirk. His eyes remained wide, focusing nothing but the curve of your boobs. He went to lift his shirt, thinking it would be the right thing to do seeing as you were half naked yourself. But you said no,grabbing his wrists and placing them on your own zipper. His fingers gently shadowed yours, the sound of the zip the only noise filling the room. Stepping out of them quickly, simultaneously pulling your underwear off as well, another gasp escaped his lips. You were now fully nude, him fully clothed. There was something sick to you about getting off at the fact he was fully dressed and you were the opposite.

“Like what you see?”

“Mhm,” he gulped once more, “really, really beautiful.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but that wasn’t the time for this. Dropping to your knees, your fingers began to fiddle with the drawstring of his own bottoms. It did take long, seeing as Chan liked to wear very baggy clothes. They came off in one swift motion, spreading his legs even farther apart so you could fit right in. He was already extremely hard, the sight of your tits getting even near his cock made him twitch. Looking up at him, his chest was visibly tense, like he was holding in a large breath.

It wasn’t until your hand gripped the base of his length, and you started pumping, was when his chest fell deeply, almost concave in. His facial expression still looked tense, however, you could tell it wasn’t a look of agony, it was quite the opposite. A small whine escaped from his lips when you added another hand, adding more friction to his cock and you began to pump him a little faster.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath, too embarrassed to allow you to hear his satisfaction. The muscles in his legs and arms were much looser than they were prior, and the fact that you were only using hands was absolutely blowing your mind. Your arousal was increasing. Seeing how pathetic and easy it was to turn Chan on.

“Is that good Chan?”

“Yes,” he breathed, barely able to get his words out, “that feels so good, fuck Y/n.”

The breathy tone of your name sent a shiver down your spine. It had been a while since someone made you feel like that. You felt like he needed to be rewarded. You maneuvered your body closer, but taking his hands off of his length, placing them on either sides of your chest as you took him in, watching his length slide in the crevice of your tits. Chan jumped out of his seat, jaw slack and dropping to the floor as he watched his extremely hard cock disappear in between your cleavage. Eyes remained on him, your core was throbbing harder, watching his face contour, eyebrows strongly furrowed; he was enjoying every single second of it. Your chest moved with anticipation, tongue sticking out to reach the slit of his tip every time it reached the peak of your cleavage.

“You’re so cute,” you smile, “you’re so pathetic you know, have you ever done this before?”

“No,” he moaned, hands already gripping his bed sheets forcefully, “you’re right, I’m so pathetic.”

“Oh you like that? You like when I take control?”

“Yes.”

“You’re such a good boy,” you coo, picking up your pace, “taking my tits so well aren’t you?” His head rolled back, eyes closed but looking like he was looking at the ceiling. It was almost as enjoyable for you as it was for him. The textures and ridges of your cock not going unnoticed. He felt amazing, and your mouth began to salivate because if he felt that good in between your tits, he would feel 10 times better inside of you. Chan came back to life, head snapping back into motion as he looked down at you, so much innocence yet corruption filled his being. You moved away, hearing the sound of disappointment come from Chan’s lips as you stood up.

Lifting a hand, you pushed him by the chest, laying him flat before crawling on top of him. Still sitting up, you hovered over intertwining your fingers with his and you lined yourself up with his cock. A sudden pang of doubt creeped into your mind. Was this the right thing to do? Did you feel the need to do this to satisfy your own wants and needs?

“Are you ready for this?”

He said nothing, only nodding because he knew that if he tried to speak, it would come out as a voice breaking murmur. Placing your hand on his shoulder, straightening your back, allowing yourself to sit on top of him. A small moan escaped your lips as your clit landed on his cock. That was fortunate. A hiss escaped him. Chan had been super patient until this point, it kind of made you feel guilty for making him wait. But another part of you kind of loved this almost sick power you had over him. He was so complicit, not doing anything and letting you take control. It felt rare, because most of your previous partners needed to have control.

“Do you mind if I do everything myself?”

His eyes never left yours, biting down on his bottom lip as he shook his head, eagerly waiting for you to get on with it. You lifted your hips once more, taking the hand that was intertwined and bringing it to the base of his length. A moan in unison, one of relief and gratification as he effortlessly slid into you. Chan was a decently hung man, but it didn’t matter anyways. You were already so wet and so turned on that fucking him would be a piece of cake.

“Fuck,” he cursed, eyes glued to your tits as the had a light bounce. You began to gently rock, not wanting to overwhelm him at a rapid rate. This was supposed to be relaxing for him, and it was, feeling his cock already twitching inside of you.

“You’re not going to cum are you?”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips softly against his. The electricity was great, moving with so much attention yet sensuality you slipped your tongue inside his mouth. A soft groan vibrated from his mouth the longer you kissed him. Breaking the kiss, he looked up at you, keen to answer your question

“No,” you whined, unsure what to do with his hands, “sorry I’m just so excited.”

“You’re excited?”

“Yes,” he replied looking back up at you, “I can lie and say I haven’t thought about this before?”

A mischievous gasp left your mouth at his words. The combination of him thinking about fucking you and actually fucking you was causing your body to heat up. The temperature in the room increased and the tension felt even thicker than before. You kept a slow pace at first, hands on his shoulders in your attempt to remain balanced. It truly was adorable at how into you he truly was in this moment.

“We can do this as many times as you want now baby,” you cooed, “this is only the beginning if you want it to be.”

You picked up speed a little not wanting to go too fast, but needing just enough friction and gratification to work towards your high. Chan was so immersed in you that his hands barely lingered across your hips. It had come to your attention that maybe he genuinely needed some assistance. It was clear that even though the agreement was that his stress relief was in the palm of your hands, it was important to him that for you, it was equally enjoyable.

“You know you can touch me,” you whispered, giving his palms a gentle nudge upwards. It didn’t take much, almost like his hands were in, or on, their most natural position; your tits. A gentle moan escaped your lips at the contrasting ice cold temperature of his fingertips lingering on your nipples. The long string of moans and gasps from Chan was becoming anything but adorable. Each noise he made aroused you even more. The gentle massage of his hands was delightful. It wasn’t the first time you had thought about this. Especially when you were frustrated, stressed, or having a dry spell, the physicality of Chan was always a lingering cognition. Always there to coax you through your sexual frustration. If anything, this became stress relief for the both of you. Chan because he was stressed out because he needed to pass the exam, and yourself because now you didn’t have to suppress the surplus of fantasies and desires that stayed awake in your mind.

“Mmm, how are you doing Chan?”

“So good,” he growled, “I don’t know if I can last much longer.”

A small giggle escaped your lips. Keeping your composure, but really you were grateful because you could feel the pit in the depth of your lower abdomen. Your orgasm was coming, and there was nothing you could do about it. Although you did all the work, his cock was hitting you in the exact spot you needed. The slapping of your ass against his groin was getting louder, and you rhythm faster yet a little erratic, the intensity of him starting to overwhelm you.

“Y/n, wait,” he paused, making you stop in your tracks, “I don’t want to cum in you.”

A pout puffed from your lips at his words.

“You don’t?”

“Well,” Chan gulped, “I would, but I didn’t think-”

Instead of letting him finish, your index finger was across his lips, completely shushing him.

“You shouldn’t assume things about me Mr. Bang.”

You picked your hips up again, leaning back on his knees he bucked your hips, rapidly feeling the strokes of Chan’s cock. You wanted him to cum, you wanted him to cum so badly. The way you were dying to see the face he made when he came, how he looked at you was your soul volition in this very moment.

“Are you gonna cum?”

“Fuck, Y/n please,” he moaned, his loudest noise yet.

He nodded, jaw slack open as you rode him like your life depended on it. His cock was twitching at a rapid rate, hipe gently bucking into yours as he felt his high coming.

“Would you like to cum in me?”

He nodded once more.

“Cum in me Chan, cum in me, come one baby, you can do it.”

Chan mouthing ‘fuck’ one more time, before completely blowing his load inside of you. His jaw cracked, distressed gasp strangling his throat as he grabbed your hips, controlling your speed as you milked him dry, your orgasm waving over you simultaneously.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, knowing Chan was guiding you through it, but at this point, you didn't even care. It felt too good to discipline him for not letting you do everything. You stood up, a sharp groan coming from you as you felt his seed drip out.

“Fuck, what if-”

“Don’t worry,” you interrupted once more, “I’m on the pill.”

A sigh of relief disappeared from his chest.

You lied down next to him, trying to catch your breath as he turned to look at you.

“How do you feel?”

“Y/n that was amazing?”

You chuckled at his admiration, turning to him and seeing the sweat condensate across his forehead. Wow, did you make him work up a sweat.

“Still stressed out?”

“Far from it.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, hope I wasn’t too overpowering or anything.”

“Absolutely not,” he scoffed, “it was really fucking hot actually.”

Fuck. You kissed him again, really enjoying the validation of your feminine power over him. It was a nice moment, that was until you heard a knock on the door. Fuck. The two of you were so immersed in what you were doing, that you completely forgot about the study session with the others.

“Shit, uh, just put your clothes on, I’ll stall them.”

You nodded, quickly redressing yourself and heading to the bathroom. You cleaned yourself up, looking at the mirror and shit, did you kinda look like a mess. A pang of embarrassment hit your chest. How on earth were you supposed to just hang out with your friends, and act like you didn’t just fuck one of them. Nevertheless, there was no time to think about it, fixing your hair as much as you could before opening the door, and returning to the lounge where the others smirked at you when you walked in.

“Hey guys,” you smiled, choosing to ignore them, “what’s going on?”

“What are you already doing here?”

The two of you gave each other a quick look, praying to the lords that you came up with the same explanation.

“Oh me? I only got here like 5 minutes before you guys.”

“Oh you did,” Felix chimed in, sarcastically placing a hand on his chin, like a detective, “and Chan, why do you look almost sweaty?”

“Uh me, well I just had a shower before you guys got here. Then Y/n knocked about 10 minutes later.”

