#and while I want to believe it the evidence seems flimsy at best
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Theology research makes my head hurt.
#religion#been researching Christian Universalism#and while I want to believe it the evidence seems flimsy at best#Christian universalism
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My predictions for the secrets of the DRDT Cast!~
While I’m definitely not smart enough to figure this murder out, I think I may be qualified in figuring the current second biggest mystery of Chapter 2, the rest of the characters secrets!
While a majority of the classes secrets have been revealed, I think I have a good idea on the rest! I’ll try to explain the best I can, but this is kind of a more casual theory than a super in-depth one like most of the ones I see.
Tw: Su!c!de, Self h@/rm, Implied Eating Disorder in Ace’s section, Spoilers for Danganronpa Despair Time
Confirmed Secrets
These are the secrets that are correct and have been confirmed.
Xander - “How could I even select what secret to be your motive? Just about everything you’ve done in your life is worth killing for. The killing game is your fault.”
Nico - “No one accepted you because of your identity. You were constantly mocked by your family, your peers, and everyone else.”
Arei - “Blackmail, rumors, lying, stealing, slander. You did everything you could to ruin your sisters’ lives.”
Rose - “You took on your talent to earn money for your family. But you’ve since put them in a lifetime of debt.”
J - “You hide your name and birthright to pretend that you aren’t the daughter of Mariabella Rosales.”
Charles - “Your older brother died, but you don’t remember him at all.”
Eden - “Ever since you kissed her, you were afraid your sexuality would ruin your friendships.”
Arturo - “Your younger sister killed herself because of you. You should have never left.”
Whit - “Your mother is dead. You always omit that truth.”
Ace - “Your body is falling apart, but you still refuse to eat.”
David - “You exist to manipulate others. Everyone else exits to be taken advantage of.”
Now we move on to the characters whose secrets have not been revealed, and so everything from here on out is pure speculation. I’ll try to explain my reasoning, even if it is sometimes rather flimsy.
Characters who’s secrets have NOT been revealed: Teruko, Hu, Veronika, Min, and Levi
So! Let the speculation begin!
“You always treated the competition with ruthlessness, but poisoning them to win was a bit too far, wasn’t it?”
I think this secret belongs to Min. If I’m not mistaken, in her extra episode between Ch. 1 and 2, we learn that the competition to become the Ultimate Student is incredibly difficult. While Min is smart, that alone doesn’t guarantee that she’ll win the title. So, I believe that Min poisoned one, if not multiple of her peers to become the Ultimate Student. We’ve already seen her dark side through her murder of Xander, so is it that far of a stretch? I also think the word competition is important, as the only other character who’d really have “Competition” is Levi, as the fashion industry is incredibly cut throat, but that aside, the evidence is almost nonexistent (At least from what I remember).
“You only took on your talent to distract from your incessant need to harm yourself for fun.”
I think this secret belongs to Veronika. We already know that she treats this killing game as, well, a game. She doesn’t take any situation seriously, and seems a lot like Junko, where she finds everything boring within seconds. Therefore, she started harming herself. However, as the Ultimate Horror Fanatic, I think it truly fits her personality of getting bored easily. Good horror finds a way to surprise you no matter if you know the tropes or not, and surprises = no boredom. It’s an almost comedic reasoning, but it truly fits her in my opinion.
“You were quite the hopeless child. Dying once wasn’t enough, so you attempted three times.”
I think this is Hu. I know this secret being Hu’s is a popular theory, although admittedly I don’t follow many DRDT theories so I’m not exactly sure why, so my reasoning may or may not overlap.
Hu states in the trial that if she can’t protect people, be that motherly role that she makes herself out to be, she won’t be useful anymore. I think she knows how it feels and wants to give everyone else comfort and support, which is why she gets on to Arei and Ace for their cruelty. It also fits with David stating that “[Hu] may not be the strong, noble person she makes herself out to be,” as, speaking from experience, those thoughts definitely makes the victim feel as though they are weak.
“You’re a murderer, and you hold no remorse.”
Teruko. I think this is Teruko. She is a pretty remorseless person in general, straight up pushing Min off of her as she pleads and begs for forgiveness moments before being excecuted. And no, that’s not the murder I’m talking about. I think the victim is the mystery girl Teruko’s been dreaming about. I don’t have real evidence, but this is definitely a gut feeling.
“You’re constantly blaming yourself for the death of your parents and siblings. It doesn’t matter that it’s not your fault, just that you didn’t go with them.”
This leaves Levi. Levi talks about being a better person a lot, and blaming himself may be the reason he feels like he has to. And with his slight outlashes at Ace during trials, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a trauma response.
So! That’s my thoughts, I hope you guys enjoyed my rambles! Again, if anything said contradicts canon, just know I didn’t fact check all of this, especially Levi’s section… I do think I remember him talking about family with Eden and it not being a sore subject, but hey. I’m actually pretty confident with the rest, especially Hu and Min.
So, yeah! I think that’s about it. Bye!~
#Teruko Tawaki#Eden Tobisa#Hu Jing#J Rosales#Veronika Grebenshchikova#Min Jeung#Arei Nageishi#Rose Lacroix#Xander Matthews#Alexander Matthews#David Chiem#Arturo Giles#Levi Fontana#Ace Markey#Whit Young#Charles Cuevas#Nico Hakobyan#drdt#danganronpa despair time#drdt theory#danganronpa despair time theory#drdt spoilers
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Also Maka trusting Medusa comes of as just being dumb, I get that she knew that she could lie and that it showed how desperate Maka was ect but still at the end it came of as Maka being more gulibile than clinging to any hope, nomater how irrational. I think it was also the point were Soul started looking as simply the much smarter out of the two with Maka acting more like just eyecandy to help him out with madness.
I’m a Maka defender, so a lot of what I would say may seem rather empty.
But I don’t think Maka trusting Medusa was dumb. I thought it was Maka taking the best option available based on limited information.
And I don’t see Maka as eye candy--that diminishes her role as protagonist and as Soul’s meister.
It doesn’t mean you have to like Maka’s choice. God knows there are things in fiction I hate (“Inca is a horrible character”) despite how it serves the story (“that’s the point: she’s a very unlikable character”) because there is just something that rubs me the wrong way (“oh yeah, then why doesn’t Inca ever get a comeuppance for being just the worst?”).
Some things can just be upsetting for valid reasons, even if you can still acknowledge how it works for the story. For me, Maka trusting Medusa is like a horror movie: “Don’t go in that door--oh, now you’re dead!” It sucks, but I get it, and it doesn’t reduce my regard for Maka. Maybe that we get a “happy”-ish ending, where Crona says the day by series end, mitigates this arc, because if Crona hadn’t been saved all because Maka made this mistake in trusting Medusa, we would all be just crestfallen about what happened.
Like I said, it wasn’t dumb, it was the best of a bad situation. Maka’s trust in Medusa was limited: it was, “Get Medusa what she wants--stopping Arachne--because that is our best chance to retrieve Crona.” Believing that Arachne had Crona was foolish--but why shouldn’t Maka assume that is a possibility?
If anything, this is a fault in the writing and the paneling, too. If it was me? During the Baba Yaga arc, keep cutting to a room where we see Crona in it, looking awful. That way, when we end Baba Yaga with Medusa escaping, we reveal that room with Crona in it was never at Baba Yaga, it was in the prison Medusa made for Crona--so that we are in the position Maka is in, having made an assumption on flimsy evidence. Put us into Maka’s shoes so that we get how foolish she was for believing Medusa--and how foolish we were for believing this story.
It would also mitigate some of the unlikable qualities of this arc, such as when Maka weirdly seems to cozy up to Medusa more than Soul, the two joking about how Soul sounds like a timid old boomer, or, as Maka put it in the English translation, a “sister-in-law” who “bitches and whines.” (Progressive gender stereotypes there, Maka. //snark =_=# ) I appreciate how Soul Eater flipped the dynamic, where Soul was sometimes the more level-headed responsible one compared to Maka--but even if this is for a joke, having Maka and Medusa acting chummy while Soul is seeing Medusa’s potential treachery incoming, is hard to stomach.
In response to your other points: I despise the trope that “the character is young, so they are gullible and foolish and make these silly mistakes, because they are young.” It’s the Young Justice problem: yeah, young people typically have fewer years of experience--but there are many young people with far more experience in any one thing that exceeds the experience of an adult, just as there is a young character whose experiences make them so not gullible.
With Maka, it’s complicated. I’m not going to defend adultery, but as we see Maka get older, we do see her willingness to be around her dad increase. She is someone who, with experiences, recognizes when it is and isn’t appropriate to break rules. The manga, however, goes far more into showing how, as Black Star said in the Kishin Revival Arc, she is in her rebellious phase. What was checking out that manuscript of the Book of Eibon with her father’s card anything but foolish, irresponsible, and rebellious? Maybe it seems like Ohkubo didn’t have a handle on Maka--or, more likely, that he was writing Maka in a way that some of us didn’t see coming, as someone who makes silly mistakes, because, based on tropes and what we knew about her, we thought she was smart and wouldn’t make these mistakes.
But we have seen repeatedly that Maka can be book smart, do well on tests--and still screw up.
She didn’t figure out Blair was a cat.
She took her responsibility to fulfill Lord Death’s mission so seriously that it almost got her and her teammates killed by Sid and Stein. (It was all a test, but still.)
