#But who knows I don’t think the whole series knows what to do with itself. It’s trying to tackle difficult morality questions but I dont
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Every You Every Me Issue #3
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader
Summary: You are determined to meet your Spider-benefactor face to face and you go to ever increasing extreme lengths to do so. Problem is, Miguel O'hara is very uncooperative to your plans.
Word count: 5,500 words.
Content: Slowest of the burn, so slow you wonder if it's even burning. Near death experiences, the state of the economy and how expensive it is to live in a big city, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara.
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You saw them in the window display of a bakery in Greenwich Village. Round sugar cookies with red frosting and white eyes, decorated as a tribute to everyone's favorite neighborhood Spiderman.
Before you had time to properly think things over (would he even like the cookies? Is he on a strict superhero diet and workout plan? What if he's gluten intolerant?) you were already standing in front of the cash register having a dozen of them wrapped up in fancy crinkly paper and were $72 dollars poorer.
Charging six dollars per cookie is practically highway robbery, but that's par for the course with New York bakeries. You wouldn’t be surprised if every bakery in New York was already a part of Wilson Fisk’s criminal empire.
As you push open the door, box in hand, you wonder wryly to yourself why Spiderman’s ruder alter ego isn't there to save you from that.
You wonder, for Superheroes, what classifies as an event worth intervening in and what everyday citizens need to be saved from?
Financial ailment doesn't quite seem to qualify from what you've been able to glean so far.
Tony Stark, for all the wealth he’s amassed (a large enough treasure hoard that he would be capable of buying the whole planet of Mars according to Forbes) isn't massively involved with charities. He only donates to the one: his own. And the Stark Foundation is really just Tony Stark paying reparations for the damage he and his buddies caused in the first place.
Thor is an actual deity, and you still remember that write-up in Esquire magazine, where local waiters in New Mexico had called him a terrible tipper and a habitual smasher of glassware.
Assault and battery is up in the air. There are accounts of Superheroes intervening; that Tiktok videos of She-Hulk breaking up a bar fight that went viral a few weeks back. But then equally, there are memes of Doctor Strange peeking out the window of Sanctum Sanctorum watching a street fight unfold,, utterly uninterested in getting involved. The internet labeled it as "mood".
As for murder and mayhem, there's a longstanding public debate as to whether Superheroes cause more than they prevent. Case in point: that Moon Knight guy that paints the streets of London red.
There is no rule book written to explain how Superheroes decides who is worth saving and who is not.
Does one have to be important and have a material effect on the state of the world?
If so, you fall pitifully short. The most world-changing decision you made as of late was deciding to opt out of utensils on your last GrubHub order to help save the environment.
So it makes you wonder: Why on earth has this non-costume accurate Spiderman saved you, not once, not twice, but 13 times to date?
That’s just the first of many questions you’d like to ask him. What does he know that you don’t? Does he know why the universe seems to be out to get you lately? Or why death itself is following you everywhere you go, nipping at your heels?
You haven’t had the chance to ask him anything, because despite all of your encounters, you haven't met him face to face since that very first time.
Inconveniently, you don't exactly have a way of contacting him. Superheroes aren't listed in the phone book.
With no other way to reach out, you go at it the old fashioned way. You write him a note from a page you've ripped out of your notebook:
‘Thank you for saving me. Can we meet? I have questions.’
You place the note on the window sill. Setting the plate with $72 dollars worth of Spiderman cookies on top of the left corner of the paper to make sure it doesn't get blown away in the wind. Then you leave the window open for the first time since you've moved into this apartment before heading to bed.
There's nothing else to do but to wait.
You wake to the spit and splatter of rain against your window. It's gray outside, and the cookies you set out the night before remain untouched. You frown at the sight, but you can't say you're surprised.
There was never any real indication that he was lurking around you. Superheroes are bound to have more interesting things on their schedule than stalking a random insurance employee.
You don't know why you thought this would work in the first place.
Getting out of bed, you walk up to your window to inspect the scene. The note is where you have left it, ink a little smeared from the rain, where the plate has kept it in place on the right corner.
That seems odd, now that you think about it. You stare at the note, eye drawn to the watermarks. Why are there water stains bleeding into the paper if your window was closed? As crappy as your rundown apartment can be, water damage is the one thing you haven't had issues with.
You draw your eyes to the closed window being smattered with the rain outside. Didn't you leave the window open last night? You're pretty sure you did, hoping that the open window would be seen as a gesture of invitation. You had left it open… right?
You did.
You're sure you did.
He must’ve been here.
Rude, not-costume-accurate Spiderman was here.
Right?
Your eyes flicker back to the window.
Or maybe you did close the window?
You close your eyes trying to recall your evening, packing the length of your apartment as you replay the memory. Suddenly, you're not so sure anymore. You always close your window, and even though you had every intention of keeping it open last night, who is to say you didn't close it out of sheer habit?
It's strange. Because if he was here, he would've spotted the note. But it's in the same spot you left it yesterday right under the plate on the left side of it...
You eye the undisturbed note tucked under the right corner of the plate.
Wait, wait. Didn't you put the note under the left side of the plate?
You did.
Yes, you definitely did.
Which means, he was here... Right?
You feel like you are going insane.
Are you seeing things that are not there? Was he actually here and if so why did he go to such lengths to pretend otherwise. Why would he passive-aggressively gaslight you into thinking he was never here?
You decide on a redo.
Because if you can't trust yourself and your questionable memory, you can trust a recording.
A teddy bear nanny cam sets you back $50. Not cheap, but not as outrageous as your stale-cardboard-tasting Spiderman cookies.
You set it up on your dresser opposite your window and link it to your phone as per the instructions.
As for the bait. After having tasted those brick cookies for yourself, putting it out for a second night for a man who has saved your life repeatedly didn't seem right. You decide to bake them yourself this time.
The added bonus is that you get to mix blue food coloring into the frosting for the decoration that goes on top. In retrospect, the red Spiderman cookies from last time might’ve implied that you’re calling him a knock-off Spiderman.
Besides, even with the cost of living crisis: a bag of flour, baking powder, unsalted butter, sugar and eggs cost a lot less than $72 dollars.
This time, you don't write him a sloppily put together note. You decide to write him a proper letter.
If he did visit your apartment, (and you're not just going insane) the fact that he moved the note meant that he must've read it.
This note didn’t work.
It must not have been compelling enough, you were kind of in a hurry…
You’ll have to write something better this time. Longer. More emotionally compelling. Surely if you take the time to really explain your plight, you can make him understand why it’s so important he talks to you!
The problem is that it’s hard to sound serious when it’s written on lined paper from your ruled notebook.
That won’t do. You go to the nearest stationery store in your neighborhood, a chain outlet of Paper Source to get yourself some decent looking stationary paper with a matching colored envelope to boot.
You immediately regret this part of your plan, because it ends up setting you back another $26 dollars. Why is 6 pieces of paper so damn expensive anyhow? Surely there’s a few trees left in the world to chop down?!
$102 dollars down in your bank balance, you sit down at your dining table that night, pen in hand and begin writing. You pour your heart onto the pages, setting out in as precise words as you can manage the effect your near death incidents have had on you.
How scared you are, how confused you are, but also how grateful you are that he's saved you, again and again and again. That you believe if you and him can just meet in person and talk, if you could ask questions and figure out why this is happening, then maybe you can find a way to stop it from happening again.
Then you fold the letter and tuck it neatly into the matching envelope and slide it under the left side of the cookie plate and go to sleep.
When you wake the next morning, nothing seems out of the ordinary.
The cookies are still neatly arranged on your plate. The letter snugly tucked underneath it.
On the left side this time, you note.
It doesn’t look like he came.
The only thing is that you swear that the envelope is now several inches further to the left than where you left it last night.
Again, maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
You pull up your phone, opening the app linked to the nanny cam and press play.
There is nothing but the still frame of your studio apartment, your bed to the right and your window square in the camera-view. You speed up the video, but the only thing that takes you by surprise is that you apparently toss a lot more in your sleep than you thought.
The camera footage goes well into 3am, and you’re resigning yourself to the fact that this was all down to your imagination.
He didn't come last night. Probably didn't come the night before. Most likely you woke up from the rain, closed the window and were too sleepy to remember.
You sigh, setting down your phone on the table, prepared to let this whole endeavor go.
On your screen, a smudged shadow appears in the corner of the window. You jump to your feet from your seat, knocking your chair over in the process with a raucous thud. The dark figure grows larger on your screen, dark navy blue and lines of stark red that perches itself onto your window sill.
YES! yes-yes-yes! You knew it. You fucking goddamn knew it!
You were right.
Adrenaline buzzes victoriously in your veins, and you grip your phone harder. Your heart is pounding so fast and hard in your chest you can hear the drumming beat of it in your ears.
He was here!
(You're not cuckoo for cocoa puffs).
You watch as his large figure sits on your window sill. He's still wearing his mask, and while you can't make out the expressions underneath, the outline where his eyes would have been, painted in dark blue, now narrow into a slit on your screen.
There's a hostility emanating from that glare that you are able to sense all the way from the opposite side of the screen. He stares down at the plate of cookies suspiciously. Then he just stays there, unmoving, having a staring competition with the cookies you baked in his image.
In the privacy of your living room, you have the luxury of taking the time to get a proper look at him without interruption. It's hard to ignore the fact of just how tightly fitted to his skin that suit is. The dark blue fabric clings to every line of muscles on his body and it makes your cheek prickle with heat when you look. It feels voyeuristic somehow, but you can't help but think that the more modest alternative would be if he had worn nothing at all.
He's absurdly ripped. Muscular doesn't even begin to describe it. Broad shoulders and a narrow tapered waist segueing into obscenely thick and defined thighs that have your eyes linger for far too long. You shake your head to snap yourself out of it, Jesus you are acting like a creep. This isn’t OnlyFans, though lord knows you paid for this privilege! $102 for a cam video!
On the footage, there is finally movement. He reaches for a cookie, bringing it to his mouth. The blue fabric dematerializes on his lower face until it reveals his tanned skin and that ridiculously cut jaw of his.
His mouth parts. Fangs protrude where his canine teeth are supposed to be and the sight makes you nearly drop your phone in shock.
Is this Spiderman a vampire? Or is he like a tarantula Spiderman with fangs to match?
You watch in suspended horror as he bites into the cookie, those sharp fangs of his are in plain view as he chews.
He leans over to reach for a second cookie and all your trepidation is forgotten for a second, because if he’s reaching for a second one, it must mean he likes them. You grin at your screen, culinary pride beating out any caution or fear you may have had.
Then he lifts up the plate, picking up the letter. The anticipation is too much. You press your face closer to the screen to try to get closer, because your screen is too small to pick up any possible nuances in his expression.
He's carefully opening the envelope as he starts to read. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking. There's no visible change of facial expressions in the outline of his masked eyes. His mouth, which is bared to you, doesn't so much as twitch.
It doesn’t take long for him to read it. When he's done, he tucks the letter back under the plate. Then he bends down over the plate of cookies, and for a moment you think he’s going in for a third. Instead his hand lingers on the plate, before he starts to slide the remaining cookies around the plate to your confusion. You watch in confusion as he picks up the cookies one by one to space them out more evenly. You don't quite understand what he's trying to do, wait… is Vampire spider man re-arranging the cookies to make it less obvious he’s eaten them?!
The bastard really was trying to gaslight you into thinking he was never here.
Once he’s seemingly satisfied with his work, he straightens up, turning until his back is against the camera preparing to leave.
To your surprise his face turns around to take one last look inside. The direction of his gaze settles on your bed where you're sleeping. His eyes lingers there for a handful of moments, inscrutable over the mask.
Is he sad? Angry? You can't tell.
He finally looks away and then he leaps off the window.
Politely asking him in writing is clearly not working out for you.
You decide the only recourse you have left is to try and physically catch him.
Such a simple sentiment that had sounded so easy in your head, but you quickly run into logistical issues when you try to put it into practice.
The man is built like a tank. Can leap off of skyscrapers (and the window of your sixth floor) without breaking a sweat. Potentially also a vampire.
You're not exactly sure how you're supposed to catch someone like that.
Your google research is off to a shaky start. Somehow you end up down a rabbit hole of tutorials for non-lethal mouse traps. It's not very useful inspiration. Because you can't exactly build a 7 foot large cage trap to catch him the next time he comes around to help himself to cookies.
But the concept of having a lure trap set with bait seemed transferable and so you decide to go for a classic spring trap that you’ll modify. No cage, instead you set up a DIY contraption with a sturdy string attached to a bell meant to quickly alert you to his presence next time he comes around.
The game plan is to wake up and corner him before he has a chance to abscond.
As for bait, you google things that vampires might like in a half-thought of plan it might be applicable. Unfortunately, there are no young virgin maidens you know of as far as the eye can see in New York (yourself included) so that was a no go.
So you default back to cookies (because hey, at least it worked last time).
Amazon has your whole set up shipped and delivered by the next day and you implement phase 3 of your rapidly escalating attempts to reach out to him.
Unfortunately, it doesn't work. For one he doesn’t show up that night. Or the night after. It takes him four whole days to show up again and when he does, he spots your trap a mile away. When you review the footage on the cam the next day, he avoids the rope and the whole mechanism effortlessly.
There's no sound on the nanny cam so you can't be sure of it. But you think from the way the line of his shoulders shake as he steps over the rope that he might be laughing at you. He’s definitely seen through few supervillain traps in his days so in hindsight the probability of success here was low.
He does however eat three of your cookies this time.
You get a little bit more desperate after that.
You decide that if a trigger trap to wake you won't work, then obviously, the next best thing is for you to simply stay awake.
The problem is that he doesn't show up every night. His visits are entirely random without an obvious pattern. Sometimes he shows up two nights in a row, sometimes he goes several days without making a guest appearance on your nanny cam footage.
It means you end up downing a whole carafe of coffee, and several energy drinks, every night for a week straight. Entirely unable to predict what night he's going to appear, you keep dooming your already tiny bladder to a dozen visits to the bathroom before the clock has even struck nine.
The saddest part of it is that despite being wired on enough coffee to power a nuclear power station by yourself, you never end up staying awake the whole night through.
More often than not you end up falling asleep sitting upright by the dining table waiting up for him. Then the next morning you wake with a wry neck, a sore back and your face pressing up uncomfortably against the wooden surface.
But you're nothing if not tenacious. Tonight makes it the sixth night in a row that you’re doing this. You stare down the can of red bull on your dining table as you pick it up and lift it to your mouth. You’re going to keep going, hardness of the wooden table be damned.
You're surprised to find yourself waking up feeling well rested without any aches. Surrounded by the softness of your quilt and your even softer memory foam pillow.
The luxurious comfort of it all is such a relief that you don't even question it at first. Don't question why you're in bed when the last thing you remember was nodding off against the palm of your hand and the hard discomfort of your dining chair.
In the sanctuary of your bed, you just dig your face deeper into your pillow and snooze for as long as you can. Ignoring the bright sun pouring in from your windows until it sears unforgivingly against your skin and you decide that it’s finally time to start your day.
By habit, the first thing you do as you get up from bed is to pull up the nanny cam app on your phone and press play on last night's recording.
There's nothing of interest. Seeing yourself read a book by the dining table and chugging down a series of Red Bull is hardly riveting television.
Yesterday you barely even make it until midnight because you can see yourself nod off at the table, head sliding off your palm and plonking down on the dining table. You flinch at the impact, vaguely impressed that the collision didn't wake you.
Your (maybe vampire) Spiderman turns up at 3 am.
Much like the times before, he perches himself on your window sill, peering inside (presumably to check for any new traps you might have laid out for him).
His broad frame stiffens, and then, with a smooth leap, he's inside your apartment.
Excitement rushes to your head, because this is the furthest he’s gone and the first time he's come all the way inside instead of just lurking on the window sill.
He goes over to your bed, flinging the quilt to the side. He seems stressed, the dark shape of his eyes wide as he stands over the empty bed when it dawns on you what’s happening on screen right now.
Oh, he's worried.
He looks over at you, hunched over the dining table, sound asleep and oh god, is that drool on your cheek?
The line of his shoulder relaxes. The broadness of his chest rises then dips with a heavy exhale. Something warm trickles in your stomach at his obvious concern for you.
The mystery is confounding. You don't know him. You've never met him, but for some unfathomable reason he cares enough about you to genuinely care about your safety and you want to know why.
He makes his way over to the table where you are. The mask slowly ebbs away, uncovering his familiar chin, cheeks and then finally his eyes. An other-worldly shade of crimson that has you spellbound and transfixed on the screen.
You find yourself raising your phone closer to your face, trying to get a better look at him. Cursing the crappy quality of the video. You don't know what to make of the way he's looking at you. It's intensely focused, almost sad, and… and… And you don't know what, but it makes your heart leap up into your throat, chest clenching tight.
He bends over, wrapping his broad arms under your knees. He’s careful in his movements, cupping your head as it lolls to the side until you’re comfortably resting against his shoulders. It’s a practiced movement, as if he’s done this a hundred times before as he picks you up and carries you bridal style to your bed. Gingerly tucking you under the quilt with something that looks a lot like tenderness.
It leaves you with more questions than ever.
Ever since you started your caffeine chugging marathon, work has become a new kind of hell.
You're already half-asleep and nodding off at your desk by 10.30. Eyes sore and strained as you stare at the bright screen and try to make sense of the endless columns that are all different and also all the same until your brain refuses to try to make sense of any of it anymore.
You need to go for a walk. Clear your head.
Maybe pop out for a coffee... smoothie. Definitely smoothie.
Outside, the heat is oppressive, far too hot for only being May. Definitely too hot when there are this many tourists around. The street is so crowded you can barely make an inch of headway, trapped behind a family with a stroller in front, trapped in front of a pushy businessman who keeps stepping on your heels every two steps, and trapped next to a guy who is really into his airpods.
With the excess of caffeine still trying to make its way out of your system and the unforgiving heat of the sun beating against your back, it all has the effect of making you feel like you’re hung over. Your breakfast is roiling in your stomach. Sweat plastered against every inch of clothing. You don't know why you do this to yourself.
Every morning you tell yourself never again, and yet every night, there you were, spending half of your disposable income on energy drinks.
Starting from today, you're going cold turkey on the stuff. You've finally given up on trying to stay awake long enough to catch your super-stalker in his cookie burglar routine. Endlessly chugging down caffeine every night is not working out for you. Neither are the DIY mouse traps.
You're running low on ideas of how to trap him. You have nothing else to go on anymore. No idea on how to summon the man. The only time you know he'll be there is the moment before each near-death when he's there to save you.
What are you supposed to do with that? Purposely throw yourself off another building to lure him out?
That's crazy!
…Right?
But maybe... No! Definitely crazy.
Someone screams, and you snap out of your thoughts. There's yelling and terrified shrieks all around you. You're caught in the throng of people, panicked bodies pushing and pressing up against you, all of them trying to run the other way.
You dig in your heels, bracing yourself against the stampede of people. They’re pushing in from every direction until it’s impossible to move an inch. It’s hard to turn your body, when second after second, someone is pummeling into your side, knocking into your bruising shoulder. You barely manage to crane your neck back far enough when you finally spot it.
A red-green truck with a gigantic taco on its roof is careening towards you across the pavement, no driver behind the wheel. The sea of bodies parts around the out-of-control vehicle, people running left, right and forward to escape being crushed under the wheels.
There’s no time to react. It’s too close. Too fast.
A hand clutches at your wrist and pulls you backwards, your vision obscured as your face is pressed up against a familiar solid warmth.
"Hold onto me," he tells you, and you do.
You're held firm against him as the ground underneath your feet disappears, and everything feels weightless. Then all you hear is a loud thunderous crash.
Your feet touch back down on the ground, and the strong protective hold on you unravels.
When you open your eyes he's already gone. You're left on the corner of Lexington Avenue, still trying to catch your breath. The mob of people is still there all around you, but the panic has passed now, everyone is standing still. Everyone is observing the wreckage of the run amok truck that is now flipped onto its side, rendered harmless.
Miraculously, somehow, nobody around you seems visibly injured.
From a distance, you can hear sirens approaching with a deafening wail.
But your mind is elsewhere, on the shade of the familiar dark blue and red as you were being saved seconds ago. On his gentle voice in your ear that still thrums pleasantly in your chest.
You want to see him again.
It's Friday, and you break half an hour early for your designated 40 minutes of lunch, taking the elevator directly to the 72nd floor, which is under construction to renovate it into an open observation deck for the public next year.
The thing with commercial skyscrapers is that nowadays most of them have safety glass panels on all outside spaces of the upper floors to ensure that it is impossible to climb up the buildings and jump.