You shrugged, nervously chuckling and just praying they were taking this.

“Fuck Y/n, please,” Changbin whined, mocking Chan. Your eyes grew wide.

“Yeah come on baby, cum in me cum in me,” Felix added, making everyone burst into laughter. Your face was as red as a bunch of tomatoes. They heard everything. Fuck, this was embarrassing.

“You guys don’t have to lie, you know. We saw this coming from a mile away.”

“You did?” The two of you asked in unison, making the rest of them laugh again.

“I mean yeah,” Felix shrugged, “I’m sure this is what all the ‘extra studying’ was for.”

“No dude,” Chan began to yell, even you giggling at him now getting defensive, “I do need help! I’m terrible at this!”

“Is he y/n?”

“Terrible at psych? A little,” you paused, sitting down next to Felix on Chan’s couch, “sex? Absolutely not.”

#bang chan #bangchan smut #chan smut #bang chan smut #stray kids smut #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenario #bang chan scenario #bang chan imagine #chan scenario #chan imagine #ch4nb4ng #bangchan x reader #chan x reader

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liquidorcard · 2 months ago

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Lily's Harley Quinn Show video is Garbage (and here's why)

We all know Lily's media hottakes are BAD. But, I feel like critics have mostly focused on her hottakes on media she hates. I've personally become more interested in what media she actually LIKES . . . Because her rational is often times even more nuts.

Well, this video made me mad enough that I'm gunna write a post about it now. Prepare your assholes for the death rattle of this DC fanboy losing his shit:

youtube

To be clear, I like this show, for some of the same reasons Lily does even. . . But that's not going to stop me from taking the piss.

(I encourage you all to watch the video in full beforehand so you can get the context of the quotes I'm pulling. Timestamps will be included though.

I just told people to watch your stupid video Lily-- can't cry copyright here.)

-0:19: TWENTY SECONDS IN, STEVEN UNIVERSE IS REFERENCED. GG LILLIAN.

-0:36: BITCHING ABOUT HOW VICTIMIZED SHE IS. 30 SECONDS IN.

-0:55: "I dare say it's the best thing to come out of the Batman franchise in a long time."

It seems like the last thing Lily watched/played/read in "the Batman franchise" was The Dark Knight. You dare boldly, Lily. Ironically I feel like she would at least like the Lego Batman movie, if not all the other good shit that's come out since 2011. Also, this is one of the first of many times she calls the entire fucking DC Universe "The Batman Franchise."

-1:00: "If you're watching this show for at all you're watching it for the romantic arc between Harley and Ivy. Don't lie."

I know this is a joke. I'm not an idiot, but. If you're familiar with Lily's general media consumption, you'll be well aware she watches shit a lot of the time for the ships and the ships ALONE. I feel like this really highlights how she views media in general in a way that's rather revealing. This video is two years old, and I wouldn't be surprised if Lily's opinion has soured a bit given the direction the show goes after this video was released. Put a pin in this comment. 📌

-1:15: "I mean it's a post-joker Harley Quinn show what else are they going to do.

Put a pin in that comment.📌

-2:00: Lily goes on to summarize the plot of the show . . . Completely ignoring all the plot beats that have nothing to do with the romance.

Put a pin in that one too.📌

-3:30: Lily indicates she identifies with Ivy.

Another pin.📌

-4:10: Lily starts talking about how near the end of the second season, Harley has now confessed her feelings to Ivy, but Ivy turns her down because she's going to get married to Kite Man (enjoy the insanity of that sentence if you haven't seen the show.)

Though I don't think she's nessesarily making any real poor points here yet, I want to point out that she really flattens the complexity of the emotions going on here. The problem is that Ivy and Harley's relationship has reached a level of intimacy where they really can't just go back to being friends. Ivy is happily in a relationship with Kite Man at this point, he's been a much more stable and reliable partner to Ivy. Though it's implied her feelings for Harley go a lot deeper. During Joker's confrontation of Harley, Lily frames it as a "go get 'er" pep talk like it's a fucking 80s rom com. He's trying more to get Harley to emotionally resolve things with her-- regardless of outcome. Ivy did say no once already. The audience expects she isn't going to say no a second time since that wouldn't be a narratively satisfying conclusion, but in the real world equivalent, she could have. The Joker wasn't telling Harley to harass Ivy until she gives in.

-5:16: Not really a mark against Lily's video persay, but in a season that aired after Lily made this video the prospect of Harley and Ivy breaking up is explored. Lily must have been seething, lol.

-5:28: "I love a good fluffy romance. I'm so fucking done with people's obsession with the nasty stuff [Flashes Catra and Adora on screen.]"

Honestly this comment has me wondering if Lily decided to check her phone or just skip through scenes where Harley and Ivy weren't being lovey-dovey. I don't know what fucking show she apparently watched (foreshadowing is a narrative tool wh--.)

-5:48: "Poison Ivy has always had the same problem a lot of female characters in DC comics have had in despite being an actual doctor they always just put her in a skin tight leotard [ . . . ] About the only notable exception to that was in The Batman [the 2005 show] where she was a teenager [classical Lily goonery inserted here.]"

Ignoring the goon comment, in isolation I don't have a grievance with this comment persay. As a generalization, it's more or less true about Ivy. She's unfortunately one of the lesser well-used characters in the various DC canons as a whole. However, Lily is going to start implying she's more familiar with DC in general, especially the comics, than she really is. I have strong reason to doubt Lily would know Ivy canonically has a doctorate in botanical sciences if this show didn't call so much attention to it. You'll see why in a moment.

Also the 2005 Batman show is far from the only iteration to reimagine Ivy as a teen. I like that show's take on Ivy too, but that's not a fucking unique spin on the character.

-6:57: "Clayface was always a random D-list monster like Carnage, but here he's reimagined as a struggling actor."

In a show that had the balls to feature Queen of Fables, she's calling Clayface a fucking "d-lister." Nevermind Carnage. But no Lily, Clayface has been a struggling actor since his first appearance in Detective Comics No.40. It's literally the first thing in his bio on his fucking wiki page.

-7:09: "There's one episode where [Clayface] assumes the identity of Stephanie to get into Riddler's college [ . . . ] Seriously I'm convinced he's been moonlighting as Stephanie a lot. The other girls on campus call her 'Steph.' She's been there for a while. This is Clayface's secret identity and you can't convince me otherwise."

LILY THAT'S NOT SUBTEXT THAT'S THE FUCKING JOKE. IT'S TEXT. IT'S CANON. YES. CLAYFACE HAS BEEN FUCKING AROUND ON RIDDLER'S CAMPUS THIS WHOLE TIME. CONFIRMED IN THE SHOW. LILY. LILLLYYYYYY.

Worth pointing out too, she'd totally call Clayface's Stephanie character transphobic if she hated the show.

-9:00: "The writers though 'okay, what do we use to fill our quota of the sad misguided villian this arc-- oh I know fucking BATMAN!'"

Lily what the fuck are you doing when you sit down to watch a show for your channel? Are you playing Candycrush the whole time? Are you screaming at Mikaila that often you miss like . . . Almost everything!? What are you doin' sweaty!?

Lilian, Bruce is not the primary antagonist of the 3rd season . . . IVY IS. Or really, Harley and Ivy's emotional dysfunction is the antagonist of basically this whole series, and it's Ivy's turn to be the main driver of conflict. The person destroying Gotham is Ivy. Not Batman, IVY.

Bruce and Selina's relationship is supposed to be a conceptual foil to Harley and Ivy's. Bruce is having an emotional breakdown the entire series has more or less been building up to.

-9:15: [In reference to Batman getting sent to prison] "I want him to get some nice and comfortable therapy."

. . . Lily is that what you think happens in prison?

-9:35: Lily is talking about the Joker's step-dad arc, and this is as good a time as any to stop for a sec to talk about how Lily doesn't seem to get what The Harley Show is doing with the characters.

The thing that makes the show an exceptionally brilliant take on the DC universe is that virtually all the characters (with some exceptions, that were tweaked for the better mostly) are actually faithful to their comic book/generally established characterization. To an impressive degree, down to even just minor details. You can tell the people who made this show are genuine fans of DC comics. Their personalities and character arcs are exaggerated for comedic effect, with specific interesting angles teased out to draw focus to them. Some elements of their personality are recontextualized to create a more engaging dynamic, but regardless. Even most of the plot elements are at least loose adaptations of storylines from the comic, or other DC media. It's really impressive how the show both works as a functional take on the DC universe by itself, and as a parody of it. Lily demonstrates she's totally oblivious to this multiple times in the video, but her section on the Joker best exemplifies this.

The Joker has taken over and/or become mayor of Gotham multiple times in the comics. Lily thinks for some god forsaken reason in the 70 something years Batman comics have been printed, nobody's thought of that. THEY HAVE. The gag with the second time Joker takes over Gotham IN THIS FUCKING SHOW ALONE is . . . He's actually a really good mayor. Gotham is a perpetual capitalist nightmare shithole of a city. The most insane, radical anarchist thing for The Joker to do is . . . Be a socialist who actually gives a shit about the small folk. That's the joke, Lily. That's the joke. That's the mother fucking JOKE. THE FUNNY HAHA, THERE IT IS LILY. I FUCKING EXPLAINED IT TO YOU.

And Lilian. The Joker being at his most normal and stable while he has a family. Is. A. Direct. Parody. Of. One. Of. The. Most. FAMOUS. BATMAN STORIES. EVER. WRITTEN.

SHE IS LITERALLY FUCKING SHOWING THE EPISODE WHERE THEY DIRECTLY VISUALLY REFERENCE THE KILLING JOKE ON SCREEN. LILY YOU'RE GOING TO GIVE ME A FUCKING HERNIA.

-10:10: Lily calls Sam Raimi a "douchebag."

Fuck right off.

-10:25: "It's a return to wacky hijinks that uses to define The Joker back when he was a gangster in funny makeup."

NO IT ISN'T LILY.