She rushed into the church and almost got killed by Crona and got Soul infected with Black Blood.
She will come through in a clutch to work with others such as Soul and Black Star, but it will take a lot of effort, and she can run out of patience.
(Sidebar: yes, Maka and Black Star both needed to learn from their initial failure to synchronize; no, Stein putting the blame all on Maka is not appropriate, that was bullshit and bad teaching; yes, Black Star should have been more flexible--and the refusal of the story to have him do so is such bullshit.)
And she trusted Medusa when her dedicated weapon partner was correctly warning her, “Don’t trust that witch!”
What I’m trying to say is that, you definitely can find Maka frustrating at these moments. I do, too. But her overall character progression--a desire to get better, some actual victories she secured--has me rooting for her. I don’t dismiss her with some bullshit, “She’s young, she’s gullbile,” complaint that I think some fiction writers express about their characters: I’ll give Ohkubo credit, he (probably despite himself) made Maka a complex character, somehow who is incredibly smart--and sharing one brain cell with Soul. She is the Peter Parker of our story, so much potential, so much bad luck.
And I push back on referring to Maka as eye candy to help Soul out with madness.
Again, I have a lot of complaints about Ohkubo’s male gaze, and it’s not absent with Maka.
But I can’t remember a scene of Soul seeing Maka as eye candy to get out of madness. Hell, she showed up the first time in that black blood dress inside the Little Ogre’s room--and the first thing Soul did was claim this is a fake Maka. It wasn’t Maka’s appearance that got him out of madness in Baba Yaga--it was a book to the end. And when Soul fell under the sway of madness due to those black blood bubbles, it was Soul himself who got himself out of the madness--along with another Maka Chop.
It never struck me as Maka being that kind of an “eye candy” anchor to Soul, especially when that anchoring was far more due to the soulmate angle, that Maka was someone like his brother who would accept his music as it was but unlike Wes would not overshadow him (not because Maka holds back, but because Maka’s strengths are not the same as Soul’s strengths--they complement each other). Maka’s appearance isn’t what got Soul out of madness; again, despite himself, Ohkubo somehow wrote one of the best romantic soulmates stories--while actively avoiding having the two be out-loud in that kind of a relationship.
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Theory: Season 2 will show that Brett is a sleeper agent planted by JR
I’ve heard people theorize that Brett is a secret agent, but I personally think he’s a sleeper agent, aka, he’s an agent whose been brainwashed into being unaware that he’s a spy.
(Keep in mind: I don know for sure if this is true. These are mostly just interesting things I noticed when rewatching the show and seeing a lot of weird coincidences).
For one thing, the show makes it clear that Brett, for all intents and purposes, would make a good spy. Not in the same way as Rafe Masters, whose really more of a really showy operative than an actual spy (Reagan even points this out when he breaks through a glass ceiling very loudly and attracts a bunch of attention). Actual spies in real life are meant to be normal looking, boringly mundane, and good at staying out of trouble for fear of blowing their covers.
The show early on points out that Brett is always below suspicion, and the show even goes out of its way to do that to the audience as well. Still, there is a big amount of foreshadowing that Brett is some kind of agent. For example;
His face is “so generic that it can’t be traced by sattelites” and he can literally infiltrate the White House just by bullshitting the guards, which isn't an easy task even if you are a generic white dude in a suit. Alpha-Beta also proves this when he gets Brett’s name and identity wrong (despite being a super intelligent AI, and Brett coming from what seems to be an incredibly wealthy family, so his information seems to be completely wiped from whatever database AB was using).
Reagan, in episode one, is immediately suspicious of him and thinks he’s too good to be true, and everyone else brushes off her concerns because they think she’s being crazy. The audience might have even been suspicious of him, too, at least before he turned out to be genuinely sweet and her “evidence” was shown to be quite flimsy. There were even some viewers who were genuinely surprised Brett turned out to have nothing up his sleeve, mostly because, when this cliche happens in other shows, the "perfect" person turns out to be actually villainous, while in Inside Job, Reagan seemingly turns out to be in the wrong.
In episode nine, Reagan throws the accusation that Brett is a “sleeper agent planted by Abercrombie and Fitch” and the gang only backs off when he mentions his therapy appointments. It doesn't really matter too much, but it's VERY weird that Reagan makes the same accusation in both the beginning and end of a season to the same character, especially since they're best friends. So, I'm led to believe that, in season two, she's gonna accuse him again and it'll be much more dramatic.
JR also has Brett go undercover as a rich guy to trick Bezos into buying the yacht. And Brett somehow SUCCEEDS at it, even though he looks like an idiot doing it. JR also notably pulls Brett to speak in private A LOT, and perhaps only really does it to Reagan as well. It's possible that it's because Brett is new, but it's something that has happened quite a few times.
Brett mentions always wanting to be a spy, even as a child.
Also, as an aside, we know sleeper agents exist in this world, since Jimmy Fallon is one apparently, and references are made to others.
The reason why I think JR is the one who planted Brett as a sleeper agent is for a few reasons:
For one, JR is the one who apparently hired Brett. Even though he already had Reagan in line to get promoted to leader, and he knows she can do it, he still hires an unpaid, inexperienced intern who doesn’t even seem to know how anything in the company works? To LEAD the team on his first day, and not just start at the bottom and work his way up? I get that this is meant to be a joke about the fact that Brett, a cis white guy, gets the same job position as Reagan, a half Asian woman whose put in far more work and obviously deserves the promotion more. But, like, Brett didn’t even APPLY for a job, since he supposedly met JR at a barbecue. It’s pretty funny he got hired despite having 0 qualifications, but it’s also suspicious.
This almost seems like JR is just being shallow by hiring him; but we’ve also seen JR be genuinely intelligent, ruthless, and manipulative when it comes to running Cognito. He’s not really someone to hire some random shithead off the street, but he is the type to deliberately plant a sleeper agent among the gang for later use.
Compared to everyone else, Brett almost feels TOO normal for his job. I understand that that’s part of the joke, that he’s just a regular guy at an insane workplace, but it also seems a bit jarring because he’s just so normal. Almost too normal, as if it’s on purpose.
So why? What goal could there be for JR to put in a sleeper agent? Well, perhaps it’s just a fail safe for if he were to be knocked from his position. Maybe activating Brett’s sleeper agent status is a worse-case scenario; if JR managed to achieve his goal of getting a black robe, then he could leave the company in the care of Reagan and Brett, and no one would ever know Brett’s true nature. If someone happened to get in his way of getting his promotion (*cough* Rand *cough*) than he has another option open...
So, why do I think. Brett is a sleeper agent, and not just a regular spy? Well, the thing is, a sleeper agent is different from a spy in that they are completely unaware of the fact that they are undercover. While a normal spy is essentially putting on an act, a fake persona to make them seem friendly, boring and harmless, a sleeper agent is basically just a regular person with no malicious intent until they are “activated”. In other words, Brett would have no idea that he’s undercover, which would mean his sweet personality would be completely genuine, not just a trick to garner trust.
This would also explain why Myc wouldn’t know he’s a mole; if Brett were a spy, and his nice personality was just an act to trick people, Myc would have figured it out on day one when he read Brett's mind. This would fill in any plot holes about his mind getting read and explain why he wasn't outed sooner.
#inside job#inside job brett#inside job reagan#inside job jr#inside job robotus#inside job myc#brett hand#reagan ridley#inside job rand#rand ridley#inside job netflix#magic myc#inside job Brett hand#netflix
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Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)
Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!
What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3
If you’d like to read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.
Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/
Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.
Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)
Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.
Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl @casifer-is-king (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)
GIF: @nathan-bateman
From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.
Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.
You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.
At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.
Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.
…Most of the time.
Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.
“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.
Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.
“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.
“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”
You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.
“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.
Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.
“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”
You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?
“We’re gonna have to share a room.”
You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.
You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.
Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”
“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.
Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”
Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.
“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”
Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.
“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.
He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.
“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?
He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”
Oh. Oh dear.
You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.
Right. Ha.
What could possibly go wrong?
**********************
It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.
Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.
Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.
“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.
Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.
It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.
You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.
“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.
“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.
“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”
Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.
“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.
You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.
You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.
You’re not ready for that.
You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.
“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.
“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.
“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.
“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”
“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.
Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.
Especially in that damn suit.
***********************************
The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.
Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.
You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.
“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.
“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.
“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”
So, he did think of you, then?
“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.
“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.
You still don’t look at him. You can’t.
“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.
You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.
“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.
It doesn’t half sting.
“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.
“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”
“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.
“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”
You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?
You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”
Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.
Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”
You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.
He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”
“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.
He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.
You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.
“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”
Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.
When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.
A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.
You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.
***********************
You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.
Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.
Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.
With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.
You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.
Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.
You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.
“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.
“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.
He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.
This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.
You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.
As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.
After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.
“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”
You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.
“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”
There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.
You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”
This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.
A soft smile blooms on your face.
It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.
For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.
So, you simply let him hold you.
To disarm you further.
To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.
****************************************
In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.
“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.
“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.
You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”
“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.
Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.
Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.
There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.
Operation Wedding Day is go.
That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?
“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.
“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”
Ready. Are you ready?
Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.
Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.
“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.
You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”
“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”
You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.
Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.
“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”
You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.
You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.
Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.
*********************************************
Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.
Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.
The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.
Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.
Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.
You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.
There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.
After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.
At least… you think so.
You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.
And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.
You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.
“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”
“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.
“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”
You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.