It's a safety feature that became standard after the financial crisis of 2008.
Turns out that imposing an 80 hour work week on your employees, where they don't get to see their family or friends or have a life outside of work, and then stripping them of their financial security makes a lot of people miserable and suicidal (who knew?)
The elevator pings open, and you exit into the construction zone, carefully avoiding the various tools scattered across the half-finished deck. On Fridays, the construction workers on the site leave by lunchtime, and the space is empty of people.
Step by step, you walk up towards the edge of the terrasse, until you stand before the temporary safety rail, looking out over the sprawling city below you. Cars look like tiny moving pebbles and the people, a hive of ants scurrying from street to street.
It’s a dizzying view. Both beautiful and grotesque in its grandeur. The 72nd floor will be 28 more floors to fall from than the 44th was.
The air around you seems to thin, and your stomach wants to crawl down to your feet and hold on to steady ground.
Taking a deep breath, you lift the hem of your shirt, running your hand over the safety harness strapped around your waist, reassuring yourself it's still there. Then you feel along the attached cord, using the carabiner at the end to clip it around the rod of the safety rail.
Being impulsive and daring in your quest is one thing. Reckless and stupid is another.
It’s not a real climbing rope and harness. Turns out professional safety gear is shockingly expensive, but you found a knock-off resistance training set, complete with harness and stretchy bungee cord rope, on Amazon for a very reasonable $15. You’ve already spent $72 on cookies, $50 dollars for a nanny cam set, and an extortionate $26 for stationary paper in your never-ending quest to lure out Fake Spiderman. You figure a rope is a rope, and you're not paying $100 more to get ripped off by the big climbing corporations. But you’re also not willing to go without.
After all, you've already fallen from the Chrysler building once, and you're not angling for a repeat.
As intent as you are on seeing your Spider-benefactor eye to eye, you're not quite prepared to die for the privilege. Your plan is just to make it look like you are going to jump.
Any superhero worth his dime wouldn't actually let you fall before they would be willing to save you.
That would be a real dick move.
You give your impromptu safety rig one last tug to make sure it's secure, then straighten your posture. Grabbing a hold of the metal rail, you hoist yourself up. You clamber onto it, gripping tight with shaking hands as you swing a leg over, straddling the bar.
Left leg then the right, until all of you are on the other side of the railing.
Then you stay there.
One second. Then two. You close your eyes and try not to look down at the many, many floors below, and how one gust of strong wind could probably knock you over and have you falling down the building again. You count the seconds that pass you by.
Five. Six. Seven.
A strong gust of wind blows through your side, and your legs buckle at the strong resistance, hand gripping down on the metal railing to hold yourself steady so you don't fall off.
Eightnineten! Ok. Fuck. No. You're good. Fuck this! He's not going to come.
If he didn’t come when you climbed over, he's not going to turn up now.
You briefly let go of the railing with one hand, adjusting your grip so you can climb back to safety. The sun beating down on your back disappears and is eaten up by a large and looming shadow. Every hair on the back of your neck prickles in warning.
Your reaction is too slow, you don't even have time to turn around to see what caused it. Then all you hear is an angry booming voice right next to your ear.
"Have you lost your goddamned mind?!"
You panic, flinging out your hand to catch the bar, but the hard metal of the railings isn't there anymore.
There is a sharp metallic snap. The safety rope around your waist splits from the hasp.
He’s calling your name.
The world tilts and everything goes upside down along with it. Your stomach sinks with a sickening plummet, legs dropping through into zero gravity as you find yourself staring up at the blue and endless New York sky.
Then you're falling from the Chrysler building.
Again.
Fuck!
~ Next Issue
Dedication & Credits: To my dearest @thirstworldproblemss who has to constantly listen to me jabber on about this day and night endlessly and forever. She is in every sense of the word a collaborator on this project. She brainstorms, she pitches in, she edits and she beta-reads. This and so many of my works would not exist without her, please send her all the love if you enjoyed this story.
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Katara and Mutuality in Relationships
There are lots of conflicting opinions about which characters Katara felt attraction towards, which characters she didn’t, and how long she felt that attraction. I see in most cases, people point to quick clips of her faintly blushing or kissing another character on the cheek as evidence, but I think these kind of takes miss the nuance of the purpose attraction serves in a story.
Most importantly, I see these characters treated as if they are actually people capable of making their own decisions. It’s important to remember that these are fictional characters. They don’t make their own choices; the writers make their choices for them for the purpose of telling a story. From that standpoint, it’s more valuable to examine how a character’s story and narrative themes tie into their relationships with other characters. Animators can shove in a kiss or a blush wherever they want, but it’s harder to demonstrate through storytelling how and why two characters might feel attraction towards one another, and how a relationship between them would develop both characters and contribute to the overarching themes of the story.
In other words, when discussing which characters Katara is “attracted” to, I’m discussing which relationships and actions within the narrative build on her established story and arc. Romance is always integrated into a story for a reason, and considering that reason is important.
Unfortunately, ATLA is very much a product of its time in this way. It’s easy to see what romance adds to the arcs of the male characters—but not so much with the female characters. All three canon relationships (kataang, sukka, and maiko) follow this trend to some degree. The primary purpose of the woman in this narrative is to act as a prize for the man for performing some good deed. Once they’re together, she ceases having her own motivations and becomes an extension of the male character she’s dating. This is pretty blatant with Suki—she barely had a personality in that later seasons; she is there to be Sokka’s girlfriend. Similarly, Katara becomes a completely different character—she’s even animated differently—when the narrative pushes her into romantic scenes with Aang. Her character is flattened.
So what is Katara’s arc, and how do the romantic interactions she has throughout the series contribute to this?
Well, that could be a whole other essay itself, but to put it simply, Katara’s arc is one of a young girl devastated by grief at a young age clinging to hope that she has the power to fight and change the world for the better. Which she does as she gains power and confidence throughout the series—culminating in her defeating Azula in the finale.
But the part I want to focus on here is how Katara connects with other characters. She connects with them over shared experiences of grief and loss.
Take Haru, for instance.
Haru: After the attack, they rounded up my father and every other earthbender, and took them away. We haven't seen them since.
Katara: So that's why you hide your earthbending.
Haru: Yeah. Problem is…the only way I can feel close to my father now is when I practice my bending. He taught me everything I know.
Katara: See this necklace? My mother gave it to me.
Haru: It’s beautiful.
Katara: I lost my mother in a Fire Nation raid. This necklace is all I have left of her.
Haru: It’s not enough, is it?
Katara: No.
This isn’t just a throwaway moment; it’s an important character moment that leads up to growth and the progression of Katara’s overall story, both in this individual episode and in the whole series.
Katara finds her power in the connections she’s able to make with other characters. It’s a powerful driving force for her that makes her a strong character even before her bending abilities develop. Imprisoned was such an important episode to establish who Katara is and what her power is, and adds so much to her arc.
But there is one line in particular from the above exchange that also stands out: Haru says “it’s not enough, is it?” and Katara agrees. Even this early in the series, we’re establishing the fact that despite her drive and hopeful outlook, Katara feels deeply hurt, she feels a deep sense of loss that she opens up about to other characters in moments like these. But unlike Haru…Katara can’t go rescue her mother. Her mother is dead, and we see her grapple with that grief throughout the series.
Another character she reaches out to like this is Jet.
Jet: Longshot over there? His town got burned down by the Fire Nation. And we found The Duke trying to steal our food. I don't think he ever really had a home.
Katara: What about you?
Jet: The Fire Nation killed my parents. I was only eight years old. That day changed me forever.
Katara: Sokka and I lost our mother to the Fire Nation.
Jet: I’m so sorry, Katara.
Another important note about Jet is that there are explicit romantic feelings from Katara in this episode. Again, Katara empathizes with another character through a shared sense of loss. Sadly, in this case, Jet manipulated her feelings and tricked her into helping in his plot to flood the village…but those feelings were undeniably there.
That was the tragedy in this episode, but it also gives the audience so much information about Katara as a character: what motivates her, and what she wants. Katara is established as a character who wants someone who will connect with her and empathize with her over her loss—her greatest sense of trauma. She wants to help others but also receive support in return. The reason why she was smitten with Jet, beyond just initial attraction, is because he gave her a sense of that before Katara realized his true motivations.
A lot of people make the claim that Aang is good for Katara because he also feels a sense of great loss and trauma. And while on paper that’s true…does he really demonstrate that? I just gave two examples of characters Katara connected with this way, and both responded with deep empathy to what she said. Very early on in the show—the third episode—Katara attempts to connect with Aang the same way. How does he respond?
Katara: Aang, before we get to the temple, I want to talk to you about the airbenders.
Aang: What about 'em?
Katara: Well, I just want you to be prepared for what you might see. The Fire Nation is ruthless. They killed my mother, and they could have done the same to your people.
Aang: Just because no one has seen an airbender, doesn't mean the Fire Nation killed them all. They probably escaped!
Just compare this exchange to Haru and Jet. No effort to empathize, not even a “sorry for your loss” or anything. It’s a stark contrast, and the reason for that is because this narrative entirely centers Aang. Katara’s narrative always seems to be secondary to his when they’re together—which is exactly my point when I say this relationship has a fundamental lack of mutuality. It’s built that way from the beginning of the series. It does not add to Katara’s arc nor establish what about this dynamic would attract her.
And, look, before someone jumps down my throat about this…I’m not saying Aang is a horrible person for this response. I think it’s a sign that he’s immature and has a fundamentally different approach to problems than Katara. Katara is a character who has been forced to take on responsibilities beyond her years due to being a child of a war-torn world. Aang’s approach to problems is avoidance while Katara never had that luxury. It doesn’t mesh well.
This is all in Book 1. I honestly could have gotten on board with Kataang if the series meaningfully addressed these issues…but it didn’t. In fact, they actually got worse in some ways.
Back to Katara’s mother. We’ve established that this is a core part of Katara’s character and like in the scene with Haru, she indicates that this is an unresolved issue that pains her. But then, in Book 3, Katara actually does get a chance to confront this pain.
This would have been a powerful moment. Surely the character who is meant to be her partner, her equal, would have been there for her. Surely he would have understood and supported her, fulfilling her narrative and adding to her story.
But Aang didn’t do that. I won’t go into details because there are a million analyses out there on The Southern Raiders, but Aang’s response to Katara was the opposite of understanding. He got angry with her, insinuated that she was a monster for wanting revenge, and tried to dictate her behavior according to his own moral values. And importantly, from a narrative standpoint, he did not go with Katara. One of the most important events in her arc, and Aang didn’t support her—he actually tried stopping her. He didn’t contribute to her growth and development.
Also noteworthy:
Katara: But I didn’t forgive him. I’ll never forgive him.
Even at the end of the episode, Aang clearly doesn’t understand at all what Katara is feeling. This line demonstrates it perfectly. He thinks she forgave him when that wasn’t the case at all…but of course, he didn’t even accompany her, so he didn’t see what actually took place. His worldview is fundamentally different from hers, and he’s consistently too rigid in his morality and immature to center Katara’s feelings.
Throughout Katara’s whole arc, her most significant character moments, Aang’s character just doesn’t come through the way Katara’s constantly does for him. Their narrative lacks mutuality. When Katara and Aang are together, she becomes an accessory to him. The ending scene is a perfect demonstration of this.
Now, to address the elephant in the room.
Which character does actually add to Katara’s narrative and support her growth as a character?
Correct! I just talked about how important The Southern Raiders is to Katara’s character and story, how it’s a chance for her to finally address the grief she’s been carrying since Book 1. And who stood by her side throughout this pivotal moment? Right—Zuko did.
You can talk all you want about how he’s a “colonizer” while Aang’s people suffered genocide, but you’re forgetting that “show, don’t tell” is one of the most basic aspects of storytelling. The fact is, despite how it looks on paper, Zuko was the one there for Katara at her critical moments. Zuko empathized with Katara more than Aang ever did—as demonstrated in this episode. Zuko never once brought up his own cultural values. Zuko never once told Katara what to do. Zuko’s position was that Katara should be the one to decide, and that he would support any choice she made. He supported her decision to spare Yon Rha, but he would have also supported her if she decided to kill him. I actually found this episode to be a satisfying reversal to what is typically seen in TV—for once, the female character is centered while her male counterpart takes the backseat and becomes a supporting role to her narrative.
Even before this, Zuko is shown to empathize with Katara.
Zuko: I’m sorry. That’s something we have in common.
I think what gets me about this scene is the fact that he’s still Katara’s enemy, and she was just yelling about how she hates him and his people. But despite that, Zuko still empathizes with Katara. She is fundamentally human to him, and he expresses that to her in a way that allows them to connect. Zuko stands to gain nothing from this. It’s true that Azula entered the picture and twisted things around—but in this moment, Zuko’s compassion is genuine. His instinct was to respond to her grief with empathy, just like she consistently does for other characters.
And finally, how else does Zuko add to Katara’s arc?
I don’t think there is any more perfect of an example than the finale itself—the culmination of the arcs and development of all characters.
Zuko and Katara fight together. In a heartbeat, Zuko asks Katara to fight by his side against Azula, because he trusts her strength. She’s his equal—both in his mind, and in a narrative sense.
Then, this:
Both of their roles are so critical in this fight. They both save each other. The scene has such raw emotion to it. These characters were together at the conclusion of their respective arcs for a reason.
This is the perfect conclusion to Katara’s arc. She just played a critical role in ending the war that has caused her trauma her whole life. She just demonstrated her mastery of waterbending (another thing she’s dreamed of throughout the series) by defeating the world’s most powerful firebender during Sozin’s Comet. Even though she had help as all characters do, these are victories that belong to her and demonstrate the growth and power of her character. And to top it all off? She was able to save Zuko’s life. She didn’t have to endure the pain of feeling helpless to do anything while someone else died for her; this time, she had an active role, she changed her fate, and she prevailed. Zuko plays an important role in Katara’s story without dominating it. They perfectly represent mutuality. They add to each other’s stories. Their narratives become stronger when they’re together, without one diminishing or sidelining the other.
So, from that standpoint, that’s why I always see the attraction between Zuko and Katara and why I see it lacking between Aang and Katara. Zuko and Katara’s story doesn’t need some cheap little throwaway moments to shine. It’s integral to both characters’ stories. We are shown not told of the way these characters feel about each other. Given everything we know about Katara, her goals, her values, her past loves…absolutely everything points to Zuko being the true subject of her feelings.
Because let’s be honest. The ending I just described is so much more powerful and so much more Katara than seeing her being relegated back to a doe-eyed love interest for Aang to kiss. It hardly even made sense—Katara played no role at all at the culmination of Aang’s arc. She was relegated back to a love interest, rather than the powerful figure we saw fight alongside Zuko.
#zutara#katara#zuko#atla#anti kataang#canon critical#jet#haru#katara deserved better#aang critical#meta#analysis
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THAWED | LYNEY X FEM!READER SERIES
THAWED (MASTERLIST) — the lyney childhood-enemies-to-frenemies-to-lovers-kinda series that no one asked for, ft. fluff, a whole lot of bickering, flirting, and everything in between
STATUS. mostly updates on sundays
OTHER INFO.
DISCLAIMER. will contain spoilers. this series will be as dark as genshin lore can be, and this won’t strictly follow genshin’s actual lore—i’ll be making up a lot of stuff for the sake of the fic so there will be inaccuracies, NOT CANON COMPLIANT!! there’s no previous director, the timeline of events will be vastly different. each chapter will have their own warnings as well, so keep an eye out for that!
NOTES. hello, everyone !!!!!!! welcome to my lyney series inspired by taylor’s reputation album. how it works is each chapter will be titled after each song off of the album as u can see below,,, hope u enjoy reading as excited i am for rep tv!! :D
tysm to naosaki and kruinka for helping me brainstorm w this fic (and also helping me when i was visibly all over the place because of this series) also kruin u owe me something remember that <3
CHAPTERS.
i — are you ready for it?
The House of the Hearth was perfect. This was where you thrived—where no one else could take this feeling away. But then Lynette became a part of the ‘family’, and with it, she dragged along Lyney.
ii — i don’t wanna hurt you (i just wanna be)
You look more like a soldier than an orphan, Lyney thinks. It’s beautiful in all the wrong ways.
iii — you gotta leave before you get left
Desperately, Lyney melts them away, but your footsteps have already gone out of earshot. It’s an answer in itself: Don’t bother. Take the hint, Lyney; you already messed it up.
iv — for you i would fall from grace
“What now? What do you want me to do? Strut back into their lives and demand all their Fatui secrets as if I never left?”
Aether nestles into his seat. “Prove to me that I can trust them just as much as you do. Who knows, you might get something out of this, too.”
v — you must like me for me
Lyney laughs. It sounds like music that has haunted you for years—and with a new one playing, it’ll torment you for years more. He loosens his grip but keeps you caged in, still. You’re twirled around to face him, and something about his expression has you swallowing thickly.
“You’re even more stunning than I remember, ma chérie.”
vi — look what you made me do
You frown at him, your face upside down in his view. “That was unfair.”
“I have to be if I want to beat you.”
vii — all eyes on you, my magician
He doesn’t take his eyes off you, even once when his fingers reached out to fish out a champagne flute. Lyney still has that stupid smile on his face, the rim of his glass against his lips. You’re hit with the startling realization that you want to kiss him.
Fuck, what?
viii — you’ve ruined my life, by not being mine
“You’re so warm,” you murmur to his skin.
Goosebumps blossom all over his body. Your face brushes against the side of his neck. “Do you hate it?”
“I like it. My hands are cold. Every part of you is warm.”
more chapter previews soon...!
FANART !!!!!!
our favorite akagi0021 has been blessing me with THAWED fanart (!!!) and i decided that i need to compile all of them for me and to make YOU see the art as well... BECAUSE THEY'RE ALL SO GOOD (with permission of course)
CH 1 | reader's new outfit reveal
CH 2 | lyney doesn’t know how he looks at reader
lyney and MC height difference before and after AAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHH IM ON MY KNEES theyre so cute
CH 4 | aether and paimon confronting reader
bonus fanart of lyney and reader after training :(( so cute
CH 5 | lyney seeing reader!!!!!! aahhh his eyes
lyney as a kid and then lyney now (grown up) THIS ONE IS INSANE. little lyney is so adorable but then look at the lyney now… 😵😵
CH 6 | LOOK AT THIS ONE!! scene of lyney saying “she’s hiding something” except akagi made him unnecessarily sexy wtf
CH 7 | drunk reader driving lyney crazy... (i went crazy)
CH 8 | "lyney's not my boyfriend" ; the ending scene with childe, aether, and reader!! they all look so good T__T
++ ADDITIONAL!!!
and look at this so so so adorable collection of doodles of chapter six by sunny @emanami !!! her artstyle is to live for its SO cute (look at the siblings!!!)
look at @lacrimae-lotos's version of mc!!!! SO CUTE look at her piercings and her eyes aahhhh
akagi's art dump from different chapters | theyre all so cutue im sobbing i love akagis mc and lyney so much T__T (LYNEY BRAIDING MC'S HAIR)
++ LOOK AT AKAGI'S VERSION OF MC! shes so lovely
design headcanons (theyre all so precious)
akagi's reader as a genshin char !!
reader's outfit for chapter seven SO PRETTY
TAGLIST.
@thenyxsky @aeferkssr @1mewo1 @lacrimae-lotos @meigalaxy @hyacinth-daze @miwafei @popochakku @svasilios @heyhazelnut101 @kruinka @waveto-earth @superstar-ethereal @mxplesyrvp @achilleas-dream @episodecete @jellifizz @auranny @motherscrustytoenailclippings @lovelyevil @iawaaaaaaa @rionah @esmetrees @cherryig @kzhwaif @mystiquemare @unknownlolol @sanluvssu @blvdmrcnry @kascar-chronicle @idontevenknow129 @tarathecogsci @lunavixia @beaniedoodz @wendolrea @avalordream @egoistars @rains-mae @magnificentfireball @poemzcheng @fiannee @ask-kurayami-akura @sc4rlett-letter @xxxion @wangshuu @deathkat657 @powchakko @beasalmeh, and many more!
just ask through my inbox!!! and make sure that people can tag you pls!!
© SIXOSIX 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or reproduce any part of this work.