-11:00: Lily bitches about Harley Quinn for the 7 minutes in the remaining runtime.

Okay, the play-by-play is over, I'm going to address this section all at once because it will be quicker and more comprehensive if I do. This is the point where all the aformentioned pins come in.

Though I'm going to have to be ignoring some bullshit Lily says here in order to stay focused, I will mention first, Lily doesn't seem to realize Batfleck and Nolan's Batman were MASSIVE departures from the comics and don't pull much from the storylines. I don't think that's nessesarily a bad thing, even though I'm not the biggest fan of either of those interpretations, but for the record-- no. Those adaptations have almost nothing to do with Year one, The Dark Night Returns, The Killing Joke, or The Long Halloween outside of superficial elements. Lily just googled "famous Batman comics" and picked the four she probably vaguely heard of before. Again, she didn't even recognize the in-your-face impossible to miss Killing Joke parody episode she used as footage for this video. SHE'S JUST PRETENDING SHE'S READ COMICS SHE HASN'T.

Now to the point:

Lily's rational for not liking Harley's portrayal in the Harley Quinn show is honest to god brain damage. I'm not even sure how hard I need to go into explaining this because . . . It's pointing at the text itself and calling it a flaw. Harley's entire journey as a person is TRYING TO DISCOVER WHO SHE IS outside of the toxic codependency she had with the Joker. Her arc is both a meta commentary on the nature of the character conceptually and her journey to redefine herself. THIS ISN'T FUCKING SUBTLE. THIS IS STATED IN THE SHOW. Harley's identity crisis over whether or not she's even a villan anymore STARTS IN SEASON 3. Harley's lack of inhibition is what DRIVES THE PLOT IN SEASON 2. Harley's struggles to emancipat herself IS THE PLOT OF THE FIRST FUCKING EPISODE. This is also honestly the ONLY DC property I can think of that actually bothers to do something with the fact that Harley is a psychologist. Almost on that basis alone, it's one of the most refreshing takes on the character. That actually means something when I say it, because I've actually read a fucking comic in my life. LILY WHAT FUCKING DIMENSION DO YOU SLIP INTO ANY TIME YOU SIT DOWN TO WATCH A SHOW.

That question is rhetorical-- Lily tells on herself several times throughout this video. Remember those pins? Go read em again. Lily identifies with Ivy, so Lily decided Ivy is the "real" main character-- and wants Harley to be Ivy's loving kissy huggy gf. She genuinely thinks the show is actively making a mistake anytime her smut ship fanfic is interrupted. Lily wants porn. LILY YEARNS FOR THE PORN, ALWAYS. Every single fucking time.

She's decided Ivy has done nothing wrong to create tension in the relationship. She has deemed the character flaws Harley has that creates tension in the relationship a mistake in the writing.

Because Lily has not actually read a comic, but probably has seen Batman: The Animated Series-- she's missed all of the other references and spoofs in the show except for the ones involving Harley. That was the show she was originally created in.

Case-fucking-closed. Water is wet, the sky is blue, and Lily Orchard is talking out of her ass.

Kill my parents and call me the world's greatest detective, I guess.

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yuri-is-online · 7 months ago

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... so what do we know about the Clash? (pt. 1)

The answer is still not a whole lot! But we did get some extra context surrounding the very first mystery we all caught on to surrounding the missing houses. I did some re-reading for this and noticed some stuff about the MC's curse I'll probably put into another post. Tumblr is being a bitch about word/text count so, I'll have to divide this into a few parts, but for now, here is part one of just the facts as stated in game.

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS THROUGH EPISODE 5: HOTARUBI. PLEASE INTERACT WITH DUE CAUTION.

The Facts

The Clash is first mentioned by name in Chapter 10 of the Prologue after Professor Nicholas takes MC away from the Chancellor's Office to be treated in Mortkranken. Cornelius starts talking to himself having noticed that all of this is happening on the day of the entrance ceremony: "General student house reassignments today, prophecy research and Clash clean up ASAP..." We learn at the start of Hotarubi's Episode that there are three defunct dormitories: Dionysia, Ultio, and Clementia leaving seven intact dormitories. Kaito tells us that the general admissions students are sorted "during their orientation." He also tells us ghouls are very rare, and that where they go affects the power balance between houses.

General Admissions students are normal humans, all houses except for Obscuary and Jabberwock have general admissions students, but Kaito tells us that "The academy stopped general admissions for Jabberwock recently..." meaning that they did have General Admissions students at one point. We also know from both Cornelius's lines and the records MC finds at the beginning of Hotarubi's episode that general students were reassigned to different dorms at the beginning of the year. Kaito also tells us that Obscuary is not a dorm you get in via the weighing of souls even if you are a ghoul, and that there is a rumor about their Dorm Captain ("their captain is the one who-"). Obscuary is not referenced by anyone we speak to in the main story ever again, nor are the rumors about its Captain. I suspect this will be revisited in their Episode.

The MC is being housed in the Cathedrale Terminale. Cornelius tells us "It was vacated quite recently." The dormitory resembles a medieval church and is referenced as having statues, benches, and a pipe organ. Before the cats arrive to do repairs, MC remarks that it looks like "something went on a rampage in here" as a lot of the furniture is broken as are the statues. When Jiro and Yuri come to give MC her check up, Jiro tells Yuri that MC is staying "in the old Clementia dormitory." Clementia is mentioned in passing in Episode 2, when a Vagastrom student references needing them for exorcisms, and then again in Episode 5 when MC finds a list of defunct dormitories and reassigned General Admissions students. The dormitory's name is the same as the roman goddess of mercy and clemency. This is something of a theme with the three missing dormitories.

Dante is the advisor for Frostheim and Vagastrom. He is a new member of staff, just having been hired this year and assigned to the two most difficult dormitories in the school. During the Clash, Alan Mido, the Dorm Captain of Vagastrom believes that he killed him. Dante is aware of this but does not seem to hold a grudge against Alan. Leo seems to find this assignment suspicious and doubts that Dante is his real name.

Jin Kamurai is the Dorm Captain of Frostheim. He has not been seen by most professors, including the previous Frostheim advisor, for around half a year according to Hyde. Kaito tells us that the rumor is it has something to do with the Clash, he describes it as a skirmish that he was able to stay out of but "everyone ended up with some trauma after that... Until last year, that guy was the definition of a charismatic leader." It is revealed to us throughout Episode 1 that Jin has lost his ability to use his stigma without the MC's help.

His Vice Captain, Tohma Ishibashi, was in Vagastrom until the middle of last year, meaning that we can reasonably line up the events of the Clash, Tohma transferring to Frostheim, and Jin losing his stigma as happening around the same time. The relationship between Jin and Tohma reads as a bit more tense than initially thought to me, Tohma is playing a role and Jin is very aware that he's being used, though he does not seem aware to what end. We also know he is looking for a spy, and cooperating with Alan. He asks him to "not draw more attention to himself" before apologizing, I assume about Luca's actions at the start of Episode 2 when he barged into the pit. All of the dorms are eager to not rock the boat with Darkwick more than they already have. Tohma specifically has put in a lot of effort to maintaining a good relationship with Darkwick's staff, which allows him use of specific artifacts like the skeleton key he uses in Episode 1. We will see this same skeleton key used by Haku in Episode 5, implying the staff has the same level of trust in him.

Whatever happened during the Clash seems to have made Frostheim deeply unpopular, especially with Mortkranken and Vagastrom. Haru says that he specifically is unpopular with Frostheim, but it seems like he might have just meant he doesn't get along with Jin as no one seems to do that. Except for his sugar baby MC. Switching dormitories is something you need special permission for, but the Clash seems to have resulted in a wide scale shuffling of power as we have several references to dormitory swapping between the ghouls. Which brings us back to the topic of the missing dormitories.

In Episode 3 when Haru falls unconscious from not taking care of himself, Nicholas and Hyde discuss Jabberwock's active mission. Hyde asks Nicholas about using the Dionysia kids. Specifically he asks Nicholas if he "found" those kids, implying that they very much have been missing. It is not referenced again until Episode 5 when the MC finds the list of defunct dormitories, we do not know when it was disbanded, why its ghouls went missing, or why Nicholas would be unable to assign them missions. The dorm's name is a reference to a festival held in honor of the greek god Dionysus during which multiple theater performances and poetry competitions were held. It is also the name of a flowering plant.

The final missing dormitory is Ultio, which is first mentioned in Episode 5 when MC finds the list of defunct dormitories. We learn later on in the Episode that they were tasked with running the prison in the middle of Hotarubi's lake. The dormitory's name is a reference to the roman goddess of vengeance. Both she and Clementia are considered abstract deities, and related to the reign of Julius Caesar. The roman emperor was thought to need to balance the vengeance of Ultio with the mercy of Clementia, as Ultio is very specifically tied to feelings of anger and Clementia acts of kindness. Whether or not this means anything to the actual story is unverifiable, but I thought it was interesting and since it is a fact it goes here.

We learn more about the spy from Taiga in Episode 4. He specifically says that this spy is out to make the ghouls look bad. he asks the MC if she "would rather stay ignorant and keep letting him fool" her. This could mean that the MC has already met the spy and Taiga is aware of this, but given the man's memory issues it's more likely this is a figure of speech meant to fire her up. Moby tells the MC in Episode 5 that the Hotarubi ghouls are hiding something, and to be wary of them but well. There's like three other things that could be referring to: Zenji (my beloved), Lyca (which I doubt since he and Cornelius seem content to let the poor boy rot), and Subaru's true stigma. It could refer to the spy too of course, but there's too much other stuff going on in there to know for sure.

It is never stated in game who this spy is spying for, or what the ghouls believe his motives to be. Just that he is out to make the ghouls look bad. In Episode 5 the concept of being "Pro-Anomaly" is mentioned for the first time in reference to Hotarubi, with the rumor being that Subaru is keeping a dangerous one as a pet. From this we can assume that part of the divide between ghouls and general admission students is their views on how the anomalies should be treated. This is further enforced by the explanation we are given of Article 78.