“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”
A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.
Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?
You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.
“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”
“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.
“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”
A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.
“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.
The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”
Ready. Are you ready?
“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”
Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.
“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”
Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.
If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.
“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”
With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.
You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.
“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.
You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.
“Santi.”
And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.
You know he will take care of you.
With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.
It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.
So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.
“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.
“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.
“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”
Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.
“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.
“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.
You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”
And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.
THE END
(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)
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My Top 8 Best Acting Moments from Aidan Gallagher!
Thank You to Anonymous for Requesting
Analysis Below
>>Warning: This is a giant post, so don’t click “read more” unless you genuinely want to read more. Otherwise, you’ll be scrolling for a long-ass time. This analysis covers the acting, psychology, and writing genius of Five Hargreeves.<<
So, this may be the lowest on this list, but it is by no means his weakest acting scene. My god, this scene is incredible because of the accuracy given the age and, henceforth, the experience of the actor.
Acting is effective if the person is able to accurately tell a truth whilst in imaginary circumstances. In order to act powerfully, we are commonly taught to connect complicated emotional situations to something we know well and, therefore, can portray well.
For many, being drunk isn’t anything new. And being tipsy isn’t exactly uncommon to act out. But for a fourteen-year-old, this is awesome to see because it is incredibly accurate. And, given the character’s psychological/emotional status, it’s even more impressive.
Here’s why:
So, right off the bat, listening to Aidan’s speech is something awesome. His clear yet natural slurring, his guttural tone: these two things are perfect indications of intoxication, since volume control is practically gone and drunk people don’t think things through. They just talk, and talk, and stumble because their inhibitions are so low.
It’s can really be heard, best, when he says, “she said it makes me surly” and when Diego whips around, he says, “hmm?”
Another thing that makes this so fun to watch is the fact that Aidan is completely lax. Being carried is one sign of that, yes, but even his subtle movements are loose. He did his homework, not only for the vocalization of someone who is drunk, but also for their movements.
Look how loose his movements are. He just tosses his hand up, lets it drop back down, and his head is too heavy, flopping all around. Completely uncoordinated and smooth, which is a bright contrast to Five’s usual coordinated, sharp, and calculated movements. The character is relatively rigid, which makes sense given his psychology and traumas.
Speaking of traumas.
There is this beautiful, subtle self-soothing movement going on right here. It’s a clear comfort to him, and after the night he has had, and the trauma he has endured, it makes perfect sense for him to be clinging to her as such. Whether Aidan knew what he was doing with this, I can’t say, but what I can say was that it was a fantastic choice of action to follow through with.
KEY NOTES: Acting drunk is all about fluidity. You make yourself as liquid-y as possible. Become one with the water, though not in an elegant way. Rather, become the cup that’s just tipped over. Water is spilling over the side, getting everywhere, aimlessly spreading across the tabletop. It’s a mess, it has no direction nor stability, etc.
Aidan follows through with this beautifully. I could gush about this all day, just as I could with so much of his acting. Acting drunk is hard, even for some adults. Luckily, he has it on his side that Five is so completely opposite of what we see here, that him being so flimsy and giggly is strange as shit.
Additionally, if you’re ever needing to act drunk, do the opposite of your character, given the script allows it. If the character is normally very carefree and lighthearted, become the depressed, crying drunk, or the angry drunk. Or, like Aidan, if your character is normally rigid, become a giggling mess that can’t take shit seriously.
On to the next, where it’s more about the psychology of a character rather than the physical acting of the actor...
This scene. This was the moment that made me realize just how much I adored Five when he’s absolutely batshit. Unlike most of this list, where internal conflict and monologue drives for an impressive performance, in this case, it is the external conflict and monologue that makes this scene fantastic!
Here’s why:
It is an absolute rollercoaster of emotions for Five Hargreeves.
Seriously, this guy is leaping from emotion to emotion, bouncing between frustration to borderline panic to bitter glee to mania to relief. You can practically see the gears turning in Aidan’s head throughout the entire scene as he throws Five through the ringer.
So, from the top, we’re given this glorious moment, both a genius writing move and fantastically acted.
The vending machine.
I know a lot of people are like, “hell yeah” because Aidan gets to say “fuck”, or because he’s just off the shits. There are many reasons to love this scene. But I especially love this scene because it’s really introducing to the audience exactly what’s going to happen: intensity, violence, and Five snapping, losing his cool in a lapse of fear and frustration and desperation. And it’s beautifully encapsulated in this one fucking scene.
Aidan’s acting here might seem easy, and in a sense, it is. It’s easy to ram your shoulder against a vending machine and shake it and get mad. But what isn’t easy is knowing why you’re doing this, and feeling it. Just from observation and process of elimination, Aidan’s likely mostly a method-based actor. He bases his acting, and his characters, in his own reality. That means that, if Five is panicked, Aidan will force panic upon himself. He’ll induce an emotion physically to get a psychological and emotional reaction.
And here, it’s clear that whatever he was thinking out, however he had prepped for this scene, was working. Because you can freeze these frames and, sure, see funny faces. But you’ll also see flashes of fear, of desperation, of panic, of anger. Fear and panic because he may fail his siblings, he may not be able to save them. Desperation because he needs this to work, he is going to murder all these people and so he needs it to work. And anger because the Handler is making him do this again; he’s right under her thumb once more.
All of these emotions, every damn one, is played out in this one. fucking. scene. And that’s insane.
Those emotions come to a head here:
Aidan’s deep, stabilizing breath grounds Five. He has gotten his rage and desperation and fear out. Now, there’s only one thing for Five to do: murder the Board. And it’s an instant click here.
There’s the deep breath. The understanding. The resignation to what needs to be done.
Then a head turn.
Then boom. Look carefully. You can see the light drain from his eyes, see the hesitation bleed out right there. Right there. All within a breath, head turn, a beat, then a face forward.
That is some intense grasp on your physicality, your emotions, and your portrayal of those emotions. Aidan’s always been fantastic at emoting, but subtle scenes like this just prove his class in it. It’s incredible to see.
And then this scene:
This shit is actually an amazing move on Aidan’s part. It holds both literal and metaphorical weight: he sighs, from exhaustion, because Five is fucking tired after jumping that much, expending that much energy in a short amount of time, and narrowly letting his target escape. But it’s also showing a mental exhaustion, a wearing of the mind on the body. He sighs from relief, but it’s ironic, because the fight is far from over.
And you can see that.
Notice how Aidan may be sighing - sighing with his whole body - but the exhaustion is still in his eyes, his brow is still furrowed. There is no relief there, because there isn’t any relief for Five in this moment. His mission has been accomplished, but he has to deal with the Handler, with the aftermath, with the repercussions of his selfish actions to save his family.
And you can see it all in this movement.
KEY NOTES: When acting out internal conflict, be subtle. Obvious movements are made for obvious, external conflicts. A person who punches first in a bar fight as an obvious external conflict. But, like shown here, a person who is breaking from the inside out will have external action, but also internal emotion that comes out in the most subtle of ways, whether it be through expression, through contradicting action (the sigh, but no visible relief), etc.
More often than not, in the arts, less is more. However, you first need to understand the more to be able to do the less. So analyze the scene, analyze the character, understand it fully, and feel it truthfully.
Onto the next!
This scene is quick but beautiful.
I love the entire apocalypse scene, and I’m sure you do as well. But this one moment right here. This moment where he sees Klaus and backs away? Fucking beautiful.
Let’s just zoom in, shall we?
Yes, a lovely grainy gif. But God it shows everything you need it to. This scene is a fucking gutpunch, and here’s why:
You can see every flicker of emotion, every transition. It’s in the way his mouth eventually closes, the way he backs up, slowly. It’s so fucking evident that Five is heartbroken, and you can see the thoughts going through his head. The realization that this is Klaus, that his siblings are dead, that he is alone in this apocalypse and his family is dead. The tears in his eyes...
God, bro. It hits so good.
Not being able to use dialogue can sometimes be difficult, because the actor doesn’t have a key part of their craft with them: words. Being able to emote, to shift from emotion to emotion so seamlessly with just a meager movement of the jaw while backing away. It’s incredible.
That’s literally all this is about. I chose this as my number six because it is so powerful within only a hundred-or-so frames. Having an actor be able to emote to clearly with just facial expression...
Shit, bro. Shit. It’s fantastic.
Like I said, the rest of this scene is amazing, and him finding his other siblings is intense, but this look right here is just...unparalleled.
KEY NOTES: Feel that shit. If you can’t feel it, craft a narrative to make yourself feel it. Again, acting is always about believing and living truthfully in imaginary circumstances, and sometimes it’s difficult to express emotions and feelings as is, let alone without dialogue. To help that, think of something.
For example, in this scene, if I were Aidan, I would think about the fact that these people I love are dead, the world as I know it is destroyed. Sure, I may not know that literal feeling, but I do understand the feeling of hopelessness, of feeling so utterly alone. Make it so that you’re able to live truthfully, however you need to do that. People usually don’t have completely empty heads; they’re thinking of things, of many things, often. So think about those things in-scene and in-character, and feel it.
Additionally, this is going back to the less is more. Aidan barely moves, here. His expression is relatively static but that slow back away, that hardening of his jaw, those things are gentle shifts that drastically change the way Five is in the scene. He goes from shocked, slack-jawed and glassy-eyed, to feeling cold realization as he closes his mouth and backs away, the understanding dawning upon him.