#606: THAWED#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin x you#genshin impact x you#genshin impact#x reader#lyney x reader#lyney x you#lyney x y/n#genshin impact series
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Don’t you ever wonder what kind of secrets and plot points Venti keeps hidden? He claims to be the weakest amongst the Seven-and that could be true given his whole 500 year slumber and poison and all- but he’s still a god. AND one of the original Seven. You gotta be good at SOMETHING to survive for this long…
He’s also the only archon so far that doesn’t have a second story quest so what is he hiding?! We have accounts of him literally shaping the land with ease from both the Golden Apple Archipelago events and his character stories. We know that he has close relationships with the Hexenzirkel and somehow managed to avoid conflict with them??? And there’s also the fact from the skyward sword series that he was originally a catalyst user before picking up the bow in honor of Amos. He’s pulling a Childe when it comes to weapons he currently uses and the ones he’s proficient in.
And don’t even get me started on his connection with Istharoth and Celestia! Mondstadt already has the Thousands Winds Temple AND the nameless island where both Venti and Istharoth were once worshipped. And from Before Sun and Moon, we know that the Thousand Winds (which Venti IS A PART OF) were once called the Thousand Winds of TIME, all of whom were created and controlled by Istharoth. AND THEN you have Venti suspiciously appearing in the right place at the right time again and again and again. He even self proclaimed knowing every song: past, present, and future. Hell he’s probably one of the only few beings in Teyvat who can naturally bypass Irminsul because of his songs: Nahida already shown it’s possible to save deleted info if rearranged into fiction so the same should work for songs and poetry. And there’s also what the hydro fungus in Nahida’s second story quest said about changing forms. That you need time for growth to occur. And Nahida - an ARCHON- had trouble maintaining her fungus form for even the short period of time. She was even told that to do so for longer, one would need to bypass time itself which is near impossible. AND YET VENTI CHANGED INTO THE FORM OF HIS FRIEND IMMEDIATELY AFTER RECEIVING HIS GNOSIS AND HAS YET TO CHANGE BACK OR TIRE FROM FATIGUE (as we know it). HOW STRONG IS HE. Sure, the yokai in Inazuma and Adepti in Liyue can all change into a human form, but we know in game that it takes a long time and steady energy to take on a human shape, and the Adepti all seem to have that ability naturally: there’s no bending the laws of nature if it’s already natural to them. So what’s Venti’s excuse?!
As for Celestia: there’s already written in the statue of Barbatos “the gateway to Celestia” and what not. And Khanreia! In the chasm AND in the Caribert quest, Barbatos and Mondstadt keep getting named dropped. According to Dainself, the city in the chasm is supposedly OLDER than Khanreia and possibly the Seven, yet BARBATOS of all beings is mentioned in the records you find??? And in Caribert, it’s a Mondstadtian woman who that one bloke had a child with. Never mind that Mondstadt is where Kaeya and Albedo - the two characters with confirmed Khanreian origins- end up! There’s also the fact that Khanreia seems to base its gods and names and whatever around Norse mythology….which has strong ties to GERMANIC HISTORY. WHICH MONDSTADT IS BASED OFF OF. And Enkanomiya, which was once ruled by Istaroth, is Greek origin. Suspicious considering all the connections to HERMES Venti keeps portraying. (And then there’s also a connection to all three places with the hexenzerkel with their Chinese names? Like I think I read somewhere that Alice is Aries(?)/Eris(?) and Nicole is actually Nike in the Chinese version? Which are very much based in Roman/Greek origins)
Oh and something I forgot to mention earlier with the whole Istharoth connection. Mondstadt’s saying “seeds of stories, brought by the wind, and cultivated through time”. SUSPICIOUS
Anyways, this has been my nonsensical Venti theory rant
And you’re stuck with me @worldsokayestmagicalgirl
#theory rant#seriously this is me typing whatever comes to mind#I have questions and Mihoyo needs to give me answers#this isn’t even everything#mutual lore rant kidnapping#Alyssa and I take turns with the conspiracy boards#genshin impact
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Analysis of Laios’ succubus and theories on what it means - deep dive on Laios’ desires in human connections
Laios’ succubus is a very odd incident. I have some particular interpretations of why it was Marcille, and why things went down the way they did.
We know that a succubus shows what one desires, stated in canon as “an alluring form”; yes often in a romantic or sexual sense, as seen with Chilchuck’s succubus being entirely set on looks and seduction, meanwhile Marcille’s does have a focus on chivalrous noble demeanor as well, showing romantic behavior and personality. BUT with Izutsumi we also see that the liaison doesn’t have to be romantic or sexual at all, either, in Izutsumi’s case it’s a familial bond she craves. So perhaps we can say that the succubus exploits a desire based on connection, in whichever form that takes.
Marcille wants an emotional connection foremost(which is also reflected in how it’s a character she knows very well and not a stranger. Perhaps romantic.), Chilchuck wants pleasure(a simple pleasure not unlike alcohol, perhaps such a connection is free of the more risky or unpleasant parts of a relationship, he doesn’t have to worry or to think and can just let himself go. Sexual.), Izutsumi wants a mother figure that can offer her warmth and comfort with who she doesn’t have to be tough (Familial), and I believe Laios’ is platonic and centered on his desire to have people with who he belongs and can be himself with…
But Laios’ case is more complex, it has layers. The thing is, even if Laios wanted to have someone able to turn him into a monster—which it didn’t even have to be, could straight up have just been a monster with such powers—, it didn’t have to be someone he knew. You could say the succubus wanted to disarm Laios’ suspicions with someone he knew and that was nearby, but the succubus seem very direct in every other case, simply appearing with someone’s greatest appearance even though both Marcille and Chilchuck were fully on guard and the succubi knew it. "Believability" isn’t an important factor. No, his succubus being someone he knew was important. It being Marcille was important.
There’s a TLDR at the end of this if you want to cut it short. For everyone else, strap in everyone, if you don’t know me hi I’m Fumi and I made this 3k words long analysis and theorizing bc I am autistic much like the character in question and I think this is both fascinating and has a lot to say. In this I offer both platonic and romantic reasonings and I do go rather in depth in Laios’ psychology and relationships to dissect what ever could this damn cryptic event MEAN. Spoilers for the succubus chapters obviously and also the last few arcs of the series so… Spoilers for the series as a whole!
—
So attraction wise it’s kinda unsure where Laios stands. He does sort of logically list off aesthetically pleasing traits of the orc’s wives, but besides that… Not really, or he never voices it anyways. He and Marcille never share like “omg you’re pretty” moments or anything. Senshi gets more compliments than either of them through the series lmfao. Maybe Laios is asexual, maybe he simply doesn’t show outwardly his attraction much or even maybe isn’t self-aware about it, regardless… Laios HAS implied preference for Marcille’s looks in the past. With the orcs, he said that “tallmen like long ears”. Laios’ shapeshifter of Marcille has her hair down just like her succubus, which by Kui is explained to be because she had it down when she revived Falin and it really marked him, though it could also be interesting to see it as his mental image of her as her most authentic self, I’ve seen it theorized that it’s a preference too but I think that’s disproven. But of course the most damning evidence itself… The succubus scene. It could have been anyone else in the party, certainly Senshi shares Laios’ interest in monsters much more already.
We shouldn’t discredit the way Laios was blushing madly once she revealed she was a monster, that made her more attractive to Laios for sure, but he still wouldn’t have reacted that way if it was just anyone. The contexts are very different, but we can compare it to how Laios reacted when Lycion turned into a wolf man in front of him for instance. Laios certainly doesn’t act that way with Izutsumi- and it’s confirmed like a page later that he does see Izutsumi as a monster already. AND!! Laios starts blushing madly BEFORE she says that she can turn him into a monster- and we can safely assume that the blush isn’t out of simple fluster but out of desire/infatuation since he clearly wants her to bite him in the next page and his blush does not relent at all.
There’s something we could say about Laios’ liking of Marcille being born out of companionship rather than aesthetic attraction, on familiarity and intimacy. As members of the same party they’ve spent a lot of time together and we’ve seen that Laios trusts in her and relies on her for her skillset and avice. If Laios’ interest in her developped more naturally and gradually, valuing the familiar bond they have, I don’t see why he’d be acting all blushy and lovesick every time they interact or whatever, which is the explanation I have for Marcille genuinely being Laios’ most alluring form but him not freezing at the sight of it. That could also be a reason why he physically rejects succubus!Marcille instinctively, because something about her feels off or different (which is sorta the most direct interpretation of the scene, since Laios’ first thought is that it can’t be Marcille and must be a monster).
[Edited in: Oh my god. The picture above is the last page of the dullahan chapter, chapter 57, a chapter that centers around Laios and Marcille’s relationship through flashbacks as Laios is on the brink of death and sees his life flashing before his eyes (he remembers how they first met, etc, which is also interesting to note that on the brink of death he reminisces about her the most). The last page of that chapter, more or less the thesis of the chapter in which we see Laios opens up about the real reason he and Falin go dungeon diving to her after them having a rough meeting but she turns out to also have an interest in dungeons, has Laios go "she starts out frowning but she ends up smiling! Wether its’s about eating monsters or about me :)”. That chapter is the one right before th succubus chapters. Laios’ most alluring form wasn’t “just” Marcille, it’s a SMILING Marcille. Which is why the succubus had such a weird and off demeanor right away (which gets knocked off once it doesn’t work and becomes a more Marcille-like Marcille)! It was only focused on smiling because it was the angle it was working from.
Oh my god it makes sense. It’s a direct narrative link, it’s as explicitly put with its story structure without Kui just stating it, besides, you know, the many times Laios says how precious her smile is to him. He’s like “I love her smile” and right next chapter the succubus is like “yes this is what he likes seeing most”. But… This also does mean that the focus might be less romantic, like Marcille’s significance doesn’t diminish, but then the alluring form might be less about her and more about the smile itself. About having a friend who looks at him like that, about someone who smiles after eating monster dishes or surpassing obstacles together…
Or it can actually be so much more romantic. Like, maybe the smiling Marcille doesn’t work is because well, it’s not like Marcille, she wouldn’t just be smiling like that and behave like that (esp since his musing is about how her smiles are sort of “earned”, that she doesn’t smile right away but it’s sort of like a rewarding sight when she does). So then the most alluring form of Marcille doesn’t work because she doesn’t convincingly BEHAVE like her. His most alluring form isn’t a Marcille-lookalike, it’s her as a whole. More on the succubus shifting/switching in its approach later.]
Anyways.
Where was I. Ah yes, “It could have been anyone else in the party, certainly Senshi shares Laios’ interest in monsters much more already.”
But then that’s the point isn’t it. I think Laios’ succubus being Marcille is because his wish isn’t so much focused on her, or on becoming a monster, but on not being alone. On being understood. On having others finally share his interest. On not only becoming a monster, but having someone to share that with. A trusted friend, a companion, or a lover, it matters little in my interpretation, the bedrock of it stays the same. And this is why it’d be someone he already knew instead of someone new, because it’d defeat the point, and it was maybe Marcille because she’s the most vocal about finding monsters disgusting: it’d have finally been a shift in her that she now liked monsters. And again this brings back to when he talks about her smile, when he says that she starts out unhappy with eating monsters, but ends up smiling by the end of it. Her smile itself represents that though first impression or reflexive dislike, someone can turn around and end up liking it anyways, it’s hope for his interests to be liked and perhaps for him to be lovable as well, that it’s possible to be accepted.
But I do think it would be a mistake to say that there’s absolutely no romantic interest, that it’s plainly platonic or another kind of interest misplaced and idealized in her. What we saw with the other succubus is that they 100% act in ways that the person desires, sure Izutsumi’s start attacking after a while, but that was after pushing them over the edge, and succubus Marcille wasn’t being agressive nor did she have a reason to be (even when she could have with Laios’ choking, she didn’t turn to violence, so she was 100% still in seduction mode). Ultimately the goal of the succubus is to make physical contact to be able to suck their essence, but the way they go about achieving that is tailored to the individual’s desire, Marcille’s kissed her hand and Izutsumi’s offered a hug.
The succubus can identify and embody complex desires, often subconscious ones, shown with Izutsumi’s. They go straight to it without complex subterfuge either. Chilchuck’s succubi were very direct because that’s what he wanted, Marcille’s was courtly because that’s what she wanted, Izutsumi’s offered motherly comfort and affection because that’s what she wanted, and Laios’ is Marcille attempting to kiss him. Let that sink in.
Laios why are you choking the supposed key to your heart?
Ok so the theory that Laios’ desire is to have a deeper companionship from an existing companion is pretty tame and surface level I’d say, but strap in… The way Laios reacted violently to Marcille trying to kiss him is VERY interesting. The first thing he thinks about is that she isn’t Marcille so she must be a succubus, then confusion at to why it’s her. He’s even afraid of what the others would think, feeling… Shame? With how he imagines Marcille would be horrified that he likes her that way. Fear of rejection?
But no no, what interests me is the shift that the succubus makes. It seemed very confident at first, went straight in, but when overpowered shifted the direction it was going in- shifted from a desire for Marcille to a desire for a monster Marcille and whatever deeper desire that hides. But??? Succubi did not make mistakes as to what someone wanted thus far, possibly that has never ever happened before by human records. Could the succubus truly have miscalculated what Laios desires? It’d be hard to imagine that the succubus would misunderstand what type of companionship someone wished for or what approach to take, since it’s done complex cases before too, Izutsumi being very much in denial before it & at first. In Izutsumi’s case, even with her complex feelings over it and her two souls desiring different things, the succubus did not miss its mark, and ultimately it was having a second soul for who the succubus wasn’t alluring that allowed her not to be frozen to the spot.
But with Laios the succubus fully switches strategy.
The thing is that succubi don’t usually need to switch strategies, because the form and approach they take always work and always leave the victim frozen. Izutsumi bypassed this because of her two souls, but was still frozen and struggling to reject the succubus at first. And yet? Laios did. A succubus’ victim is supposed to be instantly frozen, and yet Laios acts on instinct and defensively agressive as soon as his reaction time allows.
And well, it’s hard to really come to a logical conclusion as to why, since we have no idea of what rules can override a succubus’ temptation besides multiple souls… C’mon regular Marcille can’t be the winged lion/kenksuke’s desire bc of the loose hair being Laios’ mind-Marcille we’ve gone over this /hj Although, since it’s confirmed that the winged lion was watching with the dream Laios gets induced right after, maybe he’s what allowed Laios to be moving? It’s possible that it’d have frozen him otherwise, even if Laios with his full rationale wouldn’t have accepted the kiss faced with supernatural allure he might have gotten paralysis from being overwhelmed, similarly to how if Chilchuck had his full rationale he wouldn’t allow a woman like his succubus to kiss him (he’s always stayed faithful to his wife even after 4 years of separation, give the guy his earned credit). Getting somewhat offtopic, but something to say about how if that’s the case once again the theme of ‘irrational desire you crave vs what you truly want/need’ that is present throughout the manga would be reflected.
My best guess however on why Laios reacted so quickly and forcefully is: trauma. The more recent arcs with Laios suggest that Laios has deep-seated trauma over humans. He dislikes humans as a whole, that was like, pretty much stated, though perhaps exaggerated. As a kid he fantasized about monsters wiping out human towns. We know Laios has been ostracized for most of his life by others, in his village and in the military, and beyond social rejection it’s shown he got beaten in group too and it was implied that it happened regularly. But damn, disliking humans to the point of wanting to be a monster and murderous genocidal reclusive envies and all of that stuff? That is massive trauma, massive identity & belonging issues and hint at massive trust issues.
So then, the negative reaction could be because of Laios’ deep trauma with humans. Because of trauma getting activated, not due to a miscalculation on the succubus’ part but due to a contradicting dislike of the desire that makes the form inherently and straight out of the gate un-alluring, Laios’ repression being so strong that he’s able to affect his own desires in that way, or an instinctive defense response to the trigger (a human).
Even though Laios hides it well, once again recent arcs (and some other moments) make it clear that Laios still has some innate dislike of humans, which in canon is a term that all races like elves fit in. He has a bias against them, perhaps even an innate distrust of them. Who knows how aware he is of it, or how much control and will he has over it. What if Laios reacting agressively to it was his defense mode tied to this kicking in, a survival and security instinct, stopping any possibility of Laios wanting a romantic relationship with a human? Any chance of that human getting close and being hurt by it, either rejected or stabbed in the back? It’d then make sense if Laios is unaware and doesn’t understand his attraction to Marcille then, if it’s a sort of self-made blockage, denial. And that’d make full sense with how, when Marcille is suddenly a monster, then all of Laios’ reluctance is gone and he’s fully enthralled, all that it took was taking away that one blockage for Laios to be utterly charmed. It takes away the trigger element, humans, and replaces it for something safer. A desire for connections, but connections with people that are ‘safe’, people who also don’t fit in with society, who are part of his interest in monsters, who would accept and understand him. I think that Laios does desire human connections, specifically, but can’t allow himself to pursue them either from conscious or unconscious trauma, so though he does desire it he can’t accept that he does/can’t accept the relationship even if it’s handed to him on a silver platter.
Conclusion
The succubus’ shift could then be either that it switched from one wish, a wish for Marcille, to another, a wish for companionship in monster-liking, or that it stayed on the same fundamental wish, but had to improvise with the new information (that Laios is human-averse)(not bc it didn’t exist previously but bc it wasn’t manifested) to take out of the equation the thing that was holding Laios back (from giving in).
But well, the fact that the rest of the party is included does lean towards the former, but in any case that doesn’t erase all I’ve spoken about, all about how Marcille is 100% the focus of this whole thing. It could still be a bit of both. But it is interesting that he worries about the party’s reaction to seeing his succubus being Marcille, and when she shifts into monster Marcille he *still* worries about the others: “b-but what about the others?” He’s a mess, with his most alluring form seducing him, and he still has a shred of resistance in him to question how the others would react, and it’s only when she says that they’re already monsters too that he truly gives in. Is he really so afraid of ostracization? Of losing the people he cares about due to judgement? Then the mention of the others in the party can simply be something the succubus added on top to unlock another “blockage”, the same way she added Marcille being a monster on top of the basic premise of Marcille; Take out the immediate dismissal of humans first, and then the fear of loss and judgement from other friends so Laios can finally stop worrying and give in. That worry/framing I’d say makes the latter more credible, because it’s not the premise of the alluring form but an extra.
In the end, like the recent arcs kind of spell out, the thing central to Laios’ character is less so a love for monsters and moreso a dislike for humans, and this is what this puts on full display.
Laios’ most alluring form is Marcille, a human that doesn’t understand his interests and thus him, and regardless of everything else that Marcille is, that is so traumatic to him that all of his being immediately rejects it.
—
Thanks for coming to my ted talk! I’ve spent so much time thinking about this and wording and rewording this same train of thought, also it’s the end of my college semester and I’m going crazy
Tldr: My personal fav theory for Laios’ succubus is that Laios really values Marcille’s smile a ton like it’s often mentioned, and that’s what his most alluring form centers on. I’ve got a ton of different interpretation on the why it’d go for a kiss? Since it tailors its approach to the person’s desires, but obviously something goes wrong with Laios’, which is really interesting because even with Izutsumi who resists because she has 2 souls so one part of her can always remain unaffected, the succubus hit bullseye on her most alluring forms. But regardless of that, I think his desire for Marcille (either her or what she represents, wether as a platonic ideal or something else) isn’t wrong/untrue perse, but that Laios has such a complex with humans and intimacy and connecting with others that his defense mode kicks in and that’s when the succubus has to shift into a different, safer desire: one that doesn’t involve humans but that still shows connections and acceptance and belonging.
Also Laios realizes that it isn’t Marcille when she goes in for the kiss, which if his allure for her is based on familiarity since they’re friends and all could make sense that it’d break him away from it, or since it’s a liking based on familiarity he doesn’t freeze, or maybe it’s because the winged lion has its eye on him.
I think that’s so much more likely with how Kui makes even her jokes be character moments or at least consistent, and also with the tension of the scene, than just the scene being a gag about how Marcille doesn’t mean much to Laios actually.
I think there’s a lot to be said about why Marcille is special to Laios, why her smile means something to him, etc, and I don’t think saying Marcille is special to him is exaggeration or reaching at all. Laios, Marcille and Falin are the golden trio, she’s the deuteragonist, she’s the only other character in the main party whose goal in going back for Falin is Falin and who has a bond with her and Laios outside of being coworkers, in post-canon they live together, happily, in the anime’s ending they’re emphased on by dining out all three together... I could go on.
Marcille has the benefit of being very trusted by Laios, not only with the time they’ve spent together but how she was Falin’s friends first, the person he himself feels so protective of and has been so consistently ostracized throughout her life. Marcille represents a positive odd one out that’s like, the good example of "humanity can be good and safe and warm actually". Which is a big reason why imo Marcille is like, the secondary protag and with Falin they form the golden trio. She’s central to the story in many ways including making Laios see that humanity is worth saving and sticking with, but that’s a topic for another analysis.