Tumblr is being fussy and cutting me off from my beloved bullet points, so I'll have to type up the stuff about the Laurel Crown, Ritsu's findings, and the Institute in the next post. But for the TL;DR of this one: The Clash likely happened during the middle of last year and it is unclear how long it went on for. At some point, three dormitories were disbanded and their students were transferred to other dorms. There is a spy amongst the ghouls who they believe is out to make them look bad, and at least Tohma, Alan, and Taiga are aware of this. And finally, there is a degree of distrust between the Ghouls and the School that seems to have been sparked by how they treat captured anomalies.

#tokyo debunker #tdb #tdb theory #tokyo debunker theory

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merlincersei · 4 months ago

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Merlin BBC UK TV Show - Opinion Piece Part 23 - Who Is Arthur Really Talking About In This Scene?

Time and again when I revisit this particular scene between Arthur and Merlin (referenced below) I can't help but notice how much "Merthur" has been implicitly queer coded in this show.

______________________________________________________________

The scene I am talking about is in the Season 2 Episode 4 titled "Lancelot and Guinevere" .

This episode can be summarized as follows:

Gwen is mistaken for Morgana and is kidnapped by Hengist. Uther refuses to pay the ransom or send a rescue party to save a servant. Arthur defies his father and sets out with Merlin to rescue Gwen. ______________________________________________________________

After Arthur and Merlin escape from the Wilddeoren, they have the following scene:

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While the casual viewer will look at this scene and state it is Arthur confessing his love for Gwen, however LISTEN CAREFULLY TO WHAT THEME PLAYS FROM 0:55 SECONDS ONWARDS IN THE BACKGROUND OF THIS SCENE.

The theme it plays is Merlin's Arrival to Camelot:

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Now ask youself why would the show put in "Merlin's Arrival to Camelot" theme in the background of a scene where Arthur is confessing his love for Gwen?

Especially when Arthur and Gwen already have a theme song called Gwen & Arthur Romance Suite.

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Shockingly, the Gwen & Arthur Romance Suite is actually played in the background of a scene between Gwen and Lancelot when they kiss for the first time and Gwen states " As long as I live, my feelings for you will never fade."

Refer scene at 1:22 in the clip below:

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____________________________________________________________

Going back to the scene between Merlin and Arthur, dont you think Arthur's description of Gwen can also be used for Merlin.

[EXT. FOREST, STREAM – DAY] [Arthur and Merlin wash off the Gaia berries by a stream.]

ARTHUR Gaia berries worked. Huh.

MERLIN You didn't know if they worked?

ARTHUR Not for sure.

MERLIN Now you tell me?! Oh! Oh, what's that Wildren eating? It's all right. It's just Merlin. You trying to get us both killed?

ARTHUR I'm sorry. I shouldn't've risked your life like that.

MERLIN Well, they do say love makes you do strange things.

ARTHUR What are you talking about?

MERLIN Why can't you just admit your feelings for Gwen?

[Arthur scoffs.]

MERLIN It's so obvious. A blind man could see it. Is it really that hard to admit you like her? Just say it. (MERLIN THEME STARTS TO PLAY)

ARTHUR I can't! How can I admit that I think about her all the time. Or that...I care about her more than anyone. How can I admit that...I don't know what I'll do if any harm comes to her?

(DID ARTHUR NOT RISK HIS OWN LIFE FOR MERLIN IN SEASON 1 EPISODE 4 THE POISONED CHALICE.

DID ARTHUR NOT FOLLOW MERLIN TO EALDOR IN SEASON 1 EPISODE 10 THE MOMENT OF TRUTH FOR A MERE SERVANT)

MERLIN Why can't you?

ARTHUR Because nothing can ever happen between us! (HOW TRUE! BBC SIMPLY WOULD NOT HAVE ALLOWED MERTHUR TO HAPPEN!) To admit my feelings knowing that...hurts too much.

MERLIN Who's to say nothing can happen?

ARTHUR My father won't let me rescue a servant. Do you honestly believe he'd let me marry one?

(IN SEASON 1 EPISODE 4 THE POISONED CHALICE. UTHER FORBADE ARTHUR TO RESCUE MERLIN AND EVEN HAD HIM IMPRISONED WHEN HE BROUGHT BACK THE CURE FOR MERLIN)

MERLIN You want to marry Gwen?

ARTHUR No! No...I...I don't know...It's all talk, and that's all it can ever be.

MERLIN When you're King, you can change that.

ARTHUR I can't expect Guinevere to wait for me.

MERLIN If she feels as you do, she'll wait for you.

(IN THE END OF THE SERIES, IT IS MERLIN WHO HAS BEEN WAITING FOR ARTHUR FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS!!)

ARTHUR We don't even know if she's still alive.

MERLIN No, she is. We will find her.

ARTHUR Come on. We've got a long trek ahead. Oh, and Merlin...if you dare tell anyone about this, I promise I will make your life a living hell.

MERLIN You mean, more than you already do?

ARTHUR Yeah.

MERLIN We could talk about your feelings while you walk.

ARTHUR Shut up, Merlin.

______________________________________________________________

I also managed to get a snapshot of a commentary Bradley James and Colin Morgan did for this particular episode and it is available on the DVD. Bradley's commentary is indeed very telling.

I REST MY CASE !!!

#bradley james #colin morgan #arthur pendragon #angel coulby #merthur #merlincersei #merlin bbc #youtube #gay subtext #queer coding #merlin meta #lgbtqia shows #bbc arwen #lancelot #signal boost

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sneakyboymerlin · 1 year ago

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If no merwaine, then why…

Transcript and analysis below ⬇️

Transcription:

Gwaine: Thanks for everything that you did for Eira.

Merlin: There’s no need to thank me, it was the least I could do. And you seem to care for her.

Gwaine: I could hardly leave her for the Saxons, now, could I?

Merlin: [teasing] Was that your only reason for rescuing her?

Gwaine: [lying] Of course.

[Saxons attack. Gwaine fights them off, but one knocks Merlin to the ground. He curls up and shields his face, completely helpless.]

Merlin: [screaming] Gwaine!

[Gwaine turns his back on the man he’s fighting and saves Merlin. He finishes off the last Saxon without even looking, eyes still on Merlin. He helps Merlin off the ground.]

Gwaine: Are you okay?

Merlin: Yeah, I- I think so. Thank you.

Gwaine: There’s no need to thank me, Merlin. It was the least I could do.

aaaaaaand END SCENE!

To start off with, we have a self-aware parallel in Merlin and Gwaine’s dialogue. We’re going to be examining the subtext of this conversation.

Subtext is simply what can be inferred without direct statement or revelation. It is not, as fandom is wont to believe, inserting any meaning you want between the lines: it is a cohesive message expressed by indirect means. Here’s an example:

A student goes to turn in his paper. After looking through two pages, his teacher asks, “Are you sure you want to turn this in?” The subtext of this question is the intended clue to the student that the paper is not ready yet to be turned in and he should edit through it again.

Moving forward… The repetition of, “There’s no need to thank me, it was the least I could do,” is a deliberate allusion to a core theme of Merlin and Gwaine’s relationship through the years: helping another soul—soon to be friend—in need, with no expectation of a reward.

The subtextual reading of this parallel, of course, is that Merlin does not owe Gwaine, and vice versa, because that is not why they help each other. They do it because they care about one another. As a result, they’ve both helped each other innumerably. Gwaine alludes to the help Merlin’s given him as a way of saying that there is no need to return the favor, because 1) he didn’t do it expecting a favor in exchange, and 2) Merlin has more than repaid the favor already.

Another instance where we see this kind of exchange between them is in this deleted scene from 4x07 The Secret Sharer (scene 47 at 15:10).

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Transcript:

Gwaine: We’ll find him.

Merlin: I won’t forget this.

Gwaine: I haven’t done anything.

Merlin: One day I’ll repay the favor.

Gwaine: Considering the trouble I get into, that may prove to be a rash promise.

[Gwaine offers Merlin some food]

Merlin: I’m full.

Another deleted scene (they really did just delete every meaningful Gwaine scene in s4 huh) which we have only a script for (though it’s possible it was recorded and the audio edited out) is when Gwaine and Arthur ride out to find Merlin in 4x06 after he’s been captured by bandits. Although this scene did not make the final cut, it is referenced again when Gwaine calls Merlin “Bog Man,” so it clearly has a place amidst the canon material.

(Find the transcription here.)

I think it speaks for itself here, but, “And finding him will be reward enough?” truly captures the selfless devotion that Gwaine feels for Merlin.

Fandom generally accepts the idea that Gwaine would do anything for Merlin, but that Merlin never seems to do the same in return. However, this is likely a misconception of what counts towards a returned favor. Merlin is a physician, not a warrior. Or, as Morgana puts it, “a lover” (not a fighter). We cannot expect Merlin to help Gwaine in the same area of expertise that Gwaine helps him in. He applies himself in other ways.

When they meet in 3x04, Gwaine offers Merlin and Arthur aid in a tavern brawl where they’re clearly outnumbered. Gwaine is injured when his opponent pulls out a knife in a fistfight, and Merlin rushes to tend to his wound. Already, a favor is given and returned between the two.

And, while Gwaine does intend to help both Merlin and Arthur, not to mention the tavern employees, he takes a special interest in Merlin. Merlin is the only one who Gwaine takes the time to introduce himself to mid-fight, even as Merlin shouts for him to watch out as he is being actively attacked. And then, of course, Gwaine does fall to an attack. Merlin treats his injuries both on the spot and back in his own chambers.

One could argue that the introduction of Gwaine to Eira follows a similar format, with Gwaine coming to her rescue, only for her to save him when their attacker knocks him to the ground. Perhaps Gwaine even takes on Merlin’s role as caretaker from 3x04 when he brings Merlin in to treat Eira in 5x12, as opposed to receiving the treatment himself. Then again, it might be more similar to the scene in 4x07 where Gwaine jumps in to battle against Alator’s guard. Like Eira, Merlin also rescues Gwaine when he’s knocked to the ground (though Gwaine doesn’t know it).