I could gush about this for decades...
Next!
This whole barn scene is just...gold as fuck. But this scene in particular, with the interwoven flashbacks of Five’s siblings, his father, his instances with time travel. The realizations that cross his face are beautiful, which in turn, makes this scene fantastic.
Get ready for some awkwardly close close-ups, because I’m about to explain some really cool shit as to how Aidan’s using facial expressions to navigate pain, realization, fear, surprise, etc.
So here’s why:
FEELING THE FEELINGS.
That’s how. A lot of what makes this scene powerful from an acting perspective is because Aidan completely suspends himself in disbelief. There are a lot of surprises that come to Five in this moment, and Aidan feels them all. And he feels them powerfully. He feels the shock around the pain of being shot, on top of it.
So to kick it off! Here:
Aidan’s living in this moment. He’s living in the anger of the Handler, thinking he’s going to die right here. His siblings have just been murdered again, by this bitch. And the audience is able to live in that with him. His eyes harden. His jaw sets. He’s breathing tight around the pain, infuriated, either shaking from the agony or the hatred or both.
Five is so caught up in that moment, and Aidan suspends himself in that moment so clearly, that the next moment is powerful as shit.
The Handler gets shot.
She gets turned to swiss-fucking-cheese right in front of him, and the way Aidan lets Five live in every second is beautiful. He goes from shocked, to confused, to going, “oh shit, that looks painful”. And it’s muted by his pain. Aidan doesn’t need to move much, he doesn’t need to make a grandiose gesture. It’s wide eyes, it’s knitted eyebrows, it’s swallowing around the blood and letting Five be in this moment.
And then Five realizes - Aidan lets Five realize - that the Swede has taken the Handler’s place. That he’s going to die all over again.
There is that anger again. That pure fucking spite. It’s the look of a man who would murder someone if he could sit up. His jaw sets from before, where it was slack with surprise and sympathetic pain. Look how sharp his eyes are. Boy is fucking pissed and it’s beautiful.
Let’s hop back! Back to movement!
Aidan’s squirming around here?
Realistic as shit. Five’s just been shot. That’s absolute agony. And there’s blood coming down the side of his mouth, which means his lungs have somehow been hurt. He can’t talk, breathing must suck, and so of course he’s writhing on the ground.
And this?
Is Five clenching his hands from pain? Is he trying to blink? What’s going on here? I don’t know, maybe Aidan does, but either way, both motivations are powerful. Five may be trying to blink away. He may be trying to tap into his powers instinctively. Or maybe he’s squirming in pain, clenching and unclenching his fists. And that shit punches. It’s so subtle, but so good, keeping the audience in the moment. No matter where you look on his body, whether his hands, his face, his chest - it all shows the agony he’s in, the desperation he’s swimming in.
Which then leads to the coolest fucking moment:
Look at how his eyes shift, only just so. His brows furrow only slightly. He’s realizing what’s going on, what he can do to save his family. Aidan played this perfectly. Again, less is more. These subtle movements make so much sense, because Five has been shot, he’s losing blood fast, and it’s dulling his movements and senses.
And when Five begins turning back the seconds?
The pain, the shock, the “holy shit this is working???” My god, you can see him choking on the blood and around the agony. You can see his hesitation, his being startled by his own powers, by what he is capable of. The rapid blinking, the jumping eyebrows, the gasping for air as the bullets likely begin ripping out of him.
KEY NOTES: Subtle subtle subtle. Live in that moment. Suspend your disbelief. Here, in this scene, there are several key shifts. These shifts are supposed to be a massive surprise to Five. And because Aidan is king at staying in the moment, and letting that moment live in him, he is able to display these shifts perfectly.
1st Shift - Realizing he is alive, and his siblings are dead.
2nd Shift - The Handler getting shot.
3rd Shift - Axel moving to kill him.
4th Shift - The realization of his father’s words.
5th Shift - Holy shit time travel is working.
All of them need to have a shift in-scene/with the tone. Aidan shifts this with pure expression. He doesn’t need to utter a single word because he is able to live in that moment and truly let himself be shocked, scared, desperate, angry, etc. So, in order to do this, live in the moment.
Some people say knowing exactly what will happen helps, because you’re able to time your expressions perfectly. Others say that knowing nothing helps, because you’re literally letting yourself be surprised. This truly depends on the actor, and their style. Aidan has expressed that he waits to read his lines until he’s there, on set, because then it’ll be more of a shock to him. That works really well for him (clearly) but it may not work for you, so test that out how you’d like.
Onto the next!
This.
Shit.
Is so good.
The moment when Five meets with Dolores again after god knows how much time while he was at the Commission-- It’s beautiful. And again, being the king of the subtle, Aidan can display the perfect mix of emotions that are occurring in this scene.
Here’s what’s up:
As many people may have noticed, a lot of these fantastic, key moments for me, in particular, are special due to subtlety. And subtlety is seen in the micro-expressions displayed through the face, mainly. Specifically, the eyes. Aidan’s ability to act solely through his eyes is something I’m going to focus on for this scene in particular.
These are his eyes the moment he sees Dolores again. And what’s really, really fucking cool is that Aidan is completely living in this scene. It shows in his eyes: real compassion, real love, real care. Sure, Aidan may not care about the mannequin in front of him, but he is thinking about something, whether that’s Five’s ties to Dolores, or someone in his life that he truly feels fond over.
You can see it.
His eyes soften significantly as the gif continues, and you can even see the corners of his eyes upturn after he says, “Dolores”. There is real love here. The actor is able to portray true love through just the eyes. And that’s insane. Many actors express love through physical action because they may not be actually feeling it. They’ll say, “I love you” but express flatly, with dull eyes and a forced smile.
But here. No, not that shit. This shit has Aidan feeling everything. And it makes a big difference, makes everything feel so much more genuine. Good acting is through the eyes, not the words. Dialogue enhances the story, but being genuine, and selling that story as “reality”, is done by the actor, through the eyes, the subtle expressions, the minimal gestures and movements.
Let’s look at some more eyes?
Now, I fucking hate looking at eyes. But with Aidan - like with many good actors - I find them fascinating to watch. Because if an actor is feeling it, is living in the moment, they will express fantastically through their eyes. Most human communication is body language/unspoken, and I’m willing to bet a good chunk of that is through the eyes alone.
You can see Five thinking in that second gif, his eyes flicking left, left further, deep in thought for just a second. That is the thing you should be envisioning when authors say, “they could practice see the wheels turning in their head”.
In that first gif, Aidan’s compassion and softness, his quiet eyes, are contrasted by the sharp roll following the “obviously”, which makes the love being expressed to Dolores only that much stronger. It enhances the moment. See, because being too subtle the entire time makes it so the audiences don’t pick up much at all, they don’t feel it. And being too obvious makes you an amateur, makes it comical, almost.
When you’re strong in your craft, you’re able to make every single move in the most calculated of manners, but you make it seem effortless, make it seem natural. That’s incredible shit.
I’m by no means saying Aidan is perfect. He definitely isn’t. But, scenes like this showcase his experience in the field.
KEY NOTES:
Piggybacking off the subtlety discussed earlier, practice living in the moment. There is no real way to practice “being subtle” because it manifests naturally when the actor is living in the moment. Hence why this scene is so high on my list.
So learn to equate the emotions of your characters to your life. Tie your character’s life into yourself, somehow, all while keeping a safe distance. It’s by no means easy, and it takes years to learn how to do that, how to express naturally and not force a single thing. Being vulnerable, and raw, and flawed like that is hard, since so many people are taught that flaws are shameful, that perfection is required for success. But acting, like much of the arts, require you to unravel that believe and be truly vulnerable, exposed to possibly millions of viewers.
So learn to live in the moment. That will shield you all whilst letting you live freely as the character and, therefore, express truthfully and subtly.
Next!
Remember my rant about subtlety?
Yeah, fuck that, because with this, we’re going to talk about going off the rails. But, going off the rails in a tasteful manner. The paradox psychosis scenes were a beautiful contrast to a normally stiff, calculated character. it was satisfying, and entertaining, and so fucking powerful when breaking down the psychology of Five.
So let’s hop into that:
Psychology is everything to a character, because it is everything to humanity, and people as a whole. Every decision made is dictated by psychology, by experiences and how those are compartmentalized and processed in the brain. An action isn’t done without it meaning something to the person.
And the same goes for every character made.
If you are a writer, you need to understand the actions and reactions of your characters based on their experiences and their psychology. If you just...write random shit because you want to, or because it seems funny or creepy, it may be good, but it won’t line up psychologically and it’ll show. It’ll be obvious to those of us that study this day-in-day-out.
The same goes for acting and actors.
An actor will be much more powerful in their role if they can understand their character’s psychology. The amount of empathy going into this is intense, especially for those playing “villains” or antagonists - those with flimsy morals - because you need to be able to break down, understand, and agree with the psychology of your character. It’ll make them so much more realistic and powerful.
That is why seeing Five - a normally calculated, sharp, careful character - off the shits is the best thing ever. And it’s in-character, too! He’s learned over the years that independence is the key to survival, that thought (as opposed to action, or outbursts) yields better results.
Yet here, in the scene, Five is relying upon Luther’s help. He’s trusting his brother. He’s acting irrationally. He’s skittish. And it’s such a beautiful contrast. Admittedly, this scene is more about the writing than Aidan’s acting, but it is still fantastically acted, and that only adds more to the realism, to the intensity, to the fact that it is so not Five to do this, and yet, it is very much so Five.