One such reason is how his first meeting with her went: it started really badly but ended with her coming around and unexpectedly sharing their interest in dungeons, which made him and Falin open up about the real reason they go dungeon diving, perhaps for the first time. There is just so much that goes into it but Laios seems generally very expectant of rejection: in the climax chapters after he transformed back as a human and was hiding out in the woods, pre-canon in an extra where we see him battling himself on if he should suggest eating monsters or not.
But another one, the one I truly want to bring up in this post, is how genuine Marcille is! And funnily enough, how dramatic she is, and how her elf ears change position depending on her emotions. Like, let me compare her affectionately to a dog for a second, but dogs move their ears and use whole body language to communicate, and I think that part of Marcille, really strong emoting, with her ears and body language on top of her often dramatic facial expressions, reassure him. Like ok, maybe he can’t tell when Shuro and Kabru would lie to him, but Marcille? She wears her heart on her sleeve and her feelings on her whole self. And that takes away some of the stress and trauma he has with humans, explains why her smiles would “put him at ease”, doesn’t it?
I don’t remember wether I’ve mentioned this somewhere or just in my reblog linked at the end of the post, but while at first I thought the succubus going for a kiss on the lips heavily implied a romantic desire in Laios, now I have a couple different theories on why the succubus would have gone for that approach. I think the most likely is that, if the principal allure of his succubus is her smile, the succubus is like "as long as he sees her face right up until i can suck up his blood and he passes out I’ll be gucci", so it’s not about the kiss but about him seeing her face all the while until the very last moment, so he stays charmed.
Btw chapter 34 explores Laios’ relationship with touch too imo, and we see that he is uncomfortable with touch to some degree, very unsure and hesitant and tense. I feel like it’s something more shown in a bigger picture sense with his whole struggles with humans and extras, than just in any one page so go reread the beginning of that chapter if you want I’d say, but putting a page below as example anyways. I think it’s notable that it’s a character moment shared with Marcille too, she acts sort of like a bridge to humanity with social propriety and being extroverted in many cases. In the chapter Chil and Marcille point out how awkward he is with touch, but he learns to be casual/comfy enough about touch to do healing magic with her (something that was also enforced through him having to practice magic on Marcille turned to stone, he got a lot of touch exposure and magic practice done in those days. Dammit Laios, MArcille and touch is worthy of a whole analysis of its own).
She’s just like, his human comfort zone, even if they aren’t that close at least at first, besides Falin he has literally like no friends and I think that itself shows how he doesn’t fit in well socially and that it’s a significant struggle for him. But yes what I was saying here is I believe there’s setup for him recoiling from touch like he did with the succubus (due to an instinctive aversion to touch made especially intense due to the succubus’ oddness and forwardness).
I have even more theories and rambling on details on the succubus here in a reblog, but unless I want to put in some pictures of Laios repressing himself around others and such I don’t think I’ll be touching this post again in a while
#dungeon meshi#delicious in dungeon#dunmeshi#laios touden#scene analysis#character analysis#analysis#chapter 60 succubus#spoilers#dungeon meshi manga spoilers#marcille donato#autistic king of trauma laios#-points at him- that’s me!… That’s me!!#laimar#but this isn't laimar truthism#polished this up since it's been like what six months#looked upthe dates it's been nine months... Whew#something something 'the reason you're both touch starved and touch averse is you spent so long without human touch that you interpret any#touch as a threat'
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All I Really Want Is You
older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap eight/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday
Red, White & Boom
summary: A Fourth of July block party ends in fireworks.
wc: 6.8k (🙄 it’s fine, you’re falling in love.)
warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. I don’t know based on Steve’s promise in the last one, what do you think? 😏
author’s note: there were so many different versions of this chapter before I got here and I just want to say thank you to my friends who helped me through this one. I just wanted it to be perfect 🧡
🌇 <- chapter seven | (bonus chapter playlist)
🌆 -> chapter nine
The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:
July 4th -
Instead of the Good Morning tough girl you were expecting the next day, it was Good Morning beautiful that you read.
Steve Harrington woke you up calling you beautiful for the three mornings after that too.
The night before the fourth, you could hardly sleep with his promise to kiss you still fresh in your mind. It lingered and attached itself to every thought since he left you with it.
How was he going to do it? When was he going to do it? When he picks you up? Middle of the date? End of the date? What if he changes his mind?
The nerves are even worse as you stare at yourself in the long mirror of your room and your eyes catch the time. 1:52pm. Steve was ‘picking you up’ at two and you were on your fourth outfit in the last hour. Trying to find something that was cute enough for a first date but also practical for walking around the city in the summer heat was starting to feel impossible.
Date.
The word makes the fluttering start before he’s even arrived, a smile tugging at your lips when you think it again. Would you get used to it?
The shorts you settle on are a high waisted dark denim pair that cut off and fringe in the middle of your thighs, The black low cut ribbed top you match them with has a lace trim along the sleeves and the dip down down the middle. It hugs your curves in a way that makes you feel confident, something in your closet you know you won’t spend the whole day adjusting and fiddling with.
Knock, knock - knock, knock
Jumping when you hear his knuckles against the wood, you give yourself another once over before deciding it’s good enough. With your shoes still in the corner of your room, your slippers slide against your floor all the way to your front door. Nerves tighten your chest, a shaky breath leaving between glossed lips before you stop to give yourself a minute to let it sink in- mentally preparing to see the man who showed up at your front door steps with his heart in his hands. Your handsome neighbor with a past and a Bandit as his best friend.
You have to hold back the sigh that threatens to escape when you lay your eyes on him for the first time since that night. His grin is lopsided, the almost beard he had is gone, like he’d shaved it the next day leaving just the kind of stubble you liked the most.
“Hey, tough girl.” Pearly whites flash when he says it sweet, dripping with extra honey just for you.
His hair is freshly done like when he’s on his way to work, the grays on the sides seem lighter from spending a weekend out in the sun. The sleeves are short on his dark navy button up, the linen material fitting him loose and snug in all the right places. The two ivory buttons on top are undone, leaving a place for his Raybans to dangle. The weight of them pulls it down just enough to see the beginnings of his dark curls underneath and the silver pendant at the end of the chain that always hangs around his neck.
“Hi Steve.” You bite your bottom lip to try and contain your smile, your hips twisting from side to side with your hands behind your back, you can’t help it when he talks to you like that.
He’s wearing the same pants you saw him in when you brought him cannolis. The cream ones he almost kissed you in. The bottoms are cuffed, a pair of dark brown loafers on his feet, they look worn in but the gold buckle on top of them still shines in the dingy light of your stairwell.
“You look too pretty to be going on a date with me,” he says it in a way that almost makes you believe it.
“Look who’s talkin’, handsome,” you manage to get out, making the apples of his cheeks dust your favorite shade of pink.
Opening your apartment door a little wider, the knots in your stomach twist a little tighter when his eyes linger on your lips.
Is he gonna do it now?
“You can come in, I just gotta put on my shoes.” You clear your throat, stepping aside when he doesn’t make any moves, tugging at the low cut collar of your shirt like it’s tight as your blood starts to run hot.
You’re hit with the smell of his cologne when he crosses the threshold, it’s different today, more woodsy than you’re used to and it makes your head spin. He looks around with fresh eyes, admiring all the details he missed now that he can see them in the light of day. Glimpses of you that he hasn’t gotten to know yet. Missing pieces to your puzzle. His gaze slowly finds its way to your kitchen that almost sparkles.
“That’s two visits in a row that I’ve come here and your dishes are done.” Steve points to your empty sink, “I’m impressed.”
He gets his first eye roll of the day.
“Careful, we haven’t left yet. I could still cancel.” Wiggling your slipper covered feet as a reminder, you smirk. “My shoes aren’t even on, it’d be so easy to do.”
“Oh yeah? How easy?” He raises his eyebrows in a challenge, the corners of his mouth twitch as he tries to keep his face straight.
“Like flipping a light switch, easy,” you retort smugly, making sure to sway your hips a little more when you walk to your room. Fighting the giddy smile that threatens to take over your face, you lose when you’re out of his sight.
You aren’t expecting him to follow you, but you find him standing in your doorway when you take a seat on your bed.
“If it’s so easy…” there’s a new confidence in the way he looks at you now, like knows you want him too.
He looks at the untied sneakers next to your feet before taking the first steps into your room. He pauses to let you stop him, but when you smirk at him with a cocked eyebrow he closes the rest of the space. Crouching down in front of you, playful eyes meet yours from under thick lashes. The freckles that dot the top of his nose seem darker in the daylight. You wonder if there’s a way to find and kiss all of them.
“Let me make it harder.”
He’s gentle when he takes your socked foot in his hand, the warmth of his skin seeping through the cotton. It makes your heart race. He grabs your sneaker, the slight platform looking small in his grasp when his fingers wrap around your ankle to push it on. The pad of his thumb rubs at the soft skin there when he has to use a little force.
Long fingers work the laces like a pro, forearms flexing when he tightens after each eyelet, always just enough, never too tight. Leaning back on your palms, you watch him with the kind of adoration you couldn’t hide even if you tried when he repeats the same process on your other foot.
He ties both in a perfect bow, a proud smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes when he looks up for your approval. Your favorite strand already begs to come out of its gelled confines and your fingers itch ready to brush it away again if it escapes.
“I usually double tie it,” you giggle with another wiggle of your foot. “I mean, if you really wanna make sure I stay put.”
Steve huffs out a laugh, hot breath fanning against your skin that leaves goosebumps in its wake. He holds your stare while tying his perfect bow into a duplicate on both shoes, smirking when you squirm.
“No running now honey.”
The neighborhood is alive in a different way than you’ve seen before, the rush of everyday life is replaced with sparklers, Italian ice, and live music. The cars that lined the sides of the street including Steve’s are nowhere to be seen. Multicolored tents with homemade signs of vendors from all over the city replace them instead.
The sun hangs high, bright in the cerulean sky. Golden and warm like the man next to you. His Raybans cover his eyes now, leaving you defenseless against trying to read his thoughts. It’s different in public like this, it’s not just you two in the spaces between houses - in front yards, in alleys, in kitchens. It’s new feelings, new territory, and lots of people, but Steve searches for comfort in you when he takes your hand into his like it’s nothing.
“This is not what I was expecting when you said block party,” you say with an overwhelmed giggle, walking with no real destination, moving with the crowd.
The fair rides catch your sight from the end of the street taking up the middle school parking lot. A ferris wheel just high enough you think you’d be able to see the lake from the top of it. It blinks multicolored bulbs, red white and blue flags hanging from its hinges blowing in the breeze haphazardly. The sweet smell of honey roasted almonds almost over powers the sizzle of Italian beef, and the butter of the popcorn.
“Yeah, they go all out because it’s sponsored,” Steve offers with a shy smile, “This is actually my first one if I’m being honest, I usually go out of town for these, Bandit hates fireworks.”
“Wait? Is he home? Is he going to be okay? Do you have one of those vest thingy’s? I’ve read about them-“ Your pace slows, worry setting deep in your features and Steve thinks it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
“Yes, he’s in good hands. He’s staying with his aunt Nancy in the suburbs where it’s not so bad.” He chuckles, pulling your hand to his lips, they’re soft like silk when they press a kiss to your skin. It’s enough for your face to relax, eyes glazing over at the contact. “I promise honey.”
“Such a good daddy Steve, it’s cute,” you giggle, the nickname falling way too easily off your lips to not even be looking at him. Steve’s jaw clenches, he wants to kiss you. Bad. It doesn’t help that your gloss shimmers like glitter in the sun. Tempting him. The worst part is knowing you’d let him kiss you too.
Not yet - the plan.
His hand twitches at his side, he wants the familiar comfort of his fingers through his hair to ease his nerves but he can’t. It took him way too long to get it styled like this. Instead, he scratches at his jaw with a tight lipped smile.
“Thanks, I try.”
The two of you wander through the different tents, a tentative hand always finding its way to your lower back whenever you stop at something you want to take a closer look at. Light conversation about your weeks at work comes easy, your touches staying a little shy, both of you unsure how to act in such a crowded place.
The more the afternoon goes on like this, the endless butterflies that only exist for him start to stir from their cocoons. It’s when you lean over a table to get a better look at a moonstone that’s delicately hanging from a silver chain, that they start to stretch their wings. They flutter when you feel bold fingertips trace a line up your spine before long fingers wrap around the back of your neck giving the tense muscles there a squeeze. The pad of his thumb digging lightly into the spot behind your ear that makes your eyes want to close. You tuck your bottom lip between teeth to hold back your groan, the week of heavy trays and heavy thoughts coming loose under his touch.
“You like that one?” His voice startles you, it’s deep, rich and just above a whisper right by your ear. He chuckles when you jump a little letting his hand slide down the dip of your back, blunt nails scratching at the small of it.
“Yeah, it’s cute. I used to have one just like it but I lost it a few years ago.” Your eyes trace around the smooth stone, before seeing the sixty dollar price tag attached to it.
Not that cute.
“Hopefully not in a sink.” It comes out of his mouth like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.
The glare you give him makes him snort, hands raising in surrender while your reflection in his lenses turns you into a giggling mess. The sixty year old woman in a moo moo trying to cool herself down with a paper fan on the other side of the table doesn’t think either of you are very funny. Steve digs for his wallet, your mouth opening in protest before he pulls out a crisp twenty from the tan leather billfold.
“Let’s get out of her hair, I saw something a few tables down that I want to grab for Eddie. Want to get us a lemonade and I’ll meet you?” Steve points to the concession stand on the other side of the tent, where a line of over excited kids and their already worn out parents have formed.
You watch his eyebrows raise behind the frames of his sunglasses when you just stare at the money in his hand making no indication of grabbing it. He knows what you’re doing.
“I asked you on a date if you remember, tough girl, I can buy you a what? A six dollar drink?” He huffs, lips twitching despite himself.
Steve gets his second eye roll of the day, this one accompanied with the kind of smile he wants from you all the time. He hopes it was the reminder that you were on a date with him that makes you beam like that.
“Fair enough of an argument, I guess,” you sigh with a hint of a giggle at the end, and it makes him shake his head, white teeth on display leaving you a giddy mess.
He holds the bill out for you to take again, even though his eyes are hidden behind tinted lenses, you know he’s giving you a look. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth to try and stop your smile from growing, your fingers wrapping around the bill sweetly.
“I’ll be five minutes,” he starts as you tuck the twenty into your back pocket.
“I got your number handsome.” You wink, making his cheeks bubblegum pink as you walk away. “No running, remember?”
“That double knot isn’t coming loose honey. Five minutes.” He gestures the minutes with his hand, the kind of grin on his face that threatens to make you fall in love.
🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋
The heat starts getting sticky, the breeze from before coming to a standstill making the plastic cup wet in your hand. The condensation drips down the bright yellow lemons that decorate it and onto your fingers but it feels good. You shift from side to side awkwardly next to the concession stand, people watching with the green bendy straw in your mouth. You’re closer to the school now, the sight of fair games in the shade of tents cooled down by giant fans catches your eye. The empty ring toss table calling your name.
That’s when you see him, an irrational anger settling in your gut at how he somehow looks even more attractive than he did ten minutes ago. You can tell the moment he spots you through the crowd, a giant smile stretching so wide across his face it threatens to compete with the sun and it's just for you.
“That was longer than five minutes, Steve,” you tsk when he reaches you, trying not to overthink the fact that he doesn’t have any sort of bag.
He chuckles, a little out of breath, giving into his impulse to run his fingers through his hair. The heat of the day finally ruining any product that was left in it.
“You just got one lemonade?” He points to the dripping cup in your hands with a smirk.
“Yeah, I realized that after I’d ordered, but could you imagine if I was left waiting here for ten minutes with two of these?!” You lift it up like it's heavy before narrowing your eyes playfully, “Why? Got a problem sharing with me or something?”
He lifts his sunglasses pushing them up to rest on top of his head, and they almost get lost in the thickness of his honey and pepper locks. The full force of the mossy green browns of his eyes make your thighs press.
“No, just wanted to make sure before I did this.” Leaning forward, his gaze stays focused on yours before his lips wrap around the straw. His adams apple bobs in his throat when he takes a long gulp, while beads of sweat collect and drip down the sides of his neck making you lick your lips.
“G-good?” You manage to ask when he pulls away wiping his chin with the back of his hand.
“Delicious actually. Is that a hint of strawberry?” Steve asks with a widening grin, the pad of his thumbs swiping away some of the excess lipgloss he’d gotten off the straw. You rub your lips together subconsciously, the corners of them threatening to pull up when he puts his sunglasses back on.
“Strawberry and watermelon actually.”
The air between you grows thick with something that’s not the humidity, especially when you see the way more sweat glistens from the tease of soft curls on his chest. Was that a third button undone?
“I didn’t catch the watermelon, I’ll just have to get a better taste next time.” His ears catch your quick intake of breath. He could do it now, really taste you. The way your eyes keep dropping to his mouth tells him you want him to.
Stick to the plan.
He takes the cup that you have to hold with both hands into one, fingers wrapping around it with ease. Stealing your hand in his other, they intertwine like they missed each other. The cold condensation left on your palm from the lemonade cools the warmth of his heated skin from the sun and from you.
“Let’s go check out the games.”
“You know ring toss is a scam right?” Steve sighs, the two of you standing in front of the booth you’d eye’d from across the block.
“It’s not a scam, it’s a game of skill Steve.”
You give him his third eye roll of the day and it makes the corners of his lips curve despite giving you one in return.
“I thought you were Mr. Sports anyway, shouldn’t you be good at this? Don’t you work for the Cubs or something?” You copy his stance, taking note of how it gets him more irritated.
“Mr. Sports? I do marketing, I don’t play for the team,” he scoffs at the nickname, but the playfulness that fills your eyes is contagious and it’s enough to feed his soul for months. “I’m plenty good at this game, I just didn’t want you to get discouraged.”
“Me? Discouraged?” You give him a sarcastic laugh and it makes his cheeks push up. He can’t remember the last time he smiled like this.
“I’m just looking out for you, that’s all.” He shrugs, taking another sip of the lemonade so he doesn’t laugh at the face that gets you to make.
“You don’t have to look out for me, in fact I’m gonna raise the stakes Harrington.” He loves how you say his last name like you’ve known him for years, especially when you’re heated. “The loser has to buy funnel cake after this, or is that too much for you to handle?” You raise your eyebrows, in a challenge.
“It’s never too much for me to handle.” Steve makes sure to look you up and down, enjoying the way it makes you squirm before continuing, “And don’t worry I’m not really going to make you pay for the funnel cake after I beat you.”
He signals to the teenager on the other side of the table for two rounds, laughing at the way you scoff around giggles giving his shoulder a light shove.
———————————————————————
It takes about three throws for Steve to realize he’s going to eat his words when he watches the plastic ring bounce off the lip of the bottle again.
“Aww maybe the next one, champ.” you pout with a quick flick of your wrist, your fourth ring hitting the top of the bottle before spinning down the neck of it with a hollow hum just like the three before and it makes Steve’s jaw clench. “I like extra powdered sugar by the way.”
He grumbles something to himself grabbing his last ring, feeling the heat of your stare on him, he tries to ignore the way it makes all the blood rush to his cheeks and focus on at least making one. His eyes squint as he picks his target.
“Maybe you need those glasses that were on your desk?” You shrug nonchalantly, conveniently refusing to meet his incredulous gaze, a smirk playing the edges of your lips.
“I don’t need glasses - who are you? Where’s that sweet girl from next door, huh?” He can’t help but laugh when your smirk breaks out into a fit of giggles.
“I'm competitive when it comes to meaningless games, Steve. What can I say?” You sigh, your admission making him snort as he refocuses on the bottle again.
“Competitive but hates sports, makes total sense,” mumbling, he does a few practice throws not letting the ring go. He’s not expecting you to come up beside him so close that he can smell the perfume you sprayed this morning. He wants to bury his nose in your neck and inhale.
“Just bend your arm a little here, baby,” the teasing edge to your voice is gone, replaced with something sticky sweet like the lemonade he shared with you, like your strawberry and watermelon lip gloss. ‘Baby’ rings loud in his ears and needs to hear you say it again, he always wants to be your baby.
Your touch is gentle when you bend his elbow just slightly, soft fingers that feel electric.
“You settin’ me up?” Steve’s eyes meet yours, smile going lopsided when he catches you getting a little shy.