As we can see, though, Merlin is not lying when he tells Gwaine, “I’d do the same for you,” in 3x08, nor when he tells Gwaine, “One day I’ll repay the favor,” in the deleted scene from 4x07. Merlin and Gwaine have different services to offer, but they offer to help all the same.

The next portion of the aforementioned 5x12 scene on our to-dissect list is the actual subject matter of the conversation, followed by a visual representation of the very same act.

After Gwaine thanks Merlin for helping Eira, Merlin mentions that Gwaine “seem[s] to care for her.” Gwaine, in an effort to avoid the sexual and romantic implications, diverts to the chivalrous explanation: “I could hardly leave her to the Saxons, now, could I?” Merlin teases him with no relent, though, and asks, “Was that your only reason for rescuing her?” Gwaine responds with a curt, “Of course.”

The subtext of this conversation is that Gwaine’s hurried involvement to protect/take care of Eira stems from a crush on her. This is true, as there were many enemies around, but Gwaine chose the one attacking the pretty “damsel in distress” to fight. He then takes one long look at her and decides to forgo the battle to take her to safety.

Merlin can’t help but notice Gwaine’s feelings for her. She is, after all, staying in his bed even after her wound has been treated, so there is a connection between them… much like Gwaine stayed with Merlin for the remainder of 3x04 until he had no choice but to fulfill the demands of his banishment. This is especially interesting, since the wound that Merlin treats Eira for is on her leg, which is the same spot where Gwaine was stabbed when they first met. Merlin similarly wrapped his wound at the time.

But the main point is the fact that Gwaine rescued Eira from the Saxons with a single-minded fervency, in part because he was attracted to her, and then quickly grew attached.

Gwaine then proceeds to rescue Merlin from Saxons a matter of seconds after this is established.

Allow me to remind you of Gwaine’s sudden change of course in saving Eira.

Now compare this to his rescue of Merlin.

Let’s take a closer look at their dialogue:

Merlin: You seem to care for her.

Gwaine: I could hardly leave her for the Saxons, now, could I?

Merlin: [teasing] Was that your only reason for rescuing her?

Gwaine: [lying] Of course.

When applied to Gwaine’s rescue of Merlin, the conversation about Gwaine rescuing Eira takes on a more powerful meaning. After all, Eira is a virtual stranger who ends up being the traitor in the court. Gwaine sends her to her execution on Merlin’s word (via Gaius as the messenger), whereas Merlin is someone Gwaine has known for nearly a decade. There is a consistent history of Gwaine acting as Merlin’s body guard, which is being enacted again now as Gwaine escorts Merlin through the Valley of the Fallen Kings.

This is also one of the last ever scenes between Merlin and Gwaine. In truth, we are being shown a brief summary of their relationship as it comes to its narrative end—one last hurrah, if you will. And what they choose to show us is Gwaine protecting Merlin in an act of unconditional love.

Eira, like any character, is a plot device. Her interference leads to Merlin being trapped in the Crystal Cave, and Gwaine being tortured for information on Merlin and Arthur’s location. However, her presence as a person Gwaine wants to protect is meant to evoke the memory of every time Gwaine has protected Merlin. The chosen method to imply this was by creating a parallel between Gwaine’s protectiveness over the woman he’s currently sleeping with to his protectiveness over Merlin. Take that as you will.

#bbc merlin #merlin emrys #sir gwaine #merwaine #mergwaine #merlin meta #my meta #merlin and gwaine #bbc merlin deleted scenes #video #audio #transcript #long post is long

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thefirstknife · 5 months ago

Text

The Thread Unfurls Against the Clocks: Saint-14 and how we saved him

Hello. It's time. I already did one summary of how we saved Saint, but I want to go even more in-depth because I later realised that so much of this is unavailable and also happened so long ago that most people don't even know where to look for it and what to look for. I also want to address all the adjacent lore like the stuff about the Sundial and also how it all relates to the current plot.

Finally, I want this to serve as an explanation that there's something very weird going on and that the Saint we have is the real Saint. I've seen people already super resigned after this week's story, simply accepting that there was a reveal that he is truly the "wrong" Saint. I want to analyse all we have on Saint in-depth and focus on how we saved him to show the level of detail involved because I think it's important to understand things in the episode.

Obviously, really compelling lore changes can happen and work out, but in this case I'm just not feeling it, for various reasons. We'll see, but I still think this is worth putting together and that we have plenty of indications that we saved him "correctly" so to speak.

Saint is a unanimously beloved character and one that is so closely linked to our player character as well. The setup for his return was established so long ago and was kept consistent the entire time. I feel like the stuff in Echoes is almost like a culmination of it all, as well as a reminder about what we've done. We'll suffer for a bit for sure but there is no doubt in my mind that Saint will come from this safe and healed. No matter what ends up being revealed, I believe he will be fine.

Contents! Long post under. Spoilers for Echoes Act 2, mostly just in the Echoes section.

Intro

Curse of Osiris quest

Season of Dawn

What's up with the Sundial?

Echoes

Intro

I'm not sure how familiar people are with the full scope of Saint-14, but he's been a character since the beginning. We didn't know much about him at all; the first mention was in vanilla D1 in this grimoire about the Darkness, listing what various characters think about it. Saint's thoughts:

Saint-14's Position argues that the Darkness was an invading armada, an alien force of incredible - but tangible - power. Some adherents believe that this armada sprang from species rejected or discarded by the Traveler for their sins.

All things considered, he wasn't that far off! Really cool detail, but this lore was referenced in TFS, in the lore book Chirality, and especially Saint's bit:

* Saint-14's Position is the most eminently practical of the bunch, no matter how the man himself protests that such an obvious facet of the truth doesn't require a formal philosophical stance to be named for him.

There's 10 years separating these lore pieces! But they're still being referenced because there are some incredible nerds writing this.

This doesn't tell us much about Saint, besides that he's thinking in very practical terms. He views the Darkness as something that can be fought back. Note that at the start we don't know anything else about him, not even if he's a Guardian. In House of Wolves, we get this lore where the author (the Speaker) is going off about Osiris. We get a little piece about Saint; Saint-14 suggested that Osiris should become Vanguard Commander and also vouched for Osiris. This was the first piece of info that these two are familiar with each other. How far we've come since!

After that, we get his helmet as an exotic in The Taken King (though it has no lore other than the flavour text) and a little bit of insight into him with the first proper lore tab that actually features him as a character. It shows his iconic headbutt and ends with him deciding to follow Osiris to Mercury. A few little details are mentioned in flavour text on the following items, mostly quotes about or from Saint: 1, 2, 3, 4. Number 3 is interesting:

"Stand with your back to the Wall, and not even the Darkness itself will move you." —Saint-14

Remember that!

There's a few more in Rise of Iron, again, just flavour text. He's really funny here, and being his usual heroic self here. That's it for his stuff in D1. Saint-14 was some sort of historic figure, he was a Titan, he fought in historic battles, he fought against the Eliksni and he had some sort of connection with the Speaker and Osiris. He was a practical man, a warrior and a protector.

He wasn't really a full character or anything and only had a few quotes and one lore tab where he actually does something. But the stage was set! He was clearly a character they wanted to explore and they did, in Curse of Osiris.

Curse of Osiris quest

Curse of Osiris returned his helmet as an exotic item and immediately gave us hints about the expansion of Saint-14's character and where they're leading him. The lore tab on the exotic is a conversation between Cayde-6 and Lord Shaxx where Cayde-6 insists that Saint is not dead, while Shaxx is just kind of resigned to it. Cayde also notes that Saint was a "weirdo:"

C6: No one ever put down a Kell faster than he could. But man, he was a real weirdo. SX: Eccentricity was his strength. C6: Talking about the Speaker like you're related to him is eccentric. Claiming he's seen the future, that he fought Six Fronts fueled on the idea that some Guardian savior is coming? That's insane.

Wait a minute. Saint-14 claimed he's seen the future and that he believed in "some Guardian savior"? What's that about? Wink wink. Nudge nudge. To make things even more obvious, the remaining conversation is... about the Young Wolf:

SX: Belief is a hell of a thing. C6: Sure, yeah. One Guardian's going to fix everything. Kick Crota off the Moon. Make it look like us Vanguard know our head from our hindquarters. Hey, where are you going? SX: One of the new recruits from Old Russia I've had my eye on—entering the Crucible for the first time. C6: Hey, maybe they're the one. We'll call 'em Crota's End.

Maybe Cayde should've started making prophecies too! But yeah. This was the first proper hint about what they cooked up for Saint's story. Saint has apparently seen the future and believed in a "Guardian savior" and he fought for the City fuelled by this belief. Very interesting! To make things weirder, there's Saint-14's Gray Pigeon which also features some strange lore at the end where Saint addresses an unknown person:

To my inspiration. Your final gift to me I now send back to you. It will be good to see you again.

This was wild to read at the time because it clearly references something that we don't know about, but that's incredibly important to Saint. The theory was that he might be talking to us, the Young Wolf, but how?

That's where the quest comes in. Curse famously didn't have a lot of content, but it did have the post-campaign quest with Lost Prophecies. They were a set of quests where we essentially had to collect items to transform "prophecy tablets" into weapons in the Infinite Forge which was a sort of interactable area in the Lighthouse on Mercury:

There were a total of 11 of these, with the final one being to acquire the Perfect Paradox. Each weapon came with a prophecy in the flavour text and a lore tab. The final one however, Perfect Paradox, triggered a whole separate quest in two parts. In part one, we discover an old Vanguard comm signal coming from the Forest which we follow and analyse to discover that the signal is from Saint-14.

Detecting traces of familiar Light up here. Wait… Saint-14? He's been missing for decades. Saint was one of the greatest Titans who ever lived. Hero of Six Fronts. All that power and he just… vanished. The City's still looking for him.