That! Is because of body language.
We know it is Five, that it is in-character, because it still follows Five’s normal body language, his gestures, his manic buzzing around despite his words sounding paranoid, despite his actions being rash. I’ve already spent a lot of time on this number already, so I’ll just demonstrate with a specific scene:
He’s pensive as hell right here. Shoulders tense, shifting back wards. He knows what’s going on, he’s as terrified as he allows himself to be (because he can’t stifle it, perhaps), and it’s so very Five while also being not Five at all.
Despite the music telling us it’s all gucci, it is not all gucci. Look at his eyes. They harden. They get dark. His demeanor completely shifts into caution. he swallows. Steels himself. This is the Five we know - a paranoid little shit - and yet, there is fear that is so uncharacteristic. All through Aidan’s beautiful acting. All through him understanding the psychology of Five perfectly. This is why it is required that you understand your character’s every move, every action, every line of dialogue, every thought.
So, this kind of shit throughout the entire paradox psychosis scene is just amazing. And it’s exactly for the reasons listed above. Aidan knows Five. Not only is he Five, but he knows Five. Inside and out. And god does it show.
KEY NOTES:
Know your character. Know them better than you know yourself. Deadass. Know them better thank you know yourself so that you can delve into the meat of their psychology and tweeze out exactly what you need to do in order to act them correctly.
Onto the next!
This gourmet shit.
Time to get uncomfortably close once again.
The jaw clench! The cheek tightening! The head tilt! The lips thinning! Look at that beautiful expression. See, acting, like writing, is all based on formula. Now, I’m going to out myself, but I’m autistic. Facial expressions, movements, twitches, etc. aren’t inherent to me, and understanding them and analysis them is a learned behavior.
Actors and writers, like me, need to understand the formula.
Clenched jaw + fidgeting + tightening lips = numerous things, ranging from frustration, to anger, to desperation, to pain.
But when you include the eyes.
The eyes tell it all.
Small, watering, tight at the corners, knitted brows. All of these, plus our formula above, create the perfect mix of frustration, desperation, pain, fear.
He is frustrated with the situation, with Vanya. He is desperate to get her to listen. He is in pain because he hates to do this to her, hates to have to fight her on this. And he is scared because what if he has to fight her?
Actors are usually conscious - at least at first - about these movements. They learn to have complete control of their bodies, their faces, down to the muscle. Or, they should. I can’t speak for Aidan, because I’m not him, clearly. But I can safely say that, if he doesn’t consciously have control of his body and understand exactly what’s going on, then he has some intense intuition about his emotions. He is able to perfectly display a mishmash of emotions, all perfect given the situation, the character, his experiences.
Aidan gives Five the multi-layering goodness that we analysis kids love because Five isn’t just upset. He isn’t just frustrated. He is frustrated on top of being scared, and agonized, and exhausted (you can see the weariness in his eyes; it’s all in the eyes).
KEY NOTES
I’m not sure if this would help, but try making a formula. If you are worried about your character not doing an emotion right, or wanting to do multiple emotions at once, craft a formula or a chart.
So, say you want depression and anger. A basic formula could look like this:
Depression = Hollow Eyes + Monotone Voice + Slumped Posture
Anger = Shaking + Sharp Eyes + Clenched Fists
Then, you can combine the two together. You can have hollowed eyes, and a monotone voice, but also sharpened corners to the eyes, and clenched fists. Here, Aidan is tapping into multiple things, things that have interwoven specifics to their formulas. That’s why it works so beautifully. His eyes scream agony, his jaw tightens with frustration, his eyebrow knit together with frustration--
Bless this kid and his acting.
Anyways, last but definitely not least, here is my final analysis:
Now, this scene may not seem like the most intense acting ever, but in reality - to me - this shit is insanely powerful. It’s not just the acting going into work here; it’s the blocking, the dialogue, the pacing, the atmosphere, the emotional environment, the music and sound engineering...
It’s a fucking cinematic masterpiece.
But, since I am here to talk about just acting, and just Aidan’s acting, let me tell you about how this scene is made so good. There are two reasons:
One, is that Aidan is a master at post traumatic stress disorder and PTSD psychological processes and how that comes out in action, reaction, dialogue delivery, etc.
And two, he acts like a grown-ass old man.
Let’s talk about the second one first, because why not:
(apologies ahead of time for fucked gifs, this scene is impossible)
This scene. It’s just a drink. Chill, whatever, right?
Wrong.
It’s the way he moves. The way he drinks. The way he holds himself when he is around Reginald, another man his age. Around another man his age that had abused him, had done him wrong, but in Five’s eyes, some whom he had done wrong, too.
Luther is the sibling that is always said to be in denial about their father’s wrongdoings, but a lot of people neglect the fact that Five is, too. He is just as much in denial as Luther, if not more so by the time season two wraps up.
And it shows.
It shows in the way he moves as if they were equals, when they are so clearly not. He tils his head, gives acknowledgement in the way old men do. The generational gap is closed by Aidan’s movements, not by his words. It’s incredibly satisfying to see Five’s psychology bleeding through as he instinctively shifts from “I’m dealing with a bunch of kids” to “I’m alongside a man my age, my father”.
And speaking of psychology, let’s please talk about PTSD.
Specifically, subtle show not tell of PTSD, all through the eyes.
Right. Here.
Look, I’m not going to lie, if I analyze this scene, it’ll be the same things you’ve heard before. Everything I gushed about earlier is going to be repeated here for the ultimate finale on this long-ass fucking post.
But, humor me.
Five’s got trauma. Bitch has trauma for days. Though, he doesn’t wear it. He hides it, he buries it, because it is useless to him. Yet, it will always be there. His trauma of abandonment, and survival in the apocalypse, on top of the abuse from his father, the stress of his childhood, and topped off with the murder he had to shoulder for the sake of the Commission. Rarely does this show. Rarely is it seen.
Save for scene likes this. Right. Fucking. Here.
Aidan knows Five. And he knows the traumas Five’s endured.
Five can’t look at his father as he admits his failures, the snide, “I told you so” ringing through his head. He has to acknowledge that his father was right, that he was right all along. This is a burden Five has carried for decades, as seen with his discussion with Diego in 2x02. It’s not something small for him. So, to admit that...
The stare says it all.
His eyes are glazed over, lost in the past. He isn’t looking at Reggie, is looking past him. This is the thousand-yard stare you always read about. These are the eyes of agony, and regret, and a flashback. His eyes flick, flick to the side, towards the camera, as Five remembers something. Aidan knows how to play this. He knows how to play this trauma of remembering, of remembering what he had done to his siblings and how he has failed. And, finally, he is able to look and Reginald but he is choking back something. He swallows thickly, as if it’s almost sickening to do so.
Aidan’s understanding of Five, and his trauma and psychology, and expressing it all through his body language, and expression, and eyes. God, it’s fucking mesmerizing.
SO TO WRAP IT UP
Everything here is purely my opinion, but if I were to leave you with anything, acting (and writing) comes down to three basic things:
--Understanding the psychology of your character, through-and-through.
--Understanding your body, your expressions, your eyes, and how you react and can react to specific emotions.
--Living in the moment, and being present in the character’s life, being truthful to them over yourself.
These are the things that Aidan excels at. God, he is amazing at it. And I appreciate the hell out of it any time I see him. He is so truthful to Five, so honest to the character, that it’s beautiful to watch. Five is so flawed, so hurt, and so complex, and Aidan isn’t afraid to show us this vulnerability. I suppose that should be one last thing that all writers and actors and anyone in the arts should strive for:
--Vulnerability, pain, fear, and raw, oftentimes shielded emotions are not something to hide but, rather, are your greatest strength.
#aidan gallagher#the umbrella academy#umbrella academy#tua#number five#five hargreeves#five#acting analysis
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Speak Easy Part 10
Dabi x Reader, Bakugo x Reader
Words : 7142
Masterlist
Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together?
Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.
*********************************************************************
“Hold her down! Fuck! How is she still this strong? How much did you give her?”
Your vision was black, and you couldn’t tell if that was because you were blindfolded or just too drugged up to open your eyes. You could hear shuffling as two? No three people moved around you. One was pinning your arms down while another played with the collar that was digging into your neck.
“Listen man, I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here. If they find out we played with their new toy they’ll be pissed!”
There was a new set of hands gently pushing your flimsy medical gown up, “You heard what they were saying right? They said she’s the best sex a man will ever have in their life. It’s like her quirk or something.” You wanted to cry out, but your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. Were you even able to speak? Were you gagged? You couldn’t even tell. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” The hand firmly pressed into your hip. “Now hold her down, and make sure she stays quiet.”
You woke with a rush. Your breath beyond labored as you tried to run from the memories that refused to stay hidden for long. A new set of hands circled around your waist. These hands were different though. These hands were rough and callused. These hands were patient. These hands were reassuring.
“You want to talk about it?”
You shook your head before turning into him and burying your face into his chest. “Just another bad memory.”
His fingers trailed through your hair as he repeatedly kissed the top of your head. “Sometimes I wish I could just hop into your head, like you did mine the other night. Then I could see their faces. And I never forget a face…”
You heard the unsaid threat in his words. He wanted to know your demons so he could hunt them down. He was like Bakugo in that way. They both needed to do something…anything to make them feel like they were helping. The only difference is at the end of the day Bakugo’s victims end up in prison and Dabi’s end up six feet under.