“I’m not! I promise.” You giggle again and he decides he’ll buy you as many funnel cakes as you want. “If you think you’re throwing it too soft, you’re not.”
You back away to let him make his move, he’s more concentrated than you’ve ever seen as he takes your advice to heart. His tongue pokes out as he lines himself up, silently counting to three before letting go. You hold back your squeal watching it catch on the top, spinning sloppily down the neck plastic clinking against the glass loudly.
“Wooo!” Steve’s hands shoot up the bottom of his shirt rising with it giving you a glimpse of his happy trail. Excitement radiating from his bright smile..
God you just want to kiss him.
“See, skill, not luck,” you tease.
“How’d you get so good at this?” He questions watching you make your fifth one without a second thought.
“I lived in a small town with nothing to do but stupid games like this.” You shrug, you hadn’t thought about home since moving here, a nostalgic pain hits your chest.
“You get to pick a prize,” the teenager cuts into your conversation, refusing to let Steve ask the questions that were obviously on the tip of his tongue.
He points to the grid wall behind him where everything from classic teddy bears, purple dragons, and dancing bananas are strung up in a pop of bright colors. Steve watches with admiration at the focus on your face as your eyes look over every option like it’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make in your life. Then you look up at him and ask-
“Which one do you think Bandit would like?”
Maybe his plan was stupid, maybe he should just say fuck it and kiss your right here.
“I think he’d really dig the banana, definitely his style.” Steve nods casually trying not to let it show that he thinks he’s already falling in love with you.
You beam at him before telling the kid your choice, excitedly grabbing it when it’s handed to you. Steve looks out to the sun starting to set burnt orange and pink in the sky telling himself he can hold out for at least another hour, maybe two. Maybe.
“You should have seen the woman’s face when I asked for more sugar,” Steve huffs, dropping the deep fried treat in front of you. The sweet powder puffs like smoke falling off the dough like snow landing onto the already formed piles that cover the bottom of the paper plate.
“She was just jealous,” you wave off, wiggling your fingers in excitement unsure of where to even start as he takes the seat next to you, knees bumping under the picnic table you’d found.
“Jealous of what? The dentist visit I’ll need to pay for after this?” Steve cocks an eyebrow, pulling off a piece regardless of his complaining. His sunglasses hang down the middle of his shirt again, the sun low enough for his eyes to come out of hiding, stealing some of the confidence you have when you don’t get distracted by them.
You roll your eyes for the fourth time and it starts making him feel spoiled, especially the way the corners of your mouth always give you away curving up the littlest bit after each one.
Ignoring his complaining you plop a piece into your mouth, the extra sugar sticks to your gloss and he really starts to hate his plan again when he watches your tongue dart out to lick it off.
“So what made you move here?” Steve asks, the curiosity from before coming back as he brushes some of the powder from another piece.
A small laugh escapes through your nose, your eyes meeting his from under your lashes before darting back to the dessert. You didn’t have an exciting or dramatic reason to give, not even a career path. The nerves of a different kind kick up in the fear of being perceived as a mess once he really gets to know you. It makes your palms sweat.
“I don’t know, New York always intimidated me,” you offer with a half smile, picking at the sides of the fried dough.
“Come on, tough girl.” Steve bumps his shoulder with yours, his cologne mixing with the day in a way that has you wanting to bottle it up for yourself.
You sigh, lips twitching in a grin before giving into him.
“It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do. Live in a big city.” You gesture around you before ripping off another bite. “My parents have never lived anywhere else their whole lives, so I promised myself that if I was still there when I was thirty, I’d do it. I’d pack up and move no matter what, and that’s exactly what I did.” You laugh, popping the small treat in your mouth.
“I don’t really have a plan? I don’t really know what I’m doing which is scary and exciting all at the same time,” you admit, avoiding his gaze hunting for another perfect bite and it just kinda feels like stress eating now.
“You sound like me.” Steve chuckles, and it makes you freeze, finally daring to look at him. The tan he got from the day was already starting to show, the laugh lines under his eyes a little more prominent from this close. The stubble that lines his jaw has a little more salt than pepper.
“Yeah?” You hate how quiet your voice sounds, blaming it on the way his thigh is pressed tight against yours.
“You think I wanted to get into sports marketing my whole life?” Steve snorts, “I”m from a small town in Indiana, I worked at an ice cream shop in a mall and a video rental store after high school. I had no idea what I wanted to do, or who I was.”
His hand reaches under the table, fingers wrapping around your knee to give it a reassuring squeeze.
“If it wasn’t for a drunk night with Eddie and my other best friend Robin after a shitty day at work,” He shrugs, picking at the dough, “telling me about this three bedroom apartment in Chicago they had found real cheap through some guy named Rick, who knows what I’d be doing now.”
There’s a moment of silence between you, letting the realization that the Steve you’d built up in your head wasn’t the man next to you. The man next to you was better. He was real. Hope blooms inside your chest that maybe you weren’t so lost after all.
“Well, that just made me like you even more. Great.” You fake annoyance but your shy smile gives you away.
“Oh yeah?” He flirts, wiggling his eyebrows at you leaning in closer, loving how he can hear the stutter in your breath every time.
“Well, maybe.”
“Maybe?” His question comes out soft, his nose bumping yours while his eyes linger on the sugar that collected on your already sweet lips.
You nod with a sigh, sticky gloss and fluttering lashes, big eyes that beg him. The hand on your knee comes up to cup your face, the tip of his thumb tracing your bottom lip before tugging it down mesmerized by how it still shimmers after all this time.
Fuck the plan.
“Harrington? I thought that was you!”
Both of you jump, your hand nearly flipping the plate when an unsuspecting voice pops you two out of your bubble. Again. It takes everything inside Steve not to groan out loud, recognizing the man behind the interruption instantly. His boss.
“Richard?” Steve’s voice changes to the version you’d heard on the phone as he spins around in his seat giving you the perfect view of the way the linen stretches over his shoulders.
He was going to kiss you and now he’s talking to Richard.
Your eyes meet a much older man’s dark brown ones, he looks somewhere in his mid to late sixties, but the kind of late sixties that told you he had money. The thick white cotton of his t-shirt looks Egyptian, the light wash jeans look like the kind of denim that cost more than your rent. The hundred and fifty dollar leather Cole Haan sneakers on his feet make it seem dressed down despite the wing tip. Casual rich.
“I didn’t think you’d be here sir.” Steve chuckles nervously scratching the back of his neck.
“Well, someone has to see where the money you convinced me to spend is going.” He smiles but it’s warm in spite of his playful jab.
“Besides, I’ve heard it’s you that doesn’t come to these things.” Richard’s eyes meet yours with a knowing sparkle behind them, “But I've got an idea why this year’s different.”
The heat rushes to your cheeks from the implications of his words and you try and bite back your own grin when you look down at the half eaten dessert.
“Well it’s always good to see you outside of the field Harrington, I think The ALS Foundation and the Chicago Parks District will be happy with their checks this year. Great job as always son,” he compliments proudly.
The two of them talk “shop” for a few minutes, but all you can focus on is the fact that Steve put this all together and it’s something he’s been doing for years. Channeling his grief into something good and it makes your heart swell.
“There’s an empty skybox with your name on it for next week’s game, bring your girl. It’ll be fun. I’ll let you two get back to it.” Richard’s voice gets louder with his departure breaking you out of your thoughts as he pats Steve on his shoulder, giving him a fatherly squeeze.
“Enjoy the fireworks.”
He throws you a wink before walking away taking your kiss from Steve with him.
The music thumps low in the distance when you two get to a part of the lake that isn’t a public beach. It’s a Marina but not one for just anybody, the docks are mostly empty but the boats that are there look expensive, definitely not rentals.
‘What are we doing Steve?” You whisper but it sounds more like a yell when he pulls out a keycard to open up the gate that stops you from going inside.
“My buddy has a boat, well it’s not here but his spot is, at the very end. We’d get a perfect view of Navy Pier and the fireworks. No people.” He opens the gate with a loud creak, his hand extending out for you to take. “Jus’ me and you.”
The skyline shines behind him, the wind catching in his unruly hair with the kind of smile you’d be insane to say no to.
So you don’t.
You slide your hand into his without any hesitation, like it’s meant to be there, watching the way it disappears in his grasp.
“That’s my girl.”
The dock bobs in the small waves under your feet as he leads you out to the empty spot all the way at the end. The lake looks black, endless with the other side nowhere in sight. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it was the ocean. You’re almost scared when you get to the end and all you can see is the white tops of the water breaking against the rocks.
The faint sounds of voices from the crowds at the pier catch in the wind, the long tourist attraction shining bright not that far from you. The ferris wheel towers above the lake, the glass enclosures catching the lights from the city while its own twinkles against the stars in the clear sky.
“Steve, this is gorgeous.” You don’t know where to look, the man or the city.
He grins like he’s proud of himself, letting your hand go to lay the blanket down. Your eyes take in the view again while he gets situated, and you try to picture what it’s going to look like in a few minutes with all the colors in the sky.
“Baby,” the pet name comes out easy for him when he uses it to get your attention, like it’s what he should’ve been calling you all along. He likes the smile he gets when he says it too.
Both his hands reach out for you to take, helping you down to sit in the space between his legs. His knees lift up when you sit, while his arms wrap around your waist to pull you close. With your back to his chest, he rests his chin on your shoulder, his stubble tickling your neck when the tip of his nose runs along your jaw inhaling the powdered sugar and strawberry that still lingers on your skin.
“God, I’ve wanted you this close all day,” he confesses like it's a secret he’s exhausted from keeping.
“Yeah?” You whisper, tilting your head to give him better access while his lips ghost against the shell of your ear, feeling the way they curve into a smile.
“You have no idea, beautiful girl.” He presses a soft kiss on your temple, the tips of his fingers exploring your rib cage and you wonder if he can feel the butterflies.
His lips drag to the apple of your cheek where he leaves another one before he pulls away, the music getting louder from the pier signaling the start of the show.
“Thank you for today.” You turn your head to look at him because you already miss him.
He tilts his chin down to meet your eyes over the slope of his nose, his knees going flat on the ground while his hand comes up to cup the side of your face. The pad of his thumb tracing the high bone of your cheek while he holds your gaze. He doesn’t care if he misses the fireworks.
“Really, I should thank you for everything you’ve done since I moved here,” you keep going with a low voice, the water lapping against the dock underneath you creating the kind of peace you don’t want to disturb.
The tip of his nose bumps against yours, quick breaths meeting in the middle. All he’d have to do is tilt his head.
“Honey, you saved me.” Steve’s brows furrow when he presses his forehead against yours.
The sting is happy when you smile at him through glassy eyes, tilting your chin up just enough for your lips to brush.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Color flashes bright in the inky sky, it lights up Steve’s face in red’s and blue’s that sparkle against the jade and chestnut in his eyes. This time the interruption isn’t one that can stop him, closing the space he finally gets to do what he’s wanted to do since that night in his kitchen.
He’s gentle at first, his top lip brushing against your bottom and he loves the way it makes you sigh, giving into him the moment they finally connect. You turn in his lap, your hand finding its way to the back of his neck to pull him closer already needing more, your fingers curl in the soft hair at the base of it, greedy. Colors explode behind your eyes rivaling the ones above you when he dares to lick at your bottom lip, the firework display just the background to the main event when you let him in.
It’s lemonade and mint when his tongue massages slow against yours, his thumb tugging at your chin to open you up more for him. He kisses you like he’s sure of himself, taking his time so he can savor every moment of it like he could do this all night if you’d let him. He would too. The summer of unspoken words and miscommunicated feelings disappear when your lips move with the kind of desperation that comes with letting go. Giving into everything you both tried to fight while your tongues battle for dominance.
It’s too much but not enough all at once, the longer his lips move against yours it’s like they're never meant to be apart, like he didn’t know how he went this long without them.
The fireworks get louder above you signaling that you’re near the end of the show and you wish you had more time, especially when he starts kissing down your neck when he needs to catch his breath. Wet and sloppy, his lips make a sticky mess from all the gloss he collected from you, the watermelon he didn’t get to taste before making itself known. Sugary sweet like the girl in his lap.
“I know it’s super lame to ask for a second date while on the first one, but that baseball game is next week if you want to go?” He finally speaks, breaking the silence, nudging his nose against yours when he finally stops his assault on your neck, swollen and pink, his lips shine with the evidence of you.
“Only if you teach me the rules, or I’ll have no idea who to yell angrily at if you don’t.” You grin, nuzzling into his neck.
“Deal.”
His chest shakes with laughter, while a hand smooths down your back pulling you even closer to him. The smoke from the fireworks still lingers in white wisps in the air. The lapping of the water falling in time with your breathing, while you and Steve enjoy the quiet, letting the crowds go home before you try and make your way back. It’s a night of hushed words, shared secrets, and stolen kisses.
He walks you home at half past midnight, kissing you till you’re dizzy against your door with a promise of a text in the morning. He stops halfway down the stairs before jogging back up to kiss you again, this one a little tender with a whispered “Sweet dreams tough girl.” attached to it.
You don't need to wish for sweet dreams anymore, not when you have Steve.
———————————————————————
beta’d by @superblysubpar
dividers by @newlips
#my wriitng#all i really want it you series#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington smut#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington series#steve harrington slow burn#steve harrington imagines#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fanfiction#Spotify
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The Scariest Movie I Ever Saw in a Theater: The Ring
I'll tell you up front that the story I'm going to tell you is about "The Ring (2002)," in the sense that it is about The Ring in the year 2002.
See, I don't know what The Scariest Movie Ever is. A quick google says that the consensus is The Exorcist (I haven't seen it, because I never felt like scheduling a day to freak myself the entire fuck out). But horror is specific, and not just to a person, but to a time and place, even. When I saw The Shining as a teenager in a well-lit living room with other people, I didn't even really flinch, but I bet it would play very differently to me now. I don’t think The Ring is at the top of anyone’s list, but twenty years ago, I had a personal interest in it—at the time, I was running a dinky little Geocities site devoted to movie news. Links curated and compiled from all the other, bigger sites I followed—basically, it was the linkspam format I have used on multiple platforms, including here on Sundays. And so, as someone who followed theatrical releases pretty closely for two or three years, I saw the trailer for The Ring, and I immediately knew it was going to be huge.
To locate you in time, this was just after three self-satirizing Scream movies and the Overcomplicated Serial Killer films of the '90s. The Ring was something completely different: chill aqua-blue color grading a good 5-6 years before Twilight; a mournful Hans Zimmer score; no jokes, no quips; and a slow, inexorable sense of doom. Grief, even, given that the movie begins with the death of the main character's niece. What immediately struck me about the first trailer was 1) the melancholy of it, and 2) how much it doesn't explain. Onscreen, you get the title cards,
THERE IS A VIDEOTAPE
IF YOU WATCH IT
SEVEN DAYS LATER
YOU DIE
youtube
Concise! Understandable! A woman (Naomi Watts) is freaking out upon discovering that her young son has just watched it! Admirable job setting up the premise and the stakes of this entire movie in thirty seconds flat, without even any dialogue. That's all you need to know, and thus, the remaining minute of the trailer can do whatever it wants, and what it wants to do is be fucking weird. Echoing voices, TV static, a closeup of a horse's eye, ladders, a girl with dark hair, people reacting to things we don't see, drippy doorknobs, rain. Characters don't give us the whole plot in convenient soundbites of dialogue (like they do in a later trailer); we just hear lines, overlapping, murmured out of context—
did you see it in your head? she talks to you... leading you somewhere... showing you the horses... you saw it. did you see it in your head? she shows me things. Everyone suffers.
That you saw it has lived in my head ever since, and not once have I charged it rent. But the "best" part is Naomi Watts screaming at the end, because you don't hear her voice; you only hear this heartless telephonic beeeeeeep. It's 2002 and I'm watching this trailer, thinking, I have no idea what the fuck I just saw. This is going to be huge.
And it was, to the tune of $249 million on a $48M budget.
At risk of recapping what you might already know, Ringu, aka Ring, is a media franchise that spiraled out from a trio of Koji Suzuki novels into Hideo Nakata's film Ringu (1998), a landmark of Japanese horror, plus several other movies, some TV series, many comics, and even a couple of video games. The overarching story is about a murdered girl/vengeful ghost named Sadako Yamamura whose rage and pain have created a cursed video tape, you watch it and you die unless you pass the tape around like a virus, seven daaaaays, etc.
The "ring" in question is the rim of a well. Keep that well in mind.
The movie I saw is the U.S. remake, which itself had two sequels. (The iconic Sadako is now named Samara Morgan. Keep her in mind, too.) Director Gore Verbinski moved from The Ring to Pirates of the the Caribbean (!), and so Hideo Nakata himself would direct The Ring Two. I... honestly have only seen the first one. And I was right, it was huge, and it kicked off the American J-Horror Remake genre, for better or worse. But what gets forgotten about The Ring is its marketing campaign, which I followed pretty closely for my doofy little news site.
It was inspired.
The story of The Ring is partly the story of the sea change in the media landscape—how we watch movies. And the story of its marketing is a picture of the very last years before social media changed the wilderness of the internet into something that feels so big, like a billion people could see anything we say, and yet so small—only a tame handful of places to say it, owned by three or four companies, and corraled by algorithms.
Back around 1997-1998 or so, I worked at a video store (Movie Gallery, where the hits were there then, guaranteed) for about a year and a half. By the time I left, we had started adding DVDs to the VHS tapes on the shelves, but we hadn't replaced the entire stock. Video stores might have transitioned fully to DVD by 2002, I'm not sure, but people still commonly had both VCRs and DVD players in their homes. And I remember that The Ring was sold in both formats when it eventually hit home video. Which is to say—you know the analog horror genre today? Marble Hornets, Local 58, The Mandela Catalogue?
Analog horror is commonly characterized by low-fidelity graphics, cryptic messages, and visual styles reminiscent of late 20th-century television and analog recordings. This is done to match the setting, as analog horror works are typically set between the 1960s and 1990s. The name "analog horror" comes from the genre's aesthetic incorporation of elements related to analog electronics, such as analog television and VHS, the latter being an analog method of recording video.
Okay, but this is just what home media was like, and 2002 was at the very tail end of that—boxy black VHS tapes that degraded with time and reuse were just how we lived. At the same time, I'd been using CDs for music since about 1991, and all our software installs came on CD-ROM discs; a "mixtape" by that time had shifted to mean a rewriteable CD rather than a cassette tape. In college, I—well, I'll plead the Fifth as to whether I downloaded mp3s via Napster, but I was also taping Mystery Science Theater 3000 on VHS over the weekends. It was Every Format Everywhere, All At Once, and we kept half a dozen kinds of players around for them. Here in 2023, we stream and download everything invisibly, unless we choose to engage in format nostalgia. (I've already run into the problem of Apple Music deleting songs I really liked, due to this or that licensing issue, because I was really only renting them.) The year The Ring hit theaters was the edge of a last shimmering gasp of physical media where iTunes had only come into being the year before, and iridescent discs were still mostly what we used, but cassettes, both video and audio, were still viable. And so, people did not think it was terribly weird when they started finding unlabeled VHS tapes on their windshields.
Movieweb, quoting TikTok user astro_nina:
"Their marketing strategy was essentially 'let's get this tape viewed by as many people as possible without these people being aware of what this is, sort of raising intrigue," she says.
One way they achieved this was by airing the tape, which allegedly marks its viewers for death within seven days, as a commercial with no context. The video would air between late-night programming "with no words, no mention of a movie, for like a month...so people would run into it and it would just go on to the next thing, and people would be like, 'what the f--k is this?'"
I remember seeing the Cursed Video as an unexplained ad at least twice, by the way. That TikTok also indicates that DreamWorks straight-up sent copies of the tape to Hot Topic stores, as well as planting them under actual movie theater seats. While running my movie site, I heard at least one story of someone finding a tape on the sink counter of a restroom at a club. Did the marketing department actually plant tapes in bathrooms—or did a freaked-out recipient leave it there, hoping to dodge the "curse"?
(I haven't embedded the Cursed Video here, by the way—but I could have. If you'd like to see the American take on it, you can watch both the full version and the shorter variant that appeared in the movie itself. A text description of what the fuck you're even looking at is here [content note for both: blood, insects, animal death, body horror, and suicide by falling]. The original version from the Japanese film is shorter, and it's eerie rather than gruesome.)