This quest also features this conversation from Osiris and Sagira:

Osiris: If Saint-14 is lost in the Infinite Forest, it's because he came here to find us. Sagira: You can't blame yourself for every missing Guardian, Osiris. Osiris: For him I can.

If you're lucky (or unlucky, depending on how many emotions this gives you), you can hear this line from Sagira in Presage. This is where it comes from!

The quest is kinda set up in a way to make you think we'll actually be saving Saint here. We finally found his comm signal and it's leading us into the Forest. He's clearly affected the Vex and the Forest with his Light and he's fighting back. Osiris gets involved and urges us to find him. The whole thing feels like we're doing what we usually do; find a problem and fix it.

Part two of the quest continues in a similar vein. The quest is called "Not even the Darkness," btw. Remember that quote from Saint from The Taken King? Yeah. Anyway, we go back to following the trace leading us to Saint, into the Infinite Forest, this time into a simulated future. There, the Vex get alerted and summon a big Minotaur; Hagios, Reverent Mind (whose name means "sacred" in Greek, so essentially... Saint). We kill the Minotaur and then the area behind it opens; it appears to have been guarding it.

When it opens, we're treated to a bittersweet sight:

The area is beautiful, but it's a tomb. Saint-14's body is laid out like this in a pillar of light, surrounded by piles and piles of dead Vex. The Vex fought him for an unknown amount of time and they ended up respecting him; enough to create a tomb and seal his body and set a whole Vex mind to guard it, and apparently, revere it. Despite how hopeful we've been about saving him, he is dead.

As we approach his body, we take the remains of his personal weapon. Back at the Lighthouse, we use these remains and the prophecy to craft the weapon as it was; Perfect Paradox shotgun. The prophecy attached to it:

A tale that's different from the rest: the thread unfurls against the clocks. The one the Speaker loved the best must have a perfect paradox.

The prophecy is from Osiris, of course, which means that at some point when he was making them, he already knew about the strange fate of Saint-14. Not that he is dead; Osiris hoped to find him in the Forest. But his prophecy talks about time travel and a paradox. In the lore tab itself, Saint attached a letter to the gun in which he once again addresses a mysterious person. This person is now definitively identified as us:

All I have left is this weapon. The Cryptarchs say you crafted it yourself, built it out of scraps and Light and sheer will, inside the Infinite Forge. I'll make sure it finds its way back to you.

Well that's correct. We crafted the weapon in the Infinite Forge. But we only did so after recovering its remains from Saint's body, so how could he have had the gun in the first place? Almost like... there's some sort of a time travel paradox involved. This was naturally bizarre at the time; we had nothing else on Saint or any of this during this quest, just these vague baffling hints that there's more to the story. Especially since it involves our character; Saint repeatedly talks as if he had already met us. He says so in the letter as well:

I mourn that I will never reach the heights you have. To me, you represent everything a Guardian can become. Yours is a thriving City. So different from mine. My whole fourteenth life I fought to make my City yours. I never finished.

He knows that our City is thriving and that we are "everything a Guardian can become." But we've never seen him before. This was really confusing and there was also not even a promise that it would be resolved. But it felt like something that they cared about deeply.

It would take 3 years until we got the resolution.

Season of Dawn

This is a big one in general because they really wanted to be as attentive to all details as possible. Even before the season started, they released several weblore pieces to remind us of Saint and bring up some important information.

The first one was The Accolade, about Saint's past and heroic deeds revolving around saving people. The weblore focuses on explaining what his "accolades" are; aka his purple ribbons on his armour and ship. They're gifts from people he saved; tokens of appreciation that turned into a type of a ritual with Saint. If you're saved by Saint, you have to give him something purple and he will wear it with him and remember your name. It ends with Osiris shortly after we found Saint's grave. Osiris went to see it for himself, to check, to make sure. He also laments that he never asked about the ribbons.

The next one is a glimpse into the past, a conversation between Osiris and Saint as Saint hands him the Vanguard Commander title. It's a good look into how that all happened, as well as the differences in approach and beliefs between Osiris and Saint.

And then they released The Sundial weblore (TW for suicide if you're reading the full weblore. One of his Echoes does not have a good time). Osiris is found on Mercury with a machine he built, putting finishing touches on it. It's called the Sundial. Osiris built it in response to Saint being dead, the implication very much being that he intends to use some form of time travel or some other time shenanigans to change the outcome and save him. Osiris never recovered from learning that he's dead and from seeing his dead body in the tomb. The design is Sagira's, and he's also helped by Drifter, who shows up to check the math. I'll go more into the Sundial later.

Osiris wraps up his work on it and turns it on. He splits into his Echoes and enters the machine to start searching through Saint's timeline on Mercury with the intent to find the right moment with the right Saint to save him; he is specifically looking for the moment when they drain his Light.

Osiris’s Echoes scour Saint-14’s timeline on Mercury. But the corridors of time refuse to give way to the moment they need: Saint and the Martyr Mind in the depths of the Infinite Forest. The Echoes work tirelessly for weeks, then months in the space between moments. In desperation, he splits the dozen copies into many thousands more as the work continues fruitlessly.

Osiris experiences what the kids these days call "epic fail."

None of the Echoes ever approaches a Saint. They never find the right one.

Despite all the work put into this machine and all of his knowledge and skill, Osiris doesn't manage to use the Sundial successfully. He never finds the right moment and he never saves him. It's worth noting that when Osiris used thousands of his Echoes, he experienced the time and life of every single one. But for Osiris outside the Sundial, it's only been a few moments. In those few moments, he essentially lived thousands of lifetimes. And died thousands of times. I need people to understand the amount of effort he put into this and what kind of an emotional toll it had.

Completely defeated, he gives up and hides the Sundial. He moves on with his life, doing what he always does, until stuff suddenly changes, which is explored in the next weblore: Actions of Mutual Friends. Us killing the Undying Mind in the season before Dawn changed everything, for the Vex and everyone else. We essentially created a point of divergence. The Vex suddenly had to change their projections of the future; Osiris noticed this and got very concerned.

While he wasn't looking, his Sundial was found, by Psion sisters. They figure out the potential of the Sundial and work to reactivate it, which they succeed in. The Red Legion descends on Mercury, looking to use the Sundial to essentially rewrite the course of the Red War and win.

Osiris finds out and goes to Ikora, to the City, to ask for help. This is the topic of the next weblore: Desperate Times. Osiris defends his choice to make the Sundial to save Saint, despite everybody else basically trying to explain to him that the universe might implode because of it.

This is a lot of setup, but it's necessary. It all leads into what happens in the season and what the season revolves around; saving Saint. It wasn't even a secret, as they very clearly showed it right away in the trailer (best trailer they've ever done). The seasonal gameplay revolved around us using the Sundial to defeat the Red Legion and stop them from trying to figure out how to essentially change the course of history. We had to fight three different Psion bosses, one of each of the sisters, until the end, when the three of them joined together into a single Psion entity for us to defeat.

As we were using the Sundial for this, Osiris also told us about what he made it for originally. He explains a little bit about it and about his failure to succeed, then warns us against using it for ourselves, but doesn't stop us.

I told you before - I tried to save Saint-14. I bent the rules of time using a prototype of the Sundial. It allowed me to walk the corridors of time here on Mercury. But I failed. I never found Saint's final moment against the Vex. I encountered younger versions from his first mission to Mercury, among others. But none were the right Saint. The prototype Sundial still exists, accessible off the main deck. And it can still travel through Saint's personal timeline on this planet. But venture there at your own peril. He cannot be saved. I have walked every permutation of those corridors with a hundred thousand of my Echoes and found nothing. Saint-14 is lost.

Despite this, we make the attempt and then the first part of the quest starts. When we use it, the Sundial reacts. It reacts specifically to the Perfect Paradox:

The Shotgun you crafted in the Infinite Forge is reacting to the Sundial! An onboard transponder is broadcasting coordinates: a path through the Sundial, crossing two time periods. The prophecy blueprint you used to create the Perfect Paradox must have included this broadcast. If you can open up the initial chamber, I can align us to the first time period the broadcast is referencing.

The two time periods are two points in time where it's relevant that we meed with Saint. The first one is in the Dark Age, when he came to Mercury with civilians in an attempt to reclaim the planet and help the struggling population of Earth with resources and possibly old Golden Age technologies. We connect to Saint via comms. He is devastated and demoralised. He failed to protect his people and he's also under siege by the Eliksni and is more or less resigned to dying. Lucky for him, we get there in time to help him out of this situation.

After the battle, we talk to him. Our Ghost hesitates a little but then decides to do it anyway; he shows Saint the projection of the Last City from the future, to prove to him that the everything will be fine if he continues to fight and stays hopeful. We also give him the Perfect Paradox, to help him fight. The loop is set! This gun was crafted in the future and was brought to the past. In time, Saint will die with it and we will pick up its remains from his body, allowing us to craft it in the first place.

Saint-14: What is this? Ghost: The Perfect Paradox. Built by my Guardian out of spare parts and Light and sheer will to aid you.

More importantly, this is the moment that Saint spoke of to other people that made him seem crazy. As we've seen in lore from years before, Saint kept saying that he saw a thriving City and that there's some sort of Guardian savior coming and that he's seen this future. He also wrote in that letter how we gave him the shotgun and how we saved him. This part of the quest is constructed around this lore. This moment is what Saint remembered and talked about. We saved him and invigorated his will to keep going. This is why he is the way he is.

We part ways and leave the Sundial. Ghost immediately goes to check if we messed anything up and to let us know that there's one more point in time to go to:

Okay, let's check the Tower databases to make sure we didn't just wreck the entire timeline. Queuing "Saint-14"… Records state he was a former Commander of the Tower. He vanished on a final mission to Mercury in search of the exiled Warlock Osiris. Well, those are the big beats. Timeline intact. Good job, Saint. But our trip's not over. That broadcast I picked off the Perfect Paradox marked one more set of coordinates within the Sundial.