The pounding in your head only seemed to increase. The drums of regret beating behind your eyeballs. “God.. why did we drink so much yesterday?” You groaned and curled further into Dabi’s side.
His fingers rubbed at your temples. “I seem to remember it being your idea. And who am I to deny the drinking queen.”
You groaned as you remembered your antics. “I know you’re not exactly known for being a good influence… but you could have tried a little harder to at least get me to drink some water.”
Dabi vibrated with soft chuckles. “Consider your hangover penance for making me play that ridiculous game. Now get off of me and go take a shower. You smell like a bar.”
With a pouting look you sighed, “But I’m still sad.”
Dabi gave your ass a hard slap. “There is no rule that says you can’t be sad and in the shower. Get your ass in there and clean yourself up. You’ll feel better after your clean and fed. I promise.”
With a chorus of dramatic groans and muffled curses you pulled yourself off of him and slowly made your way to his bathroom. You stopped right before you crossed the threshold and turned to give him your poutiest look, “Are you really going to make me do it alone.”
A pillow flew through the air faster than you thought possible and hit you in the face. “You are more than capable of cleaning yourself. I have other things I need to take care of.”
You stuck your bottom lip out, “Just because I can doesn’t mean that I want to.”
Like a man possessed, Dabi slowly got out of bed. He moved so slow, as if he was a predator stalking his prey. You instinctively held your breath in anticipation as he inched closer and closer. His eyes like a dim fire, but focused on you all the same. He invaded your personal space, slamming his hand on the door behind you beside your head. He leaned down until his nose brushed yours and his lips hovered over yours.
You closed your eyes as he leaned closer but right before your lips connected, “I don’t remember asking what you wanted. You need to take a shower, and I need to handle some business. If you’re still this desperate later then I’ll be more than happy to fuck you.” He gripped your chin and bumped your nose with his. “It’s not that I don’t want to. But I don’t want you to fall into a habit of letting me have my way with you every time you have a bad memory. It’s not fair to either of us.” You felt a single tear streak down your cheek as you nodded. “If it’s just a distraction fine, but you need to learn how to confront and deal with this shit on your own. It’ll just be harder later if you don’t. Believe me.”
A few beats of silence passed before he reluctantly backed away from you. His fingers lingering before letting go of you completely. It wasn’t until he was exiting his room you had the nerve to speak up. “You’re not just a distraction.”
There was no telling if he actually heard you or not. If he did, he didn’t react or respond. Your admission caught you surprise, and you almost hoped he hadn’t. You thought about this weird new attachment you were feeling to Dabi lately while you took your shower. You wouldn’t go as far as to call this foreign new feeling love or anything crazy like that. But you were growing quite fond of his presence. You felt comfort in his warmth, and you appreciated the way his hands always knew just wear to touch to ease your anxiety. Sure, he was a certified asshole, but at least he kept you strong. He made sure you took care of yourself. He didn’t take your shit or your excuses. He got you walking, talking, and opening up within weeks.
You went through your routine slowly, taking your time under the hot water. You’d rather not think about the memory that surfaced last night. But Dabi was right. You needed to take time to work things out yourself. His comfort was more of a band aid, a temporary fix. You needed to at least try to heal on your own.
You had no idea when it happened. It seemed like it was pretty early in your captivity. Back when you still had a little fight in you. You didn’t actually remember what happened after that but you can only assume the worst. Your skin crawled at the thought. You hugged yourself as you let the water hit your back. You closed your eyes as you let your heart beat slowly even out. You refused to let this define you. You were more than your trauma. You thought about Dabi again. He had his own scars. Both literally and figuratively. He had to look in the mirror every day and see the evidence of his trauma every day. If he could do that then you could do this.
One look into the mirror showed that your hair was absurdly long. You would need to cut it soon. But for now, you could just braid it. You giggled as you finished, it was like you had a secret weapon. It gave you a childish idea.
Skipping out of the room you made your way to the kitchen where Dabi was currently on the phone. If hero training taught you anything, it was stealth.
Silent as a mouse you tiptoed up to his turned back.
“We’ll be fine. You’re more than welcome to come if you’re that worried, but I promise it’s not a big deal.” You paused right before you pounced on him, curiosity getting the best of you. “I’ll send you the location, as well as updates. Will that make you feel better?” You could hear a rough voice on the other end and you instinctively knew it was Katsuki. “She’s fine, calm down already. She’s behind me right now thinking she’s sneaky would you like to talk to her?” You leapt at him swinging your braid like a whip and hitting him in the chest.
You froze as Dabi’s gaze flipped to you in seconds. “You want to talk to him?”
You silently nodded as you excepted the phone from him. “Hi…”
A relieved sigh, “I was worried you’d still be mad at me.”
You suddenly wished he was physically here so you could reassure him. “It was silly for me to react that way. It’s obviously not your fault. It… it just sucks.”
“I know…”
So many words hovered on the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t make yourself say them. “I feel like we need to talk, but I don’t want it to be over the phone.”
Katsuki gave a nervous chuckle, “Well I guess you’re in luck.” The doorbell rang out and you almost dropped Dabi’s phone.
Dabi took his phone back from you before stomping off to open the front door. “I really didn’t think you’d take me seriously when I said you could come.”
Without breaking eye contact with you Katsuki entered the house, “Well you did offer, and I did come. So, quite bitching and deal with it.” He noticed your nervous posture and he softened, which was something you didn’t think he was capable of. “You want to hash it out here, or would you like to talk privately?”
You nodded your head towards the back door, “It’s a nice day. We can sit on the patio.”
Dabi was secretly grateful. You would get the chance to have an honest conversation with Bakugo while also staying where he could see you.
Katsuki followed you out to the garden. He notices how you refused to look at the pool but he didn’t comment on it. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”
You collapsed into your chair and sighed. “I think we need to.” You looked up and your eyes locked with his vermillion ones. “Look, I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. I just… It’s just not fair.” You huffed as you averted your eyes. “That sounds so fucking childish but it’s how I feel. You, Izuku, Shoto, you all got to achieve your dreams. You’re heroes. But the people who did this, who are still doing this to me… they’re technically heroes too.”
His hands squeezed yours, but he made no attempt to cut off your little rant. “They would never do this to you. No one would even believe them if they tried. The public love you guys and you’re damn good at your jobs… and yet there’s nothing you can do to help me…” You could feel his gaze on you and your cheeks reddened. “I just feel helpless and stupid. Stupid for believing so much in the system. Stupid for falling for all their little tricks. Stupid for not seeing the bigger picture. And at the end of the day I can’t even fight it because I did those things… well not all of it, but a good majority. All I can do is lay low and pray no one ever finds me. I’m fucking helpless.”
He grunted and his grip on your hand tightened. “It kills me. You say I’m a hero and I can’t even save you.” You finally looked at him again and all you saw in his eyes now was raw anger. “I’ve never been so confused… so helpless in my life. I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know who’s on what side. Was my whole life a lie? Do real heroes even truly exist? Or are we all just pawns in some fucking bigger game?” His voice began to break under his emotion. “I love you y/n. I’m in love with you. I have been for a very long time. Maybe even since we were kids. And I can’t sleep at night because out of everyone in the world you were the one I couldn’t save. I blame myself every day. I tell myself if I had just fucking manned up and told you how I felt sooner then maybe we would have had a chance… and maybe I would have noticed when shit started going sideways.”
There was a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by anger once more. “Now you’re with him and it feels like I’ve completely lost you. Not that I’m complaining. If he’s what you need to heal then… whatever, I’ll just have to get over it. But I need you to know that I’ll always be there for you. No matter what. I don’t care who you’re with, who’s after you, I don’t care! You are and will always be my top priority.” You rubbed reassuring circles into his hand with your thumb. “You say it’s not fair and I get it. It’s not. It’s disgusting. You don’t deserve any of this. For the first time in my life it has me questioning what side I’m on.”
Your entire lives the only things Katsuki seemed to care about was becoming the number one hero and beating Izuku. So, to hear him say that he’s now questioning that broke your heart. “Katsuki, please don’t say that. Even if the hero system is fucked up. That’s doesn’t mean all heroes are too. You’re in it for the right reasons. I have no doubt that if all the hero agencies crumble today, tomorrow you’d be right back on those streets defending the people. You don’t need an official rank to be the number one.”
He let out a huge sigh and you could see the tension leave his shoulders. It was like a huge weight had lifted off of him. He gave you one of his trademark smirks, although it was a little softer than usual. “You always seem to know what to say when I’m falling apart.”
You ran a hand through his spiky blonde hair, “I’d like to think I am an expert Katsuki bomb defuser at this point.” He rolled his eyes, but you could see the slight pink blush dusting his cheeks. “I’ve spent most of my life finding ways to calm you down before you explode, and honestly I wouldn’t trade that time for anything.”
“Oh yeah? Even though half the time it ended in scrapped knees and pulled pigtails?”
“Sometimes it ended in shared ice cream and hand holding.” You giggled, “You used to hold my hand all the damn time when we were little. Dragging me from one place to the next, always so impatient.” You gave him a puzzled look, “But then one day you stopped out of nowhere and told me it was gross.”