BUT WAIT, THERE WAS MORE: DreamWorks had something of an alternate-reality campaign going with a handful of in-character websites. This was only a year after Warner Bros. ran the groundbreaking "The Beast" ARG for A.I.: Artificial Intelligence: "Ultimately, fifty websites with a total of about one thousand pages were created for the [A.I.] game." (I lurked in the Cloudmakers Yahoo group.) Marketing for The Ring did not go anywhere that in depth, nor did it need to; it was both a smaller film and a smaller story. I saw at least two “personal” websites (seemingly amateur and a little tacky, like my own), but the one I particularly remember was about someone who owned/trained horses? I'm not sure if it was meant to be the actual Anna Morgan character—Samara's mother—or maybe someone who had noticed that the Morgans' horses were disturbed? I'm not even sure anyone even remembers this but me. Reddit users dug up a few other archived websites, but they're about Sadako, the curse and/or videotape; they aren't as subtle or character-oriented as the site I remember. (Honestly, I wonder if weird shit like "What Scares Me" or "SEVEN DAYS TO LIVE" were made by fans rather than a marketing department, but who knows.)
[The “About” page from Seven Days to Live on the Internet Archive.]
[The entirety of An Open Letter on the Internet Archive. “UPDATE” is a now-blank pop-up. I would bet $5 that it was originally a pop-up of the cursed video.]
I need to point out here that Facebook did not exist in 2002. It would not exist for another two years, and Twitter wouldn't exist until 2006. Even MySpace was not a thing until the next year. I didn't start my Livejournal until October of 2003. What we had, for the most part, were independent forums and blogs. We also had Creepy Internet Fiction like "The Dionaea House" and "Ted the Caver"; their use of the blog format, of people out there seemingly living their lives until something fucked up went down, gave the stories the shape of reality. And it helped that these blogs had comment sections, sure—sometimes more story unfolded there—but for the most part, an author could "abandon" a blog, and you'd just find the story there via word of mouth. Like the Ring blogs I remember, it wouldn't seem strange if no one replied to you, whereas today, you'd have to hire a writer to sit on Twitter, or Reddit, or even Tumblr, and interact with people in character. Could you do something like The Ring's mysterious, weird-ass blogs today? Would anyone even notice?
So: It's 2002, my head is full of Alternate Reality and eerie images and you saw it, and I'm hype as hell to go out and see The Ring. I'm perfectly happy to go see movies by myself, so I went in the early afternoon (best time to get a good seat). The movie ended up being a sleeper hit, and the first weekend, the public was still sleeping on it, so there were only 7-8 other people in that theater, grouped in maybe two clusters. I was off in my own little pool of darkness in the upper right quadrant. Functionally, once the lights went down, I was alone.
Despite some middling reviews at the time, The Ring is something of a horror classic nowadays. If you want a scary movie this Spooky Season, check out The Ring. Or don't, because it nearly killed me.
We're at the last, I don't know, third of the movie? And Our Heroine has tracked down the origin of the Cursed Videotape to some creepy mountain motel or whatever. SPOILER, it turns out that it was built over the Cursed Well (everything in this movie is cursed) that Our Villain was thrown into—that's why Sadako/Samara is a vengeful wet murder ghost crawling out of TVs now. While investigating this decrepit hotel room, intrepid journalist Rachel and her, who is it, her ex-husband? her kid's dad, idk, discover the well under the creaky old floorboards. And then, wouldn't you know it,
NAOMI WATTS FALLS INTO THE WELL
NAOMI WATTS FALLS INTO THE FUCKING WELL
THAT'S WHERE SAMARA'S BODY IS
youtube
[The rather slapstick moment when Rachel falls into the well. Does not include what actually happens next.]
I go absolutely rigid in my seat. Naomi Watts is splashing around this dark-ass death swamp of a well and I know, with as much certainty as I have ever known anything in my life, that Samara is about to pop up in all her pasty, waterlogged glory. All the sad creepy dread, all the desperation to figure out what the fuck all that shit on the tape was and stop Samara from killing Rachel's son, all the horrible contorted victim faces, all the alternate reality I’ve been soaking in, it has all come to this. I have to leave the theater. I cannot be having with this. I have to be gone from this place. My legs do not work. I cannot feel them. I am frozen. I want nothing more in this life or any other to get up and leave this cavernous pitch-black room, and I cannot. I start praying for death. I want you to understand that I am not trying to be flippant or humorous. This is genuinely what went through my head. I was too scared to even think, "You know, you could just pray to pass out or for motion to return to your limbs or something." No, I sat there in The Ring thinking, Please for the love of all mercy just let me cease being.
You know that scene in Mulholland Drive (also starring Naomi Watts)? Winkie's diner and the EXCRUCIATING tension? It was a little like that, except I wasn't watching it, I was experiencing it, and Samara was my dirt monster out behind the diner.
Except that the jump scare didn't actually happen. I mean, yes, Rachel finds Samara's body down there, but—I don't remember exactly, please don't make me go watch it again to tell you what actually happens. It's played more sympathetically on Rachel's part, as I recall, and she and her ex get Samara's body out so that she (Samara) can have a proper burial.
And then it turns out that this is not the end of the movie. It turns out that Rachel has Fucked Up.
I think I was relatively okay through the rest of it, although the climax is Samara emerging from a TV in her full glitching swampy glory to scare [SPOILER] to death. I don't recall praying for death twice. There's a point when you're so exhausted from fear chemicals that you're like, yeah, this might as well happen. Bring it, Soggy. I did have a hard time prying myself out of that seat afterwards, though, and my mom says that when I got home, I had the classic thousand-yard stare. How was the movie?
"It was great," I said, and I meant it.
I've seen things that were objectively scarier (I watched much of The Haunting of Hill House from behind a pillow, to be honest), and it's not like I've never experienced fear in real life. But I respect when a movie that can make me feel so intensely, and there's something weirdly precious about the way horror is a safe roller coaster, as it's often been said. So I love telling the story about The Time The Ring Nearly Killed Me—a movie that actually made my body stop working—and I love thinking of how embedded in a specific time and place that movie was for me. The last gasp of VHS when the Cursed Videotape still seemed plausible; the way the internet was still wild and weird and free; where I was in my life, keeping up so avidly with all the movie news, and finding myself in such a little pool of darkness early one afternoon. It's the scariest movie I saw in a theater; that's the alchemy of circumstance.
#the ring#ringu#horror#first look on patreon#movies#long post#spooky season#halloween everyday#long post is long#gifs
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Vaggie in the show really did piss me off, I just…feel bad for the character, like Viv HATES her so much and it shows. For most of the season, she’s just Millie 2.0. Her entire character revolves around Charlie. She exists to help her, to make her dream come true. Without Charlie she’s literally nothing and the show FLAT OUT says that itself in the third episode. I love how during that, she says she doesn’t know who she is without Charlie, but then proceeds to sing about how much she wants to protect her, something we already knew. Like…even Viv doesn’t know who Vaggie is without Charlie and that’s fucking SAD bro. How have you had this character for years and can’t even answer simple writing 101 questions about who they are and what they do outside of their partner/peers. And her having an identity crisis arc would have worked, but the show doesn’t do anything with that concept. Husk says she “hates herself”, and while her exorcist reveal may be the reason to that, the show puts no effort into actually showing us that on screen, cause the writers can’t seem to realize that we don’t know who Vaggie is at all OR without Charlie around. What are her likes and dislikes? What are her hobbies? Interests? None of that in the “female led” show!
Outside of her love for Charlie she’s SO flat and empty, and sadly her VA’s performance plays a heavy part in that cause Vaggie now just sounds so bored and lifeless all the time. Then we actually get to her exorcist reveal and I just know Viv stole this idea from the fan theories and decided to do it at the last minute, because the way it’s handled is so poorly done and lazily rushed. I felt NOTHING during that reveal because the show didn’t give me a reason to care. Not just cause everyone and their momma predicted it, but because there is ZERO buildup to it. Would have been nice to see this secret eating Vaggie up emotionally throughout the season and determined to keep it a secret, but nah…just flat out lay it on us like you do with all your characters Viv. Like….maybe develop the character FIRST before you reveal her darkest secret, and maybe actually show how this secret affects said character so we actually give a damn when it’s revealed.
Then near the end she has a supposed “arc” or we’re of course just told that. The moment Carmilla said that Vaggie was “too bloodthirsty and desperate for revenge rather than thinking of the people she loved”, truly shows how Viv doesn’t understand her own fucking characters despite trying to convince everyone she does. All we’ve SEEN is Vaggie thinking about the people she loves. You’ve shown us nothing else outside of that, you’ve said yourself that her whole purpose is protecting Charlie and making her dreams come true so what the hell was Carmilla saying? This of course would have made more sense if Vaggie was someone who desperately wanted to get back at heaven and we see her rage take over her love for Charlie and her plans, but again….we don’t SEE any of that. If anything all we see is someone who DOES care about the people around her and her actions were always out of love. I also hate how her arrival in hell is in flashback mode, this series is so allergic to taking it’s time, cause these are things you could have made into a full episode within itself, same for her meeting and falling in love with Charlie. Vaggie is a character that’s so easy to make likable and deep, and she WAS likable. But Viv could give less of a shit about her, in the end she ended up being so flat. Love how the joke of her name is that she was given that name by a sexist pig character, yet Viv decided to keep said name for her too that’s SUCH good writing.
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could you do some angst ending in fluff with lip gallagher? like a fight or something maybe?? up to you!
thank you for the request lovely!! this is just a short, slice of life type story but I do have another story in my head that will have to be a series because it's a whole cans of worms - lots of angst and fluff!
Late Payment
Lip Gallagher x reader
Summary: You and Lip get in a fight about money.
Warnings: Fighting, being poor
If you were being completely honest with yourself right now, being poor sucked.
Having to constantly be counting dollars and coins, clipping coupons, filling up almost-empty soap bottles, skipping out of so many other luxuries that your friends have sends a burning sensation under your skin. You are tired and worn and, above all, over the stupid system itself that got you into this mess.
Mouthing the amount of bills you are counting in your hands as Lip walks into the kitchen, tossing a couple of twenties onto the counter in front of you. Snatching them to count them towards the final amount.
“243,” You whisper, “Fuck.” You slam the money onto the counter, the bills scattering across the late notice forms, hands wiping across your face as the stress builds. “We’re still short.” You look towards Lip who has opened a bottle of beer and taken a seat at the head of the table.
Taking a quick sip of the cold liquid before responses, “We’ll get more.”
Lip’s voice is low, his demeanor is slumped into the seat as his gaze is fixed towards something in the living room. It annoyed you to no end how much it felt like he didn’t care that you didn’t have enough money for the bills.
“Not in time.” You smack the lid back on the jar to grab his attention, your voice increasing an octave as it reverberates through the room.
“Then what do you want me to do!” He scoffs, the glass beer bottle hitting against the wood hard.
Your hands speaking with you, “Do you really think I’m exclusively asking you, like you are the only person in this fucking house that somehow makes all the money?” Ranting as the hot, white fumes leak from your body.
“I make most of it.” He continues to argue.
But all you can do is laugh at Lip’s comment. Barely able to fathom the audacity of the man that is sitting in front of you. Acting as if he is the sole provider of the flock.
“And I thank you for that every single day.” You explain, enunciating every word, “But don’t for a second act like I’m not doing my fair share. Cleaning the house, helping with your family, keeping track of the bills.” Listing on your fingers.
“Fuck Y/N,” Lip curses, “No one asked you too!”
The anger in his eyes is growing, the red hues surfacing under his skin.
Hand wiping over your face as you take a moment to calm yourself down. You didn’t want to fight with Lip, how would that help your current situation? Walking around the counter to take a seat next to him at the table. Lip’s eyes adverting yours, you can quickly see the anger dissipate as the sadness washes over him.
“I know it’s tough.” Your voice is softer this time, placing a hand over his. “But we have each other and that’s all I care about.”
A smirk tickles the corners of his mouth as your kind words send a calmness over his body. “Yeah?” He questions, eyebrows rise as he finally makes eye contact with you.
A bright smile beams from you, “I couldn’t imagine being broke ass poor anywhere else.”
Your combined laugh fills the small space until Lip just stares at you, “I fall more in love with you every day.”
“Good.” You say as Lip leans forward, his rough hands on your cheeks as his lips graze against yours. His plump lips are sweet and gentle as they crashing into you. Feeling light headed as all you troubles seem to disappear.
~~~
Did you like it?? Let me know what you think ! <3
#lip gallagher x reader#lip gallagher imagine#lip gallagher#Lip Gallagher angst#Lip Gallagher fight#theapangea#shameless x reader#Lip Gallagher fanfic#shameless fanfic
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“What kind of a moron gets shot…”
Izzy x Reader
words: 1970
google docs pages: 3,5
warnings: blood, a gunshot wound, slight alcohol use
opening: A medic, you get shot in a crossfire. It’s only after things have settled a little that anyone has time to notice you. No one but you are used to removing bullets, so obviously the crew chose the next most experienced pirate to help you with your instructions. Izzy.
AN// Reader can be any gender! I finally started watching this series, after putting it off for so long and oh my god do I love this man more than life itself. I would die for him. Anyway, sorry if this is a little ooc, I’m learning how to write for him ! Requests for him would also be lovely, I have so many ideas that I don’t even know what to write :D
“What kind of a moron gets shot…”
The feeling of rain hitting your face kept you to your senses, additional moisture to the already wet wooden deck you were laying on. At least you had made it back, but that did not remove the fact that someone from the other ship had gotten a good shot at your thigh. For that reason, you didn't mind the wet fabric sticking to your skin. The waves of pain radiating from your thigh were enough to keep your mind from thinking of anything else.
Your body curled up a little, hands going to hold the place of the wound on their own, or at least that’s what it had felt like. Like your body was moving on its own. There wasn’t much of a thought process happening in your mind, though it felt like you should have known what to do. You’d removed more than one bullet in your time, and it wasn’t a rare procedure to perform for you. But never could have you guessed the amount of pain a bullet wound caused. You’d only ever helped someone else and seen them try their best to stay still for your sake. As much as you had hoped these thoughts would have distracted you from the pain, they didn’t. The pain was still raging, making you groan and grunt silently against the deck. Or at least what you thought had been quietly up until voices became audible around you. They’d been there before as well, but they’d become somehow louder by now. Like the people that sounded further away were now closer. The crew must have noticed something was wrong.
You opened your eyes, still curled up on the deck. Most of the crew were there, standing near you. From your perspective and what was left of your vision, they seemed concerned. But probably rightly so. Most of them had become quiet, only light chatter among them. “Well, fucking someone help me.” You growled, allowing the words to come out and going back to gritting your teeth straight after. The chatter got louder for a moment before someone was pushed out from the group. By the sound of his voice, you identified him quite easily. The first mate of Blackbeard’s, Izzy. He did not sound keen on doing this, insisting for someone else to do it before accepting his fate. But you and mostly everyone else in the crew seemed to agree on him being the most experienced for this, after you.
You knew their first idea would have been to just cut off the whole leg, but for the amount of times you’d helped them you were hoping they’d see this as owing it to you and actually helping.
Your vision was getting a little more blurry, not badly but enough to make things a lot more confusing. You tried to keep a straight head, knowing you’d have to assist Izzy while he got the bullet out. While these thoughts were running through your mind, two of the crew members of which you hadn’t seen who carried your form to the lower decks. No more of the rain, you thought. They cleared a table, and by the sound of it they must have just sweeped the items on it to the floor and placed you on the smooth surface instead.
There was a moment of silence before through your haze you could hear Izzy’s voice clearly. “Well, fuck off? No need for an audience.” He said, and by the sound of it the people previously there made their way back up. “Cut the…the pant leg.” You said, not wanting to waste any more time. Izzy looked at you, doing as you said but with slight hesitation. “How does a medic manage to get shot?” The first man asked in a voice you wanted to believe was annoyance, trying not to find a hint of worry from his voice. You didn’t want to imagine a man worried for your life trying to save it. “Guess the bullets couldn’t resist a…a checkup.” You took a quick breath, gritting your teeth as the fabric was pulled off from over the wound. Izzy didn’t say anything to that, perhaps it had been a bad time to joke either way. You didn’t have time to waste, for anything from the bullet could leak to your bloodstream if you kept stalling. “T-take off yer belt-” You had to take a breather before continuing, but that was enough for Izzy to give you a dirty look, which you were glad you couldn’t see properly through the slight blur. “And wrap it a little higher from the wound…” You finished the sentence, trying to stay still on the table. “Gathered that much.” He said, voice still stern as he undid his belt and wrapped it tightly around your thigh. “Get yer knife…and dig..dig the bastard out.” You breathed out, closing your eyes for a moment as you braced yourself for what was about to come.
The sound of Izzy taking out a knife from his belt opened your eyes once more. You took a weak hold of his wrist before the first mate was able to start the process. “If I lose consciousness after…take the fabric you removed and..and use it to close up the wound after cleaning with rum…” You instructed him before your hand let loose from his wrist. His eyes were on you, you could feel it. Yet, he did not say a word. It worried you, but you didn’t want to tell him that. You wanted to think that he didn’t care. As many times as you had spent time with him, he did not care for you. Maybe, just maybe, he enjoyed talking to you from time to time.
You took a hold of the edge of the table, which was worth it. Because as soon as Izzy had dug the knife into the wound you screeched. Using the palm of your hand to cover the rest of the horrendous noises leaving you, feeling hot tears push their way through and fall down the sides of your face. The gritting of your teeth helped, somewhat. The feeling of the blade hitting the bullet sent a mix of shivers along with waves of pain through your body.
You tolerated it for a while, in a way proud of yourself for that, this being the first time a bullet was being removed from you. Though, that did not last long.
The dim lights in the lower deck began to seem darker, and your body wasn’t contorting itself the same way as before. In a way you felt more relaxed this way, though the darkness that had started to slowly surround you was something you didn’t look forward to. A faint sound of the bullet hitting the wooden flooring as the knife left your body was the last thing you heard. Your consciousness faded away, leaving Izzy alone with bloodied hands and a mess on the table.
His gaze shook a little, but he stood still at the table. Thanking whoever had left a bottle of rum in the lower deck. Izzy took a hold of the brown bottle and took a swig from it himself. With a second to think, he poured the liquid from the bottle straight onto the wound. It felt odd not to hear you instruct him, not that he needed it anymore. But you being so silent, seemingly dead to anyone else's eye who might have walked past, it shook him a little. As many people as he had killed and seen dead, none of them had affected him this way. The thoughts of your death filled his mind for a brief second, before the first mate shook them away. He wasn’t sure how much to pour, stopping eventually. He thought you might like the rest of it once you woke up. In his experience, rum was good at numbing feelings. Just what pain was, only a feeling.
Izzy wrapped the wound best he could, leaving the belt on. You hadn’t told him what to do with it after, and that had only now occurred to him. As much as his duties would have commanded for him to leave you with the rest of the crew, he did not want for you to wake up in the noise and smell that was the crew’s quarters. Was what he told himself, not being able to ask for your opinion.
He might have not been the tallest man on deck, but that did not mean he was weak in any way. He picked you up easily, carrying you to his quarters. Barely a spot for sleeping fit there, but he managed.
The first mate laid your still form onto the small bed, seating himself onto a box next to it. His eyes stayed on the bed for some time before a sigh left his lungs, turning his eyes to his hands. He placed them over his face for a while, the burning feeling of tears trying to push through all too familiar at this point. They never truly fell down, so it did not count as crying for him. A pirate didn't cry.
So he sat there, the held-back tears reddening his eyes a little as he leaned on the wall behind him and stared at the other in front of him, keeping his gaze up. He felt conflicted, more so than usual. He hadn’t thought of you, not of how much he seemed to care. Sure, the two of you had spent an odd amount of time together, but you preferred to be alone or at least at the sidelines, so did he. So, for long it had been a coincidence that you bumped in together. And during those times you spent together were almost enough to make him feel alive again. But when you didn’t, was when he truly felt lonely. And so he did now, now when you were unconscious.
A sharp breath drawn by you caught his attention back. The end of it started sounding more like a hiss than anything else. Your eyes tried to open slowly, but the sheering pain forced them to snap open with yet another hiss. You curled up on the bed before your eyes landed on Izzy. His mouth was slightly agape, but soon realised to hand you the bottle from earlier which you gladly accepted. After a long swig you handed it back to him, hand shaking ever so slightly. Eyes focusing on him now, vision back to what you remembered as normal. Even with Izzy keeping his gaze quite low, you could see the slight tint of red in his eyes. The first mate hadn’t said anything yet, so you decided to break the silence. “Have you been crying?” Came out rustier than intended, but the teasing tone of voice was still clear somewhere in there. Izzy’s jaw tightened, but he must have backed away from what he wanted to say. “Sod off.” He looked away for a moment, expression much softer after from what you could tell. Though, he seemed stiff. Like he was shaken in a way you’d never seen him before. “Izzy-” You sighed, not sure what to say to him, so instead you thought of something else. His other hand was resting on the edge of the bed. Expecting him to pull away at the very least, you placed your hand on his, but he didn’t. He allowed your slightly warmer, shaky palm to warm his colder hand, badly wiped away blood dried on it. “Thank you.” You said silently, not to disturb the oddly peaceful silence that had formed from the slightest of connections. Izzy turned to you, moving his hand further on the bed, not adding anything to that. The touch was a thank you enough, more than enough to him.