The second part of the quest started a bit later, but it doesn't waste any time once it does. We're immediately linked up to the other point in time that Perfect Paradox reacted to and we're back in simulated future, in the same area where back in Curse we fought Hagios who guarded the entry to Saint's tomb. Except now, we find Saint who has just had his Light drained from him by another Vex mind; Agioktis, Martyr Mind (note that the name is more or less in the same vein as "hagios," aka "sacred," dedicated to Saint). This is the moment Osiris was looking for, but couldn't find it, because he didn't have the Perfect Paradox.

This is the Vex mind they built to destroy Saint and we find him as his Light has already been taken. But Saint is still eager to fight and greets us happily. Unfortunately Saint is then restrained, the Vex doing everything in their power to kill him. However, this time he's not alone. We're there and we fight in his stead. We manage to piss off the Martyr Mind enough for it to now move to restrain us, which frees Saint, returning his Light to him as well. Saint then delivers the final blow to the Martyr Mind which frees us!

Saint-14: It's been a long time, my friends. I've chased your memory for centuries. You should go now. Those who could kill me are dead. You've made sure of that. Ghost: And what if the Vex take your Light again? Saint-14: Impossible. It cost them everything to build the Martyr Mind. When you crushed it, they were doomed. Ghost: You want us to leave you? You'll be stuck here for years. Saint-14: You've both done plenty. Just open the Infinite Forest gate for me. I'll meet you the long way around, at the entrance. Saint-14: What's a few more years of fighting Vex?

Saint decides to stay in the Forest and wait until we open it from the outside for him, in the future. This is how he leaves in the right time, instead of too early for his timeline, so nothing else is really affected. He waits it out and then exits the Forest at the time of Season of Dawn. This gives us one of the shortest but also the best cutscenes ever. As a note, in the cutscene, when Saint leaves, the Forest gate looks new, like from Mercury's past. This is because of the Sundial's effects on the surface of Mercury at the time, splitting the surface through time, so the Forest gate looked like it's from the past, but it's not. It's present day Mercury.

When we report this to Osiris, to say that he's amazed would be an understatement. I often quoted this from him, especially when people were being weird about Osiris and claiming he doesn't like us or whatever:

In his youth, he talked often about the Guardian who inspired him. I should have guessed it would be you.

We've done the impossible. Literally. The quest is called "Impossible Task." Osiris did everything and he couldn't do it and he lost hope that it would be done. But we did it, because we created the time loop; a connection with Saint that allowed us to use the Sundial in a way Osiris could not.

Saint has been saved! After this, he settled in the Tower. He had a series of minor quests and errands, the best one being the quest for the Devil's Ruin exotic which featured a really long and funny conversation between Saint and Shaxx. Another one is obviously the Corridors of Time quest which is genuinely cannot be compared to anything else as it was a community puzzle of epic proportions. An article that showcases just a little bit of how bonkers it was.

The important part of it is that the culmination of the quest featured us finding our own grave and Saint narrating a eulogy for us. This is important to us now for two reasons: 1) on our grave was a sword, a sword we received as an actual item in TFS, directly from the Traveler to fight the Witness 2) it's possibly a different timeline. The second one is unclear because we simply can't know when we die, but the eulogy specifies that the sword was shattered in the final confrontation where we died. Our current sword is chipped, and it wasn't when we originally got it in the campaign. So either this is a different timeline where it didn't shatter or this isn't that confrontation when we die and it will shatter at some other point in the future.

In this post I also noted how the music that plays in our grave scene and the music that played in TFS when we get the sword is the same. A very clear and deliberate choice. This is a very cool link to Season of Dawn that they brought back over 4 years later.

With the Corridors of Time puzzle ending and the Corridors closing, that concluded the Saint stuff. He was finally saved and he could rest in the Tower! And we know everything that has happened since.

Okay. So...

What's up with the Sundial?

We don't know! But I want to get into it because it's one of those things that they made sure to hint about, without fully explaining it so obviously every weird nerd online (me) wants to figure it out.

Back in The Sundial weblore, there are some peculiar and never explained details about the Sundial that have been kinda concerning and just intriguing to think about. There are a few lines essentially saying that whatever is at its core, it's not good. First is Sagira's:

“That work was theoretical! If the Vanguard find out what you did to build it—“

What did he do to build it? No clue. The infamous core is described only as:

He turned to look at the fluctuating glow of the exposed chronometric core.

When the Drifter shows up, he immediately reacts to this, fairly negatively which makes things more ominous since Drifter tangles with a lot of weird and bad stuff himself. So if he's disturbed about this...:

Drifter walked to the central spire and put his ear up against it. “This core…” he said, leaning close. His eyes darted back to Osiris. “It’s whispering.” Osiris’s expression didn’t change; his arms didn’t uncross. “We’ll seal the core away. I understand the ramifications.” “Good luck keeping that contained. Not something I would bargain with, hotshot.”

The core "whispers." Osiris understands the ramifications. They're both so frustratingly vague so the only thing we're left with is this ominous vibe of something bad being at the center of the Sundial.

This whispering, alongside a few other concerning descriptions and implications of the Sundial is mentioned in yet another weblore that I only briefly mentioned earlier because it wasn't relevant to Saint stuff; Sisters. It's about the Psions finding the machine.

The Psions could somehow feel the Sundial. Or perhaps just the effects it had on time on Mercury, even while it was powered down and hidden.

“Small disturbances,” said oldest Ozletc, the wisest. “Little currents in this timeline. Can you see them, sister?” “I can taste them,” said second-born Tazaroc, the hungriest of her sisters. “I can feel the edges.” Third-born Niruul, the quietest among them, reached her hand out to test the air. “As can I,” said she. “And something else. The source is disguised. The technology is Human, but refined. Surprisingly so.”

They also note the whispering, as well as its potential:

A strange device shimmered into existence around them. They looked up the length of an enormous, golden spire. “It whispers,” said Tazaroc. “Then block your ears,” said Ozletc. “Do you see the potential in this?” “Chaos,” said Niruul. “No,” said Ozletc. “Opportunity. See how it tugs at the fabric of our time? Can you see the seams?”

They also make the strange comparison to the OXA:

“It is so clear,” said Niruul, reverent. “An unobstructed glimpse into what was and what will be.” “Not the troubled ramblings of a mad thing, like the OXA,” said Tazaroc.

The Sundial offered something more and better than the OXA ever could, implying, perhaps, that these machines have something in common; possibly something beyond simply Vex technology. My insanity about this has been going on for a long time and also helped with the TFS CE lore. A bit of a tangent, but also possibly related, depending on what the core is.

Furthermore, Osiris refused to tell Saint about details of the Sundial, including remaining vague about its core in this weblore:

[u.2:13] One is a manifestation of Light. The other… reserved for Taken Kings. Better suited for traversing the Sundial because of what lies at its core. [u.1:14] One day you’ll have to tell me exactly what you and the Guardian did to bring me back. [u.2:14] We did what we had to. Trust me.

So what is it? Well, we know:

It whispers (very obvious and easily detected, both by Drifter and the Psions)

It's something bad (Drifter's reaction to it is uncharacteristic for a man who tangles with the Taken for a living and deals with strange dangerous artifacts all the time)

Osiris' Echoes are better suited for the Sundial because of its core, and Echoes are something "reserved for Taken Kings." Bizarre way of saying it to avoid explaining it

Similar to the OXA, and possibly any other time/prediction machines based on Vex tech (because the OXA itself is confirmed to be more or less the same as the FWC Device, for example)

To recharge it, we needed to feed it Light. This is particularly concerning with what Osiris says about it: "The Sundial is my greatest creation and my greatest regret. What I had to do to forge it I can never take back. As a result, it has components that consume Light. And if you're serious about operating it again, you'll need to feed it. Nothing is free. Ever."

What this points to, to me at least, is Darkness. The core is a Darkness artifact of some sort, merged with Vex tech. This only gained more proof to me with all the new lore about the Darkness and how it governs the mind and memory, especially when the Vex are involved. To the Vex, the future is memory. Merging Darkness artifacts with the Vex might be able to create dangerous time travel machines or machines that displace consciousness through time and timelines, like the OXA and the Device, allowing the user to "predict."

To make things even more convoluted (and me more insane), there's an almost perfect explanation for what this artifact might be. So perfect that I feel like it's too good to be true, tbh. It's a Nezarec relic. I will now list everything that connects this:

It would explain the Darkness artifact. Nezarec's relics were full of Darkness and were being used by utilising that Darkness

Drifter's involvement and experience with it. Hell, the Drifter may have even provided this relic to Osiris, since he had one and did not particularly enjoy having it, which was detailed in Lightfall when they showed us how he got it. Plunder was also rich on this, showing us that the Drifter immediately recognised the relics and understood what they were.

Whispering. Darkness in general has a whispering thing; the Veiled statues, the Witness, the old stories about Dredgen Yor, there's a lot of whispering going on here. But it's really super connected to Nezarec. His relics were whispering to us in the H.E.L.M.. The glaive? Nezarec's Whisper. Another disciple also called him a "whispering Nightmare." All of Root of Nightmares armour lore has it as well, with Nezarec tormenting his victims with whispers; for example here, and here, and maybe even here. I could go on. He's the whisper guy. Literally, Nimbus called him Mr. Whispers.

Psions. The Psion sisters found and reactivated the Sundial... Somehow. They especially were able to almost instinctively locate it despite Osiris hiding it well enough. The Psions also needed quite a lot of time to activate it again and admired the complexity of the encryption, despite it being human, so we can't really say that they found it easily because Osiris' did a poor job of hiding it. Were they drawn to it? Were they drawn to it because of its core? Psions are inherently linked to Nezarec. It's been confirmed back in Lightfall, but also curiously mentioned again in TFS with the Lost Ghosts quest (timestamped here). I'm definitely hoping for some Psion content in the future but this is fairly interesting in this context. Season of Dawn was really the only proper Psion-focused storyline.