“Tsk. You have my shitty mother to thank for that. When my quirk started developing, she told me to stop holding your hand because I might blow you up.” He gave you sly smile, “Technically she was right, but it still scared the shit out of me.”
You both talked and giggled for what felt like hours. The weight of the pervious day slowly floating away. You probably would have stayed that way for much longer if his phone hadn’t gone off interrupting the two of you.
He glared at his screen before grunting. “I’ve been here too long. I need to get going.” He stood from his comfortable spot next to you and stretched. He gave you a long look over from you head to your toes and back. “I promise I’ll try to not obsess over what you and staples do when I’m not around, if you promise to not do anything stupid.”
“You know I can’t promise that. Weren’t you the one who used to say stupid was my middle name?” He gave you an unamused look and crossed his arms over his chest in frustration. You cut him off before he could start on a lecture. “I promise to try to behave and stay out of trouble. There feel better?”
A drawn our sigh left his lips. If his expression was any indicator, your promise did absolutely nothing for his nerves. “I guess it’ll have to be good enough.” He leaned over and kissed the top of your head, “I’ll be back to check on you in a few days, alright?”
You nodded as he reluctantly made his way back towards the house. You watched him leave but decided to stay outside a little longer. It really was nice outside, and you wanted some more time to yourself before Dabi grilled you about your conversation with Katsuki.
---
Bakugo stomped back into the house and wasn’t surprised when he was quickly apprehended by the very man that plagued his thoughts. “Oi, whatever it is you want to say, say it quick. I got to get out of here before they notice I left.”
“I know the two of you have a lot of history… So…” He looked uncomfortable for a brief second. “She just looks happy when you visit… so uh… thanks.”
Bakugo had to blink back his surprise. He had been preparing himself for a fight. “Yeah well… you obviously aren’t doing a bad job either… she seems comfortable around you.”
The two men spent the next few moments awkwardly staring at each other before Bakugo cleared his throat. “Listen. I think it’s obvious I have feeling for her. She knows that now. But at the end of the day I just want her to be happy. Maybe if things had gone differently, we would have ended up together, and maybe one day we still will. But she’s gone through enough shit recently, and if… if you’re what she needs right now… Then I wont get in the way.”
Now it was Dabi’s turn to be surprised. Everything he knew about the great Dynamight was his unwavering need to be the best, to win, to conquer all opponents. So to him conceding really showed not only how much he had matured in recent years but also how serious he took his relationship with you.
“I’ll always be there for her. Like you said she likes it when I come to visit, so I’ll keep coming around.”
To this Dabi groaned, “Coming to visit is one thing, but hanging all over her and kissing her in front of me is another. Keep your sweaty hands to yourself.”
Bakugo barked out a laugh, “I kissed the top of her head calm down. Don’t tell me you’re not up for a little competition?” When Dabi’s only answer was to only narrow his eyes Bakugo smiled. “Just because I’m not going to throw a fit about the two of you… doing whatever it is you’re doing… doesn’t mean I’ve completely given up. If you ever mess up, and let’s be honest you probably will… I’m going to be there for her.”
“I’m actually counting on it.”
Bakugo gave him one last glance before nodding and making his way towards the exit.
--
Dabi joined you outside as the soft breeze kissed his always too warm skin. You kept your eyes closed as you heard his heavy feet approaching. “If you’re grumpy about Katsuki I don’t want to hear about it.”
His large form blocked the sun as he hovered over you. “What would I have to be grumpy about? He’s not the one you were begging to fuck you in the shower this morning.” His rough hands ran over your bare legs. “Put some real clothes on we have some errands to run.”
Your eyes snapped open. “Errands? Like we’re leaving the house? I’m going outside?”
“Well technically you go outside all the time, but yes, you will be leaving the property today. Stretch your legs, get some fresh air and all that good stuff. I don’t know if you noticed but we are really low on groceries and there’s only enough ice cream left for one of us and I don’t like you enough to share… So go change.”
You practically sprinted back to your room. You threw on the one dress you had that had come in one of your care packages from Izuku and Shoto. The only other clothes you had were either T-shirts, pajamas, or belonged to Dabi.
You knew you had a pair of shoes somewhere, but you couldn’t remember where you put them. You hadn’t exactly needed them until now. The longer you looked the more your nerves ate at you.
Were you ready to leave? You were safe here. Did you want to leave your little bubble?
You knew Dabi wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but it was still terrifying.
A soft knock broke you from your thoughts. “What’s taking so long?”
“Sorry, can’t find my shoes.”
To this he nodded, “Oh they’re in the garage.”
“How did they get there?”
He shrugged, “You threw them at me once, so I hid them.”
With a dramatic roll of your eyes you made your way over to him. “What you scared or something?”
His hands gripped your waist and pulled you to him, “Oh a shoe? No. Of you throwing said shoe at me? Of course. I would be stupid not to be afraid of you.”
You smiled proudly, “Damn right. And don’t you forget it.”
He gave your hips a squeeze, “I could get used to seeing you in a dress.” His hand snaked around to you lower back finding your long braid and grinned evilly as he grabbed it and wrapped it around his wrist effectively pulling you head back and baring your neck to him. “Oh and this braid is amazing.” His lips brushed over your bare shoulder, then your neck, your cheek, before finally giving you a quick peck on your lips.
You reached up on your tippy toes to ghost your lips over his. “Remember when I wanted to have sex this morning and your promised if I was still desperate later, you’d fuck me?” A fire lit in his eyes as he silently nodded. “You leaned even closer but still kept your lips from fully connecting with his. “Karma’s a bitch.”
“UGH!” His hands left you as he did what you could only assume was his version of pouting. “You fucking brat…Let’s go. The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back and lock ourselves in our room.”
Our room? It was the first time he had said that. You weren’t sure which room he was referring to, but either way, you kind of liked the way it sounded.
You held your hand out to him, “Oh come on now. Don’t be like that. You can hold my hand.”
He glared at you then your hand and then back to you. “No thanks. They probably are still covered in nitroglycerin from your little friend and I’d hate to accidentally look control of my quirk and blow us up.”
You balled up the hand you had offered to him and punched his shoulder, “Who’s the brat now?”
He led you to the garage in silence, noticing the way your shoulders tensed the closer you got. Right before you reached the door, he stopped you. “I know this is probably just as scary as it is exciting so just need you to remember a couple things, okay? One.” He placed his hands on your shoulders and looked you straight in the eye. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I think we both know I’m not above cremating someone’s fingers off if they even so much as look at you the wrong way. Two. You are way stronger than you feel right now. You may have been through hell, but you came out stronger than you went in.”
His eyes suddenly got very serious. “And most importantly three. Despite number one and two, I need you to be careful and stay close to me. I can’t help you if I can’t get to you, and just because you can take care of yourself doesn’t mean you should have to. It’s just a quick run to a grocery store and back. No reason to get into any trouble.”
You nodded enthusiastically, your excitement starting to overpower your nerves. He looked you up and down and smirked. His fingers came up to pinch your nipple through your dress which had you immediately moaning and pressing closer to him. “I’ll tell you what…one thing we will not being buying today is a bra.” Your teeth pressed into your bottom lip as you held back a whine of pleasure. He gave your nipple one last tug before letting go and backing away. “I love the easy access.”
You took a steadying breath before following him into the garage. You opened the door to the familiar car. The last time you had been in this car, you had been mute, malnourished, and Dabi was digging into you with his knife. You stared at the passenger seat for a moment too long.
“I promise not to stab you again, now hurry up and get in.” You took another moment to appreciate how far you’ve come since the last time you were in this car.
The second your ass was in the seat, Dabi was buckling your seat belt and pulling a hat over your head. “Here put these on too.” He handed you a pair or sunglasses. “We’re going out in disguise.” He smirked, “Well you are, there’s really no way for me to hide this handsome mug.”
“I don’t know. you have white hair now. Match that with some glasses and a bag over your head, and I don’t think anyone would recognize you.”
He reached over you and pulled a pair of sunglasses and a medical mask out of his glove box. “Hmm fresh out of bags. Maybe we should pick some up for later.” He wagged his eyebrows at you.
The wind blew through the open windows as the music surrounded you. For a moment it was easy to close your eyes and pretend this was just a normal day. The past few years didn’t happen, and you were just headed to the store on your day off. You hummed along with the song and even dared to sing a few words.
Dabi suddenly found it hard to concentrate with you singing next to him. He could feel your hum vibrate in his bones. Your words filled his lungs with air while simultaneously making it harder to breath. He’d like to think this was part of your quirk. But something told him it was something else entirely.
Before he could stop himself, his hand found it’s way to your thigh. He had no other intention than just touching you. He just wanted to feel you, feel your skin on his. Your presence filled the car and his hands itched to connect with you in any way they could.
His thumb rubbed absentminded circles as he found himself being hypnotized by your existence. The spell only broken when he pulled into a parking spot. Now reality was crashing back in. He suddenly had the need to rush you back home and lock you away. This world was awful. It didn’t deserve you. “Sorry… Sometimes my singing does that. I didn’t realize I was doing it.” Your hand ran through his hair as if the friction would reboot his thoughts. You could see the confused desire in his eyes start to fade. “I can’t explain it, but just like how my voice can hypnotize, sometimes when I sing it amplifies whatever it is you want in the moment.” You shrugged, “It so rarely happens that I don’t really know what triggers it.”