#izzy hands#izzy hands x reader#israel hands#ofmd#our flag means death#ofmd x reader#our flag means death x reader#x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#izzy hands beloved#yar har I love pirates
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Not to be conspiratorial on main but fuck if this is true 😭😭😭😭
Honestly I think that’s not TOO far off from what I think is happening but the YouTubers aren’t the main point here, it’s the animation industry itself! considering what recently happened with HBO Max and Warner brothers (and now Netflix) and the cancelation of mutiple GOOD animated series, especially ones that actually CARED about good rep it wouldn’t be too far off to say this is just adding fuel to the anti original “woke” animate series that’s been happening. Like take Disney for example they purposely remove and “forget” to advertise shows and movies (like Strange Planet and TOH) that have actual representation so that they can say “oh these shows don’t do as well let’s not make more”.
they’re doing almost the same thing with this. They knew it was gonna be shit which is why they were TOLD not to included scooby in the show.
also im SURE they’re aware of the distaste people for for the “riverdale” effect that reboots have been having. They’re purposefully making it unappealing to EVERYONE and THATS why critics can’t figure out who it’s target audience is for. It’s whole purpose is that there ISNT one.
they’re already getting rid of all the original animated content. What’s next? The reboots. The only thing really left for mainstream 2D(!!) animation at that point would be ads (and MAYBE a few games). And we’ll we all know how we feel about those…
they’re purposefully trying to kill the industry, specifically, a very UNIONIZED industry. Now THATS my conspiracy theory lmao
anyways support small animation studios and creators except for vivziepop :)
#velma show#is this a stretch? Yeah but hey would surprise me considering the hellscape we live in#scooby doo
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please you write fluffs so good I WANNA AUGH JSKSKSKDN CAN I PLEASE REQUEST MORE SANA FLUFF??
What’s Yours Is Mine (?)
« silly series - 9 »
Sana x gn!reader
Fluff
synopsis - just a classic case of girlfriend stealing clothes
wordcount - 834
A/N - thank you very much anon it means a lot bc me personally i think there’s definitely room for improvement, but ask and you shall receive! a small draft i picked up, enjoy!
The way Sana ran to get to your apartment had nothing to do with you.
Well, she was excited to see you, that was a given, but she was less thrilled about the rain that suddenly started falling on her way to your apartment.
When she stepped in, you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped at the sight of her. That unsurprisingly earned you a glare which you quickly turned into a smile when you told her to go and grab whatever from your closet after a warm shower.
You know, just until her clothes dried out.
She took you up on that offer and came out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, proudly wearing your own clothes as if they were hers.
You were busy, posted up on the kitchen island and focused on some work matter that required you looking at your laptop for way longer than anyone would like. You’d much rather be looking at your girlfriend instead, who looked absurdly cute in that one hoodie she knew you loved and haven’t let go of since your early college years.
A tired smile made its way to your lips when you allowed your eyes to take a break from the screen, granting them the soothing sight that was Sana.
“A sight for sore eyes” suddenly made all the sense in the world to you.
“What are you wearing?” You chuckled, your gaze never leaving her as she made her way over to you.
You didn’t expect to see her in that clothing item, and you wondered how it didn’t happen earlier. It was so endearing, how the sleeves were slightly too long for her arms, and how cozy she looked.
“Something comfortable.” She said, glancing at her sleeves. “Do you like it?”
“I do.” You wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer and she took it as an invite to sit on your lap. “I think I have the same one.”
She giggled at your bad joke, a proof of her love.
“You have great taste.” She booped your nose and your features scrunched up, causing your glasses to slide up with them.
You looked too adorable not to kiss at that moment, so she did just that, wrapping her arms around your neck to pull you in for a kiss or two. Her lips felt just as amazing as the last time she saw you, maybe a little sweeter.
“Are you gonna be done anytime soon?” She gestured to your laptop and you frowned, sighing.
“No. Someone messed up at work, I have to review and fix a whole program.” You pouted at her knowing you won’t be able to have her in your arms like that for a while still.
“Why are you sad, that means you’re good at your job.” She tried to cheer you up and managed to turn your lips turn into a smile again.
“I guess. But it means we won’t be able to cuddle any time soon.” You explained.
Sana shrugged, “I can just stay on your lap while you do your work.”
“I’d love that but I don’t think my legs would.” You said without much thought before the sound of your words reached your ears. Sana’s gasp complimented your widened eyes and a nervous laugh pushed itself past your lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!”
You tightened your arms around her, hugging her closer to make amends in hopes she’d find you cute enough. “I love you.” You said, looking up at her, before stealing a kiss from her cheek.
“And?” She asked, deciding not to let go of your honest mistake without teasing you at least a little bit.
“I’ll make dinner.” You proposed, but she didn’t budge.
“You were going to do that anyway.”
“I’ll let you play with my hair while I work.” You tried again, a hopeful smile on your lips.
“What so I’ll just stand for two hours?” She scoffed. “You’re so bad at bargaining.”
“Fine, then what do you want?” You sighed, only wanting her to quit the teasing.
“I keep the hoodie.” She grinned, but it wasn’t innocent.
“Sana, it’s my favorite…” You whined.
“It’s mine too.” She whined back and you chuckled despite yourself, sighing before giving it a thought.
“Am I ever going to get it back?” You asked, although you already knew how that usually goes.
“No.”
Her smile, the happiness she displayed made it hard to say that same word back to her. Honestly you wouldn’t mind seeing her wear it from now on, but only a few times. It was still your favorite hoodie.
“Can we at least share custody?” You tried to compromise and this time she was the one humming as she thought about it.
“Maybe. But I take it first.” She said a second later.
“Fine.” You gave in, taking the hand she was offering in yours and shaking it in order to close the deal.
”Pleasure doing business with you, baby.” She giggled, bringing your hand to her lips.
The soft peck she laid on top of it made the butterflies dance in your stomach, coating your cheeks in a similar shade to the one on your hoodie.
You’d never see that hoodie again by the way. At least not on yourself.
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story of us
pairing: dexter mayhew x reader
a/n: part of a series that’s also on my ao3 wr1tingtoc0pe :)
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I met Dexter Mayhew on my last day of university. It was our graduation ball and I was dancing with my friends when he caught my eye, not for the first time however.
I’d always noticed him, I’m sure he’d never noticed me but I saw him, he’s hard to forget. Dexter had this aura about him that could only be described as enthralling, not only that but gorgeous blue eyes and a smile that could kill.
20 years ago
“Hi, i’m Dex” The brightest smile made his eyes light up as he held out his hand towards me, the music and lights seemed to stand still as we made eye contact. It took me a few seconds to register that he was talking to me, after an awkward amount of time I finally shook his outstretched hand. he’d never acknowledged me in the four years we’d been on campus together. I gave him my name and told him I knew who he was already, “ The infamous Dexter Mayhew.” I smiled, as did he and I think my heart stopped for a second.
…
“Do you want to dance?”
“I mean I kind of already am” I stated plainly.
“I mean with me” He let out a little scoff, not really a laugh but not not a laugh..
“Oh. yeah, sure” I took the hand he held out to me as he lead me to a quieter area of the dance floor, I could hear my friends squealing as we disappeared.
19 years ago
“Dex!” I ran with outstretched arms for an embarrassing amount of time, probably should’ve waited until I was closer to him really.. when I finally reached him I dropped my bags as he stretched out his arms and I jumped into them, wrapping my arms around his neck as he spun me around laughing.
“Someone’s happy to see me,” he took my bags in his arms.
“Actually i’m just happy to be off of that train. Seven hours.. my bum is sore.” I pouted dramatically as we started walking off of the platform and to the car park.
..
“This time last year we were at the grad ball, can you believe it’s been a year?!” Dexter questioned and I shook my head as the memories of that night ran through my mind.
“I really can’t, i’ve put up with you for a whole year! I deserve a medal.” I spoke exasperatedly and laughed when he gasped,
“you’ve put up with me?? i’ve been putting up with you!” He bumped his shoulder into mine as we reached the car, he opened the boot and put my bags in and then ever the gentleman opened the passenger door for me.
“Dexter Mayhew, what a gentleman,” I quipped as he tipped his imaginary hat at me, closed the door and walked around to the drivers seat.
…
“We’ve been out of university for a year and I have accomplished nothing.” I sighed as I walked next to Dex down the high street.
“We’re twenty three, we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, we’ll figure it out.” Dex and I were quite different when it came to our outlook on life, he was all about having fun and living for the moment, ever the optimist with the mindset that everything would work itself out. My mindset was quite the opposite, ever the over thinker. Dex was good like that, he was always there to remind me to be in the moment and to have fun rather than stress about the future.
“What do you think we’ll be doing at forty?” It seems so far away but in reality, it’s not.
“I don’t know what i’m going to be doing tomorrow, let alone at forty” How I wish I could live life like Dex could, no plan or worries about the future. “I will say one thing though. I hope I have children by the time i’m forty” This revelation took me surprise because I didn’t know Dex had even thought about that kind of stuff, “what?” He had a little smile on his face as I gathered my thoughts.
“I didn’t think you thought about that kind of stuff” it was endearing that he had though, Dexter with children.. I mustn’t think about it or I might just melt into a puddle of adoration. Before he respond I spoke again “you’d be a great dad, the best.” Maybe he doubted himself because his smile grew at my words, Dexter Mayhew an aspiring father, never would’ve thought it.
“Do you want kids?” he asked as we entered a quaint café and I waited until we had sat down to answer
“I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about, kids are expensive and there’s so many global issues I don’t know if I want to bring a child into this mess-“ I stopped talking when I saw the sly smile on his face as my eyes found the table, “can you stop staring at me like that, please.”
“Sorry” He seemed to have more to say but he didn’t, “What do you fancy?” You is what I wanted to say, but i’m not that stupid.. I dare ruin this beautiful friendship we’ve forged over the last year.
————-
reblogs appreciated! turn on notifs for this post to be notified for part 2 <3
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You know what I think goes really unappreciated about Taskmaster? The setting. I’ve talked at length about the house itself, and how weird it is; the perfect amount of psychologically off-putting, too small for purpose so they have to shuffle crew between rooms when they want to use the lab or the lounge or whatever.
But the location as a whole is so fucking strange, and their commitment to staying their has only made it even more bizarre of a choice with each passing series. It’s a panel show with lore, which is strange in and of itself, and I’ve talked about that at length as well. But with that lore comes new set pieces every series. And it’s an inherent necessity to keep the show from getting stale. New set pieces are needed both so the show stays vibrant and exciting for the audience, but also so contestants don’t come in knowing all the same tricks from previous series. Suddenly, there’s a caravan that wasn’t there before. Now there’s a cow, and a strange dome, and a phone box, and some landscaping, and a frankly terrifying statue of Greg, and a new deck, and on and on it goes.
And then this series, there’s something which isn’t a shed and isn’t a caravan and isn’t a tent, but all three at once. And it’s where the shed ought to be. But the shed hasn’t been replaced; they’ve just crammed it behind the caravan, with the cow and the phone box, and the giant knife throwing target from the promo photos from series 14, which is also new because it was never a set piece to begin with.
There isn’t enough room for this. They don’t get rid of old set pieces. If this were the NZ/AU ranch, it wouldn’t be a problem. That place is huge. But this isn’t a ranch. It’s a groundskeeper’s cottage on a golf course in London. Each new set piece eats up more and more garden space, and actively makes the garden more hostile to do tasks in. It resembles the inside of the house more and more with each series, crammed with incongruously mis-matched crap that vaguely fits a theme, if that theme is “random old junk an eccentric old man has collected on a whim.” (The lounge is themed, but let’s be real; the rest of the house is a nightmare.)
I love any piece of media where the setting is itself a character, and the show has been leaning into that so much lately. Desiree had it right. The house could very well be a living thing at this point. I can’t imagine what it would be like to go into a house like that if you’re someone who’s used to a minimalist atmosphere, and be told to concentrate on tasks that don’t make sense. It would definitely explain a fair bit of the behaviour we see on the show.
It might also explain why other people go in and seem so wholly unbothered by the whole thing, honestly. Look at what people bring in for prizes, especially if they’re prizes they bring in from their own homes. I’m thinking specifically about Julian this series. The man could not possibly be less fucked about any of it, honestly.
It’s an unexplored meta, I think. But one that could be worth exploring as the house and garden become more and more unhinged.
#taskmaster#honestly it looks a lot like my house#except i don’t force people to stay here and perform weird tasks for my own enjoyment
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Hiya Lisa my love!! I think this may be the first request I’m sending you (omg!?) But I am so excited to do so, and of course for our best boy Jack Wilder <3
Okay this one’s a little silly but I’m thinking Jack Wilder x reader where the reader is part of the Horsemen, but Jack and her don’t exactly get along all too well (enemies/reluctant allies to lovers). I’m thinking they’re sent off together to check out and map a location for the Horsemen’s next big act (maybe a fancy gala! That’d be so fun!), but the whole time they’re just bickering and shooting jabs at each other and the other guys are on comms and are just So Tired™ of their bullshit 😭
amber i love you for this
masterlist
You don’t think you’ve ever seen the magical enigma known professionally as J. Daniel Atlas and familiarly as a pain in all of your asses as stressed as he is right before the start of a new job. The Horsemen are world renowned for their intricate performances and flawless setups, which only serves to increase the pressure on all of you to keep one-upping yourselves every time you appear in the spotlight. Danny has taken it upon himself to make sure that all of you stay perfect, and that responsibility is manifesting itself in the form of a lecture right now.
He’s standing in front of you, eyes wild with the fire of what could be creative genius or perhaps too much coffee, and rattling off a series of questions to make sure you know what you’re doing.
“Where are you going?” He asks first.
You meet his gaze steadily. “The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Specifically the busiest areas during the Met Gala.”
“How are you entering?” Danny queries.
“Two ways. First, as a tourist, to spot the security cameras. Then, I’ll go again at night, to lay some cameras of our own and run some more thorough investigations.”
Danny takes a step closer. His hands are steepled together, making him the perfect picture of a plotting supervillain from one of those bad action movies Merritt keeps playing. “What, specifically, are you looking for?”
You want to roll your eyes, but you learned a long time ago that showing any sort of emotion except for intensity in front of Daniel Atlas during his mad planning sessions is only asking for trouble. So, you keep your cool, or you try to, at least. “The normal stuff. Alcoves and closets where we can hide. Areas with low security presence. Entrances and exits. Janitors. Extra uniforms. That sort of thing.”
Daniel nods once, the only sign that you’re not outright bombing his little pop quiz. “And who is going with you on this reconnaissance mission?”
This time, you can’t disguise your sigh of disgust. “I’m taking a stubborn child.”
Danny gives you a cool stare. “Try again.”
You give him a look, but Daniel is prone to winning staring contests, especially when he’s in this sort of mood, so you cut your losses and give in. “Fine. I’m taking Jack.”
To your side, someone starts clapping. “Perfect response!”
You and Daniel both turn in unison to see your recon partner applauding your sarcastic answer from his chair a few paces away. His feet are kicked up on the table in front of him, and although he had been aimlessly scrolling through his phone this entire time, he’s put the device down temporarily so he can remind you just how strong a bond the two of you share. Which is to say, in no uncertain terms, none at all.
Daniel glances back at you. “You’re not going to let the two of you working together be a problem, will you?”
You fold your arms across his chest, affronted. “I won’t. You might want to double-check with my so-called partner, though. Who, by the way, is free to answer any of these questions on his own. I don’t see why I’m the one who has to know everything while he gets off easy. Aren’t we sharing this responsibility? And by extension, this interrogation?”
Jack just flashes you a thousand-watt smile. “You seemed to have it covered, sweetheart. Besides, I just like hearing the sound of your lovely voice.”
You flip him off. He blows you a kiss, then does the same. Daniel looks ready to burst a blood vessel. “Focus, you two. I want no slip ups. We’re stealing the show of the Met Gala. If we make a mistake, I think Anna Wintour will personally kill us.”
“She’s going to do that anyway,” Jack muses, “We’re interrupting her little fashion show. God forbid someone focuses on us instead of all the celebrities who aren’t even dressing to theme. If I had that money, I could do way better, is all I’m saying.”
You shoot him a perplexed look. “Since when have you paid attention to the Met Gala outfits? Last time I tried talking about it, you told me that was all absurdist nonsense.”
“Maybe I was just talking about you,” Jack answers vaguely. “I’m allowed to, like, develop interests.”
You toss him a glare, then turn back to Daniel, who for some reason looks somewhat entertained. “Can we go back to the plan, please?”
Danny straightens up. “Yes, I’d like that. I’ve briefed both of you on the entrances and exits I need you to scout out–”
“Too many times,” Jack cuts in. He’s not wrong. Danny’s been over this every hour on the hour since you got the call to stage your own show at one of the most famous fashion opportunities of the year.
Daniel, however, seems to think that he hasn’t mentioned the details enough. Now Jack is on the receiving end of not just your glare but Daniel’s as well. “As I was saying,” Danny continues smoothly, “You’ll get in and get out. Try not to move too quickly, you don’t want to attract attention, but don’t linger too long, either.”
“We’ll be fine,” you assure him. “Not our first rodeo.”
Danny nods hesitantly. “I know. Just your first rodeo together in a while.”
That’s no big secret. You and Jack may both be Horsemen, but that certainly doesn’t mean you have to like each other. In fact, you couldn’t be farther from it. You’re not enemies, so to speak, an enemy is the FBI or the CIA, but referring to whatever exists between you as friendship is stretching the truth. You’re more like uncertain, unhappy allies. You’ll work together so long as you get paid and stay in the spotlight while you’re at it, but you’re not likely to grab drinks after a show together.
However, the Horsemen come first above any personal squabble. Always. That’s the one thing you and Jack can agree on. What you’re working on is bigger than the two of you, it’s bigger than all of you. To most of the world, you are magic. No rift between teammates is worth damaging that ideal.
That’s why Jack straightens up at last, and dons an expression verging on solemnity. “We’ll do our part, Danny. No need to worry.”
“There had better not be,” Daniel comments, but he backs off after that, and leaves to track down Merritt to deliver a similar speech.
Now alone, Jack’s familiar cavalier attitude comes back in a flash. “Can’t wait for our little date tomorrow, L/N,” he tells you.
You roll your eyes. “It’s going to be so much fun.”
The next morning, you and Jack wait your turn in the entrance queue at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. You’re both disguised with baseball caps pulled low over your heads, then paired with sunglasses, and you each have fake IDs in your pockets just in case. It’s surprisingly easy to get around undetected; although the Horsemen are famous the world over, no one expects to see them outside of one of your performances. It makes no sense to spot one of you in a coffee shop or in line ahead of you, so their minds just glance over you as if you were never there at all.
It’s certainly convenient. You could always go to an outside source for intel, but if there’s one lesson you’ve learned throughout your time, it’s to never trust anyone outside of your immediate circle. There are always people who’ll sell off your secrets, or debunkers frothing at the mouth to show how you do what you do.
No, it’s best to keep everything under wraps, even if it makes disguises necessary. There’s a brief moment of panic in which the security guard checking Jack’s bag lingers on his face a little longer than usual, but he’s waved through soon enough and then you’re able to wander further into the museum.
A voice crackles over your earpiece. “What was that about?” Danny, paranoid as always.
Jack shrugs, directing his voice towards you so no one will suspect he’s talking to anyone else. “Probably just a newbie convinced they’ll catch a would-be robber by checking my hand sanitizer close enough. They didn’t plant any bugs, we’re good. Most likely, she was just captivated by my exceedingly good looks and got distracted.”
You scoff. “Or maybe she was just fascinated by your hideousness and wanted a better look.”
Jack clutches a hand to his heart, feigning agony. “My hideousness?” Y/N, I’m hurt.”
“Good,” you smile saccharinely at him.
Daniel sighs in a gust of static over your earpiece. “Focus, you two. Please.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Jack says. “We’ll get to work.”