Osiris' coma. His coma appears to have been somehow paracausal. At least strange! The scans were showing that he has "no residual activity" in his brain, despite us having lore from his POV showing us that he had a very vivid and visceral activity. He was able to feel some external stimuli, but was mostly drifting through strange visions, seemingly hopping between his... Reflections. Or possibly Echoes. His final thoughts here are also of the Sundial; as if his mind was somehow stuck in there, or lost, trying to find his way out of it. This could just be a consequence of his memories constructing something for him to experience so obviously it's just cycling through what he knows, but...

Waking Osiris up from his coma happens with the use of Nezarec's relics. An important point to note here is that this wasn't so much about it being Nezarec's relics; it had more to do with the inherent Darkness they consist of and Darkness can help the mind and consciousness move or awaken. However, given all of this and given his POV from the coma and the possibility that his mind might have been stuck somewhere with his Echoes in the Sundial, if the Sundial's core is a Nezarec relic, then a Nezarec relic had more chance to bring him back. It's such a perfect connection that I feel insane thinking about it and it feels like I'm constructing a fanfic, but also. I think it's worth considering. Cutscene of him waking up + article from Bungie that details on the whole idea of waking him up with Darkness and why that's important for understanding Darkness.

I have to mention the other theory, especially in comparison with all the above to try and illustrate why it never made sense to me and that is the popular theory that the core of the Sundial is an Ahamkara bone and that the Sundial worked on wish magic.

I'm not quite sure why this was even a theory to be honest. Even back in the day of Dawn, this never really resonated with me because it seems that the only reason this was a theory was Drifter saying "not something I would bargain with" and... Possibly whispers? Obviously a lot of things can whisper, and Ahamkara have been also mentioned doing so, but I don't find this significant to Ahamkara enough for identification just through that. I also don't think that one mention of the word "bargain" is enough either. Many have bargained with Darkness too. There's simply an overlap between Darkness and Ahamkara here, but there are also other pieces that are more closely linked to Darkness like eating Light. We could go even further, if we're considering Ahamkara; we could also consider Worm Gods, for example. The point is that several things can fit here, but I feel like there's overall more things pointing at Darkness.

What gets me the most is that they alluded to this in Season of the Wish, in what seems fairly obvious as disproving this theory to me. Riven and Osiris talk:

Riven: Isn’t it unfortunate your City hunted down all of my kind, Osiris? You might have wished for Saint-14’s return from the Forest. Osiris: And have him trade the Vex’s torment for yours? Riven: Perhaps you simply didn’t want him back badly enough to pay the price. Osiris: Save the bait for someone naïve enough to take it.

I talked about this earlier, but there's several layers of why the moment I heard this, it sounded like it's here to disprove Osiris using an Ahamkara. First, Ahamkara wish magic would be felt by Riven. If Osiris put an Ahamkara into the Sundial, then he did use wish magic and she would know about it. In that case she would not have said this; perhaps she would've teased him about using her powers to save Saint, but that would be a completely different sentence.

Second, Osiris is well aware and wary of wish magic. He knows that had he done so, he would've probably put some form of torment (wish magic backfire) on Saint. This, to me, indicates that not only did he not do this, he didn't even consider it as an option.

Third, if Osiris had an Ahamkara bone and was considering to use it, he could've just done so without building the Sundial. Why bother with the machine if you can just instantly make a wish and the wish doing exactly as you want? Obviously with a caveat, but still. It would've worked right away. Perhaps the Sundial was an attempt to contain the backfire, mixing wish magic with Vex tech to try and prevent the whole thing from going backwards, but even then; Osiris knew there are possible consquences.

And fourth, even if he did all that, it just didn't work, which would be quite uncharacteristic for wish magic. It's paracausal; it should override any Vex tech in the Sundial. If he made a wish, he should ask for a refund! The Sundial worked only because of the paracausal loop we created with the Perfect Paradox and it had nothing to do with anyone's wishes; definitely not ours.

One interesting thing for this theory is the way they said how similar wishing and simulations are. It happened in Wish and now again in Echoes. Here's a freebie for the Ahamkara theory enthusiasts.

Personally though, I simply feel like there's much more connecting and sensible explanation with it being a Darkness relic, rather than Ahamkara.

HOWEVER. The truth is that we simply don't know. I am personally more into it being Darkness (and Nezzy specifically), but I could be wrong and the Ahamkara theory could be proven correct somehow. Hell, it could be something completely different. It could also be nothing; as in, we will never know because they won't tell us because it doesn't matter.

And technically, it doesn't! Nothing really changes if this doesn't get answered. I want that to be clear. This isn't some sort of lore breaking detail. But you know. The nerds would love to know. I really wanted to get into this now that we've had a resurgence in interest about Saint and how we saved him.

Echoes

Okay, so why this monster of an essay? Well, because Echoes revolves around Saint and the Conductor trying to convince him that he's the wrong Saint. That Osiris acted out of grief and pulled a random Saint from the timelines, that he's simply satisfied with what he got because he couldn't get his original Saint because that Saint died.

Saint is convinced in this; that he's some sort of an aberration in the timeline, a simulation or a copy or just the wrong Saint from the wrong timeline. Even an error that must be corrected.

And I simply think that people are too quick to jump to the conclusion that this is the story being told, especially because of the radio message this week where we're shown that Saint and Osiris suddenly have different memories. But I feel like people have already forgotten the other radio message, from week 1. You know, the one where Saint and Osiris talk about their memories and the memories match perfectly:

Saint-14: Osiris. Do you remember when we knew? Osiris: Knew what? Saint-14: That we were meant to be together. There was one moment... though, it took us time to get to it. Oh, but our Hunter Vanguard, so smart, Tallulah... she knew before we did. All our little squabbles and bickering. She saw it first. Osiris: it, uh — ah, well, I was — obtuse. Stubborn. I couldn't recognize my own emotions. Then, Tallulah told me to.. "Be serious". Saint-14: Haha! I remember. So yes, she told me later. Was good laugh. Osiris: Well, I'm glad you found it so amusing. Saint-14: Who could not look back and smile? And I remember your smile, then. So knowing, and so full of our future together. Osiris: What brought these memories on? Saint-14: Hmm. I think about others who will have those same moments now that they know they will a future free from the Black Fleet. Now they have a chance to find love and be happy, like us. We can look behind, but also forward. We cannot see what is coming, but we know it is good. Osiris: You're certain? Saint-14: About us? Yes. Since the beginning. Now, and always.

We have this memory as a lore tab as well. I think this was given to us deliberately, to show us that Saint and Osiris have identical memories and that Saint's memories were never in question and that their history is perfectly aligned... Until he got yoked. Something changed when he got yoked, not when he was saved. This is a new development, which tells me that the Conductor did something to him, rather than Osiris saving the wrong Saint. Because until now, this was never a problem. Saint never had discrepancies in his memories before, with anyone he ever interacted with.

If we take a look at the whole story of how he was returned, it's beyond clear that Osiris was very fixated on saving his Saint, not a random one, and that we went to great lengths to do just that. We only ever interacted with one Saint, the same one, and we linked each other with the Perfect Paradox. It cannot be any other Saint, even with the existence of other timelines. This Saint and this Perfect Paradox are ours, from our timeline, the originals.

However, other timelines do exist. And some entities can access them. The Vex are obviously first on the list. Characters like Elsie and Osiris have also seen them. And clearly, the Conductor should be capable of this as well. It's beyond clear now that the Conductor is Maya Sundaresh. Maya, who was simulated 227 times by the Vex and had those 227 copies of her wandering the Vex network and different timelines.

If the Conductor knows where to look and how, she could see these timelines, including these other Saints, and she could've fed Saint false information while he was yoked. Implanting memories of other Saints perhaps, or something similar.

I know a lot of people weren't there for Dawn, let alone Curse. There's a lot of information about Saint here and a lot of really interesting clues from the past about what's happening now. It's also really interesting how many little details have been transferred through the story over time, showing that this is a plotline they care about very much and want to make sure doesn't get messed up.

There's probably a lot more stuff we could get into for speculation and explanations because there's still more stuff that plays a role in this. The Infinite Forest is a big one, and I suspect the Perfect Paradox is as well, as we're likely to get it next week or the week after as part of the story. Because it should be relevant to the story! It's an inherent part of Saint's story and why he's with us now in the first place.

So what's really going on? We're not entirely sure yet, but assuming that the Conductor is correct and that her messing with Saint is revealing something about Saint's legitimacy is I believe wrong. I think she's using him as an experiment and that she's messing with him, and by extension, with us as well. There's no way that we've had a "wrong" Saint this whole time and that nobody ever had any issues with him. That nobody had any discrepancies between memories with him. Not Osiris, not Ikora, not Shaxx, not Saladin, not Zavala or anyone else Saint interacted with since he's been back. As I mentioned, literally the first radio message shows us Saint and Osiris with matching memories.

It only started after he was yoked. Which means that the yoke and the Conductor did something to him, possibly shown him some other timelines or fed him false information.

Can't wait to see where this is going. I'm not sure how much this Act will cover and if we'll get a resolution to this right now or if it will stretch to Act 3, though if it doesn't get stretched, then I wonder what will the draw of Act 3 even be. Possibly just dealing with the Conductor? I'm very excited. This episode being so focused on Saint and Osiris and the whole throwbacks to Dawn and other past content has been really good. I'm enjoying it very much, this is my entire jam. I had high hopes for Echoes and so far it's been going great.

I'm super excited to see how they solve this and what comes of it and how much of this information will be relevant. And of course, if it will end up being correct! Because as much as I have my theories and as much as I'm convinced that there's something off here and that our Saint cannot be the wrong Saint, I could still be wrong. Looking forward to finding out!

#destiny 2 #saint-14 #osiris #vex #conductor #long post #lore vibing #i hope that this is also helpful to people!#i genuinely could've gotten into more. there are several unhinged tangents to go into at any point

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