You and Jack slip through the exhibits, pretending to examine paintings in sculptures when, in reality, you’re looking harder at the security features in each room. The Horsemen already have a rough plan in mind for how you’re going to enter and exit, but the security presence could change which specific entrance you use.
When you loiter a little too long near one oil painting of two nobles dancing at a lavish ball, Jack doubles back to your side. “Everything alright? We haven’t been noticed yet, have we?”
You shake your head, snapping yourself back to reality. “No, we’re fine. Just looking. I love this year’s theme for the gala. If I had an actual invitation, I would have worn something like the dress in this painting. I would want to, at least. Of course, that would only happen if we weren’t breaking in, but. Yeah. That’s what I would do.”
You realize you’re rambling and try to cut yourself off, but you’ve already been going on for a while. You wait for Jack to tease you, but instead, the corner of his lips tugs up in a soft half-smile. “It would look good,” he admits, “You would. Maybe we should petition Danny to let us dress up. We could recreate the painting.”
He swoops closer, placing one hand on your waist and taking yours with the other, spinning you into a waltz just like in the painting. Jack pulls you close in an exaggerated dip just like in the painting, one that takes you a little too near the painting. One of the security guards surges across the room to tell you two to move away again. Jack lets you up, then exaggeratedly apologizing, slapping the guy on the back as a gesture of camaraderie. As the guard walks away, you can see the tracer he’s planted, one that will give you two much-needed information on the paths each guard takes on their shift.
“Nice one,” you breathe.
“Yeah,” Jack says, but he’s still looking at you, as if mentally cataloging each and every place his hands had been just moments before. “I am nice.”
You swat him on the shoulder, and he winks. Rather than give that an answer, you head to the next exhibit. The two of you tag the next few guards you come across, noting janitor’s closets and fire exits while you’re at it.
It’s easy to settle into a rhythm. You go from room to room, you snipe at each other, you get the job done. Jack passes a sculpture of a nude woman and suggests that be the costume you wear to the Gala, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively; you tell him that you’ll do it only when he’s got biceps the size of the Greek hero statue next to it.
Eventually, you only have one tag left. This one, though, will be the most difficult. The chief security guard has access to the central security station of the museum; by bugging him, you can get the passcode to the main room, which would be a significant help. The only problem is that you’ll have to get close enough to talk to the guy, and he looks far more suspicious of everyone around him than any of the other guards.
You volunteer to do it, and weave your way over to the guard in charge. It takes a heady dose of flirting, but you’re able to get the job done eventually. You do have to shell out a fake phone number, but he’ll only find out the number isn’t yours later that night. No harm, no foul.
Or, not according to you, at least. When you walk back over to Jack, though, your partner in crime has his arms folded tight across his chest, and he looks more annoyed than you’ve seen him all day. At last, something has managed to pierce his armor of sarcastic, joking indifference, but you’re not sure what.
“He seems nice,” Jack says, voice unnaturally calm, “Maybe you do want to take him out on a date after this, like you said.”
You laugh. “We both know that was an act, Wilder. No need to get jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” he insists, “I have nothing to be jealous of.”
“Nothing?” You ask, one brow raised. “So you wouldn’t mind if I went back and gave him my real number?”
Jack slings an arm around your shoulder in a pretense of affection, but it feels more like he’s pinning you to him, making sure you can’t go back and do as threatened. “That would be ridiculous. It would ruin our whole act.”
You grin. “What act?”
“That we’re here on a date of our own, obviously,” Jack says.
“We haven’t done anything of the sort the whole time we were here,” you point out. “It makes more sense for him to think we’re just friends.”
“Then we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” Jack suggests, and although you do notice the glint in his eyes when he says it, you’re still not expecting him to lean forward and kiss you. The kiss is– startling, yes, but not bad, not at all, and when he finally breaks away and looks triumphantly over at the guard who’d been flirting with you, you get the feeling that Jack thought so too.
“I think we should do this all the time,” Jack whispers to you. “Maybe we should ask Danny to change our assignments around.”
“Actually,” a voice crackles over your earpieces, “I’d rather neither of you ever spoke to me again. If I have to think about you two making out one more time, I’ll pour bleach directly into my brain.”
You slap a hand over your mouth to stop from laughing. “Oh, no. Daniel, how long have our comms been on?”
“The whole time,” your showman says, “I hated all of it, thank you for asking.”
Jack snorts. “And you didn’t remind us to turn off our mics?”
“Merritt wanted to see if you’d actually commit enough to do it,” Danny says, sounding supremely unhappy. “Now we’re both traumatized. Just get your asses back here and never bring this up again.”
This time, you can’t hide your laugh. “Alright, we will. Try to stay away from the bleach in the meantime.”
“I make no promises,” Danny grumbles, sending you and Jack into a wave of laughter again.
Jack reaches up to switch off his own earpiece, then does the same for you, gently brushing the side of your face with his hand while he’s at it. “Well,” he says slowly, “We might as well make the most of our time right now, hadn’t we? I’d hate for our ticket money to go to waste.”
You grin. “Quit the theatrics and kiss me.”
Jack Wilder doesn’t usually do as told. This time, though, he makes an exception.
requested by @hiya-itsamber, i hope you enjoy!
now you see me tags: @mayfieldss
#jack wilder#jack wilder imagines#jack wilder x reader#jack wilder oneshot#now you see me#now you see me imagines#now you see me x reader#now you see me oneshot#nysm#nysm imagines#nysm x reader#nysm oneshot#nysm jack#nysm jack imagines#nysm jack x reader#nysm jack oneshot#now you see me jack#now you see me jack imagines#now you see me jack x reader#now you see me jack oneshot
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really know him
part i part ii part iii part iv
eddie munson x fem!reader
word count: 3,190
warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of eddie's childhood/parents, cops, feelings and fluff
a/n: okay, hi. look who remembered how to write for eddie!! i know, right? it's totally wild. so this is gonna be another multi-part series. i think this first one is pretty sweet. it's been nice to write some eddie for a while. i hope you guys enjoy this!! the title is a play on something dustin says to wayne in season four. also tagging @rogueharrington and @zaypay because the former is a little goon and way too good to me and the latter i know wanted some eddie and is also much to sweet to me. happy reading!! <3333
————
The screen door slams so hard that the frame rattles and the metal screeches, and you’re not even sure it shut properly. But you don’t really care.
You don’t care at all.
You practically run to the picnic table closest to your trailer, stepping onto the bench to raise yourself up and sit on the tabletop.
It rained today. It’s ended just recently enough that the trees are still dripping with it, the leaves shaking water off with each breeze that comes by, the wood table damp under where you sit.
You’re sure it’s wetting the denim of your jeans, turning the light wash of them a darker shade. But you don’t care. You don’t care about any of this. It feels so minor when you ache like this.
The feeling stretches and splays throughout your chest, crawling up your throat and producing a sob that you release into the night air.
You lean your head back and let the tears come. They spill into your hair, across the tops of your ears; they trickle down the side of your neck. They don’t seem to want to stop. They’re the kind of tears that just keep going and going. You just have to let it out. You can’t possibly hold them in because they won’t allow it.
You feel your eyes get puffy, feel your lashes sticking to your skin. You feel like a wreck.
It’s then that he sees you.
Eddie lights a cigarette, pulling his wrist the rest of the way through the jacket he’d grabbed on the way out. It’s the time of day where he walks around outside the trailer, smoking, breathing, looking for bugs or half listening to whatever show neighbors are watching with the volume loud enough that the whole trailer park can hear it.
He sees your silhouette across the sandy road, your figure cast in the orange light from the old street lamp that’s just come on, the shady area tricking it into thinking it’s fully night already.
Eddie sits down on the couch. He can’t help but look you over. No one else is usually out around now, except for that couple that sits on the old playground. They’ve lived here longer than Eddie has been alive, Wayne once told him. Everyone else is too busy having dinner or vacuuming or doing whatever the fuck it is that people do.
You drop your face into your hands, fingers becoming wet with tears.
Eddie catches the motion, the tremble in your shoulders and the way you’re folding in on yourself. It’s like you’re trying to make yourself as small as possible. Like maybe you’re trying to disappear.
Eddie thinks you obviously want to be alone. It’s probably why you’re out here in the first place. He knows that when he’s upset and he wanders off somewhere that that’s what he wants too.
But he also knows how much he’s wished to be seen or comforted before. And the idea of leaving you there, shuddering and lost, is killing him.
So he stands.
The combination of dirt and gravel crunches under Eddie’s boots, making his approach a lot less quiet than he’d originally been shooting for. But it's not like subtlety has ever been his strong suit anyways.
You hear it, the sound. You try and wipe your face dry, though it’s to no avail. It’s as if a buildup of every suppressed emotion is releasing itself all at once, and there’s nothing you can do about it until it’s over. Until you allow yourself to let it go.
Still, you try and fix yourself because you can see someone walking up out of the corner of your eye. No one ever sees you cry. There’s no reason for them to.
Eddie steps up onto the bench just as you had, settling close enough to you on the tabletop that the chain on his jeans touches your thigh. It’s cold, especially with the way your jeans are wet now, but his body is warm next to yours. There’s a part of you that wants to lean into that warmth, to lean into him.
Eddie takes the cigarette from his mouth and holds it out to you. When you turn to face him he raises his eyebrows, a sweet look on his face. Want a hit? He’s asking.
You shake your head. No thank you.
Eddie takes one more long drag and then he’s snuffing the cigarette out. If you don’t want any, he doesn’t want to bother you with it either.
“You okay?” he asks you.
You shrug.
Eddie looks at you, curls slipping from over his shoulder to dangle on one side of his face, a stark difference in color between that of his hair and cheek. At first you don’t look back, but then you do. You have to, knowing he’s got his eyes on you. You turn your head, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, eyes swollen and tears shiny against your cheeks and down your neck, making your skin look tacky. You’re fussing with the edge of your sleeve.
Eddie thinks you look young.
“How come you came over here?” you ask, looking at his boots, which remain unlaced, like he hadn’t even thought to tie them at all. “It’s not like we’re friends or something.”
The boy snorts. “We worked together on that one project in Ms. O’Donnell’s,” he points out. “Before you up and left.”
That gets the grin out of you he was hoping it would. “You mean when I graduated?”
“Yeah.” He knocks his knee against yours, fiddling with the chain clasped around his wrist. “And,” Eddie continues, “we live across from each other.” He gestures to either of your trailers and you follow the movement of his finger. The nail is painted black, though thoroughly chipped. The kind of chipping you get when it’s been so long since you’ve done your nails that you can’t even remember painting them at all. “Doesn’t that make us like, at least, acquaintances?”
You bring your hands up to your face, wiping at the tears there before getting at the ones spread throughout your hairline. “I suppose so,” you say.
You wipe your hands across the denim covering your legs and then shake them out. You look up. Eddie notices you doing this and looks up with you.
The moon is round and bright. “Is it full tonight?” he asks.
“Tomorrow,” you say. Your calendar had told you so, a little circle under the date. “Though you never answered my question.”
Eddie’s head lowers towards yours, and he’s thinking. What question? Oh. That one, yeah.
“You looked upset. I thought maybe it would be nice for you to not be alone.”
You look at him again, and his big brown eyes stare back at you. They’re shiny under the light from the street lamp, his eyelashes unfairly long and kissing at the corners. There are shadows under his eyes, but they only make him look prettier.
You think about the fact that he didn’t have to do that. Come and sit with you. It’s just the fact that he did. That he’s not prying. That he simply did not want you to be alone.
“Thank you, Eddie.”
His face splits into a sweet grin. He raises his hands, gesturing with them in a sweeping motion.
“Anytime,” he says. “I’m right there, you know. If you ever need to yell or something. As long as you’re not too busy with college for an old high school acquaintance.”
You roll your eyes at him but it’s completely void of malice. You glance back up again, and when you do, you gasp a little.
“What?” Eddie’s voice sounds slightly panicked.
You lift your hand, pointing. “Look,” you tell him. “The bats are out.”
Eddie’s shoulders slump in relief that there isn’t something wrong. But you’re right. There are at least three bats circling around the entrance to the trailer park.
One of them squeaks and you do too, though yours is out of excitement rather than whatever the reason is that bats chirp–he doesn’t know. It makes Eddie laugh.
“You like bats?”
"I do," you say, your eyes never leaving the sky. It's been a long time since you saw them, never really being out at the right time. You hope they find something good to eat.
"Me too," Eddie says.
You look away, just for a moment, remembering. "Haven't you got some on your arm?"
The boy laughs, slow and warm. "Yeah, I drew one up for my back, but I haven't saved up enough to get it done yet."
Your eyes light up, a flicker of curiosity, and Eddie thinks his heart skips a beat. "What part of your back?" you ask him.
"Lower," he says, pointing to where the bats are swooping down into the trees. You both watch them together.
"You want a tramp stamp?"
Eddie tosses his head back and cackles. It’s a beautiful, joyous sound. "I suppose I do."
“Nothing wrong with a tramp stamp, Eddie,” you say through a laugh.
He smiles at you then, and it’s boyish. He looks young. Happy. And you can’t believe he’s looking at you that way.
You turn your face back to the sky and close your eyes. Your nose stings and the tears start spilling out again.
Eddie looks at you and realizes you’re crying. He puts his hand on your knee on instinct. “Hey, what’s the matter?”
You shake your head, using one hand to wipe at your face, the other settling atop his hand. His eyes dart briefly to observe your touching hands but his focus is back on you just as quickly.
“It’s nothing,” you say. “Just having a rough night and you’re being really kind to me and I guess I’m just overwhelmed.”
You move your hand, but Eddie grabs hold of it gently.
“Look at me.”
You shake your head again.
“It’s okay. I’m not going to make fun of you,” he says, and you believe him, though really looking at him and his big brown eyes is enough to wash a surge of sadness over you.
Eddie uses his thumb to wipe the fresh tears from under your lashes, grazing the tip of your now stuffy nose with his knuckle. You wrinkle it and he grins.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Not really, no.”
Eddie nods. “That’s cool.” He smiles again, and pushes a chunk of hair behind his ear, which only makes you curious about something else.
You sniffle. “Why don’t you have your ears pierced?”
“You’re looking at me and that’s what you’re worried about?”
You rub your nose rather aggressively. “Yeah, actually. It seems very off-brand of you to not have at least one of them pierced. And I know you’re not afraid of needles.”
You don’t have to gesture to his tattoos. And that is true about the needles, but don’t be fooled. Eddie does not like getting shots. He loathes it, matter of fact.
“Nope. Definitely not. I guess I just never got around to it. But it’s not like I have something against piercings.”
You rub your denim clad knees. “I’m glad to hear it.”
The both of you are quiet for a little while. It’s a comfortable silence, one that you feel safe in with him there. Because of him. You let your eyes wander around the trailer park as if you’ve never been here before. As if you hadn’t skinned your palms and banged up your knees or gotten a sunburn here as a child. As if you hadn’t grown and watched the trailers deteriorate as time went on.
You look across the street at Eddie’s trailer, and suddenly you remember.
You must’ve been, what, twelve? When the cops showed up, escorting a little boy the same age as you, informing a man who never really wanted children that the boy belonged to him now. There were a lot of people there that day. A social worker, maybe? A whole lot of people all trying to figure out what to do with another kid whose parents had bailed.
Eddie’s father was arrested under charges of so many things you weren't really sure what they all were. He’d been running from the law for a very long time. And then one day he wasn’t running anymore.
Eddie’s mother was still there after his dad wasn’t. She tried to raise Eddie, but she couldn’t do it on her own. She’d had him young, and never really gotten the hang of it, even if she tried. How hard she tried though, that can be debated on.
After a while she turned to drugs to cope, and then when the money ran out, when the lights were off and the house cold, she ran off.
Eddie was alone, with nothing but a note and his uncle’s phone number. His mother had told herself that Eddie was a smart boy, that he’d figure it out. She got by on telling herself that her brother would take good care of her son.
And he had. He still does. Wayne was and is a better father than Eddie’s biological dad had ever been. And even if it wasn’t what he’d planned, what he’d wanted, Eddie was Wayne’s boy. He always would be.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Eddie’s voice breaks you out of your stupor.
You shake your head.
“Thank you for sitting out here with me tonight, Eddie.”
He does his best to hide the pout he feels emerging. He doesn’t want you to go back inside, and that’s the sort of sentence that usually precedes a goodbye. He wants to talk to you. He wants to figure out who you are.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’ll sit with you any time you want. And you can always sit with me too, if you feel like it.”
You grin. Eddie thinks it’s so pretty, your smile. Shy, sure, but so, so pretty.
“You’re positive?”
“Absolutely.”
You go to stand, but Eddie beats you to it, his boots hitting the ground with a thud. He offers you his hand. “M’lady.”
His hand is surprisingly warm, and you’re quite sure the callouses you can feel will be imprinted in your brain for the rest of your life.
“Can I walk you home?” Eddie asks.
You laugh, kicking at a particularly large tree root that the rain has exposed, washing away the thin layer of dirt covering it.
“Well I don’t know, Eddie, the twenty feet to my trailer is an awful long trek. Wouldn’t want you to have to go through all of that.”
He shakes his head at you, bangs moving over his eyebrows. “You’re right. Could be dangerous. Which is why I need to go with you to ensure you get inside safely. Maybe you should even hold my hand.”
“Smooth.”
He holds out his hand. “Right?”
You take it, and he squeezes once, hard enough to make you giggle.
Eddie walks you to your trailer, and rests his chin against the worn out porch railing while you walk up the stairs.
“Goodnight, Eddie.”
“Night, M’lady.”
————
It’s been a few days. Everything the rain touched dried out again.
Eddie’s outside. He won’t mind if you go and see him, right?
You can always sit with me too, if you feel like it.
You do feel like it.
Your front steps creak as you bound down them, looking both ways before you cross the road—if it can even be called that—as if the trailer park has ever been traffic heavy. Habit or whatever.
Eddie watches you make your way towards him, tugging on the flannel you’re wearing to try and keep it close to your sides, away from the wind.
“Hey,” Eddie says. He’s got that stupid ass grin on his face.
“Hi.” You stop before even stepping up onto the concrete slab that is his porch. “Thought I’d come and visit you. Hope that’s okay.”
“Told you it was.” He chuckles. It makes your face warm.
Eddie is slumped on the old couch they have set out there. His legs are spread wide, one splayed out and the other pulled closer to the cushion. He reaches his arms up over his head, stretching and yawning. His shirt rides up with the movement, exposing a sliver of the bottom of his stomach, the soft doughy skin there, the trail of dark hair leading both upwards and downwards.
“Wanna come sit?” He asks, lowering his arms. He pretends like he didn’t see you looking at him in that way, even though he most definitely did. If he thinks about it too hard he’ll blush.
Rather than answer, you step up and settle on the other end of the couch, your back to the arm. You pull your legs up and sit with them criss-crossed.
“What are you up to?” you ask.
He snorts. “Procrastinating. I’m supposed to be doing homework. You know, so I can do that graduating thing you did. I also have a campaign to finish, but here we are.”
You grin at him, and he reaches over, thumb tapping your knee before he rests his hand on the couch next to you. “If it helps,” you start, “I also have homework I’m supposed to be doing.”
“We’re so good at this.”
“Aren’t we?”
Eddie is quiet for a minute. He looks around outside, noting that the sun is slipping away. “You come to look for bats again?”
“No. I just wanted to see you. But I’ll gladly look for them.”
“To see me? How kind. You know just how to flatter a man.” He presses a hand to his chest dramatically and you roll your eyes.
The door that they use as their front one opens, and Wayne walks out. He looks over at you both.
“I’m headin’ out, Ed.” He smiles at you. “What’re you both up to? No good from the looks of it.”
“Lookin’ for bats,” Eddie tells him. Wayne gives the boy a knowing look, but he won’t mention it. If something’s going on, Eddie will spill eventually. That’s how it’s always worked. Eddie the motormouth and whatnot.
Wayne turns his face to the sky, hand raising to shield his eyes from that last little chunk of sun still hanging around, even though the moon has already started to climb up. “Watch that back tree line,” he instructs. “It’s where I always seem ‘em.”
“Will do,” you say, grinning.
Wayne opens his car door, throwing himself inside. “Behave!” he calls.
Eddie gives him a two finger salute and watches as his uncle drives off, turning and then Eddie can’t see him anymore.
“Us?” Eddie starts. “Behave? Why on earth would we do a thing like that?”
You toss your head back and laugh. Eddie thinks you look so pretty tonight. The sun is almost gone for the evening, the clouds turning this pretty pink, this deep orange. The clouds are a thick gray.
He wants to scoot closer to you on the couch. Maybe one day soon he will.
————
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