With a final blink of his eyes his thoughts seemed to clear. The overwhelming desire ebbed but didn’t disappear completely. He was quick to grab your hand as soon as you had both exited the car. “Oh? And what happened to there being too much nitroglycerin on my hands?”
“Shut up.” He yanked your arm rather aggressively as he stormed off into the store.
You weren’t prepared for how ridiculous you would feel. You wish you could take a picture to send to the yourself a few years ago. Here you were with a white haired, former villain Dabi, who had a grocery basket in one hand and your hand in the other. Both of looking totally inconspicuous as the florescent lights reflected off of your sunglasses that he insisted needed to stay on. The borderline elevator music that played in over the speakers just daring you to giggle.
With half of your shopping done you came to the realization that you had been freaking out over nothing. It wasn’t like there was someone hiding behind every corner waiting to drag you back to the lab. Just because it seemed like the world was out to get you didn’t actually mean the world was out to get you.
You were starting to let your guard down just a little bit. You let go of Dabi’s hand for all of ten seconds, which apparently was enough for a lecture. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Your hand hovered over a box of cereal, “Uh… I’m sorry do you not like Lucky Charms? Are you more of a Cinnamon Toast Crunch kinda guy?”
He snagged a box off the shelf before grabbing your hand again. “For my sanity… please don’t let go of my hand.”
“Oh come on I was all of two feet away. What’s going to happen in two feet.”
He lowered his sunglasses so you could see how serious he was. “If we lived in a world where everyone was quirkless… not a lot. But here in this world, where people can do bat shit crazy things… Super speed, portals, explosions, flight, laser beams, do you need me to keep going.”
“Okay I get it. I’m sorry.”
His grip on your hand tightened as he pulled you down the next isle. He was making it really hard to act normal when he insisted on treating you like a child. You gave his hand a tug to get his attention. “Hey look at me.” He hesitated momentarily before turning to look at you and pulling you both to a stop. By the way he was looking at you he knew you were upset, but he looked like the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it. “I get that you’re on edge, but I’m not a child. You gave me this huge speech before we left the house, but now you’re the one freaking out.” You gave him a quick hug. “Out of respect for your paranoia, I promise to stay within arm’s reach. But remember I’m not helpless.”
His shoulders slumped, but he nodded anyways. “Yeah my bad. I think I just underestimated how uncomfortable I’d be.” His shoulder bumped yours. “But until we get back home…I’m going to keep being an overprotective asshole, and you have no choice but to deal with it.” He started his dragging you down isles again. “You may not be a child, but if you pull away from me again, I will literally find a collar and a leash and make you my pet for the day.”
“You’re joking right… right?” He had to be joking. There’s no way he’d follow through with that… right? Part of you knew he honestly would and he’d probably fucking love it.
“Why don’t you keep fucking around and find out?” He smirked which made it even harder to figure out if he was serious or not.
You decided you weren’t going to test him. Not today. Hopefully there would be more trips in your future, and maybe he’d ease up by then. Today he seemed stressed enough to actually snap and follow through with his threat.
He continued to hold the basket for you while he let you reach out and grab whatever you wanted. He wasn’t even really paying attention to the items you were putting in the basket, as his head remained on a swivel, looking for anything suspicious. If he had, he would have noticed it was predominantly junk food. That’s fine. You could stand to gain a few more pounds. He’d make sure to sneak some healthy stuff in there at some point.
You were making your way to check out when he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.
“Dabi? Hey man is that you?” He instinctively placed you behind him as he turned to face his old colleague. “Holy shit it is you! I wasn’t sure because your hair it totally different, but those staples are a dead giveaway. What’s up man? Haven’t seen you in years! What have you been up to?”
You clung to the back of his shirt and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. “I’m doing my own thing now.” His voice was much lower than usual and it sent chills down your spine.
When the mystery man caught on that he wasn’t going to get any more out of him he pressed, “I heard there’s a couple of the guys who’ve been trying to get ahold of you recently. They need help with something. The money’s supposed to be pretty good.”
The man’s eyes shifted to try and get a look at you behind Dabi, but Dabi just shifted to shield you from view. “Not interested. I have enough money.” The man was starting to give him a weird look and it was pissing Dabi off. “Do you have a problem?”
“No, but obviously you do. What crawled up your ass and died? And who’s your new little friend?” He craned his neck to try get a peek at you. “As long as I’ve known you, I never knew you to be the domestic type. She the reason you’ve fallen off the grid?”
Dabi’s hand started to glow with flames. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll mind your fucking business.”
“Oh shit. She must be something special to get the big bad Dabi playing guard dog.” He lifted his hands up in surrender, “But don’t worry about it, man. I’ll get out of your hair.”
Dabi kept his eyes on him until he was out of sight and quickly turned back to the check-out line, “We need to hurry and get the hell out of here. That guy works for the League as a hitman. It’s possible we didn’t see him by accident.” He ushered you through the line and quickly paid for the few groceries you had and was practically sprinting towards the exit.
You made it back to the car and you let go of his hand to quickly make you way around to the passenger side. You had your hand on the door handle when your instincts started screaming. Your eyes cut to the store and then back to Dabi. “I think someone’s i-“
A hand slammed on top of your mouth as you were pulled backwards and in a whirl of wind and disorienting speed you ended up on the other end of the parking and moments later you saw blue fames spurting off in all directions where you had been standing earlier.
“What a temper that guy has.”
You looked up and saw the man from the store. His quirk must have been super speed and you knew you’d never hear the end of this from Dabi.
His hand gripped your chin, “What’s so special about you huh? What could you possibly have that would domesticate that beast of a man?” He pushed you to your knees in front of him.
Your panic was setting in. All the years of training, all the hard work you put in, and the only thing you could think of was running away. You bottom lip trembled. “I’m quirkless… I’m his… his pet.” You hoped you could find a way to stall for time. You had faith Dabi could handle whoever he was currently fighting and then he’d come for you. You just needed to make sure this guy didn’t run off with you again.
The man laughed loudly, “I have to admit I always thought he was a bit of a freak. But having a quirkless little play thing isn’t what I was expecting.” He turned your head to one side and then the other getting a good look at you. “You sure are fucking pretty though… I guess I can see the appeal. Maybe I’ll take you with me.”
Your fight or flight was kicking in, and you knew for a fact there was no outrunning this man. You activated your quirk and locked eyes with him. This was the first time you had used your quirk offensively in a long time. But it was like riding a bike. First you used your voice. “You don’t want to do that. No, you’re a good boy. You want to let me go.”
You watched as his eyes glassed over briefly before he shook his head. “What the fuck! Get out of my head! Quirkless my ass!” His hand left your chin and back handed you. Your head hit a cement parking divider. So maybe it wasn’t like riding a bike.
You needed to focus. No half assing this. Growing up you had learned that your quirk was like a battery. You could either go at full strength for a short period of time or lower strength for a longer period of time. You just needed to up the strength. “I SAID!”
He sprinted away before you could finish talking. You looked around frantically to see where he went but before you could find him he was sprinting by you and kicking you as he passed. His strategy was smart. You wouldn’t be able to get him if he kept moving. He continued his game of sprinting by you and kicking you or hitting you until you were a bloody mess on the ground. Where the fuck was Dabi?
You were pissed. You had had definitely been through worse. You spit out some blood from your split lip. “You hit like a fucking bitch!” You smeared blood and saliva all over your hands and waited. “Fucking fight me you pussy!”
You listened closely for the familiar sound of him approaching. Right before he got to you you rolled over and grabbed his leg as he attempted to kick you. You tackled him to the ground and shoved your hand in his face smearing your blood all over his face, forcing your blood and spit into his mouth.
He sputtered before shoving you off of him and spitting on you. “What the fuck? You’re fucking disgusting!” He tried to stand up to get away from you, but your quirk was starting to work on him. You blood was slowly paralyzing him. You watched as his eyes started to harden inn fear.
“Great keep those open for me.” You locked eyes with him again. “What did you want with Dabi?”
You watched his thoughts as he showed you instructions from Shigaraki. He was supposed to locate Dabi and ask him what his connection was to the people who worked for your hero agency. Apparently, word had gotten out that he had been hunting people and The League wanted to know why.
You heard footsteps rapidly approaching you. You swung around as fast as you throbbing head would let you. Relief flooded over your entire body when you saw it was Dabi. He skidded to a stop when he saw the state you were in. He looked between you and the now paralyzed man on the ground. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
The man managed a creepy chuckle. “She must be that siren hero everyone’s looking for huh?” You were impressed he could still talk at this point, but it was obvious the rest of his body was frozen. “They said she was dangerous…she didn’t feel that dangerous when my foot was connecting with her face.”
Dabi let out a feral growl and he stalked over to him hands out ready to burn him to ashes.
“Dabi NO!” You coughed as you grabbed your ribs. “Stop… he can’t move. We can just call Katsuki, he’ll come pick him up.”
Dabi turned to look at you, his eyes practically glowing. “No fucking way. He’s seen you, he knows too much.” The flames in his hands got hotter. “Just look at what he fucking did to you! He’s not leaving here alive. So either you let me burn him and scatter the evidence or you take this fucking knife I have in my pocket and kill him yourself. Either way this asshole dies now. I told him to mind his own fucking business… he signed his own death sentence.”
You stood up and squared off with him. “I said no… We don’t have to kill him. We can just turn him in!”
“YOU CANT BE THAT STUPID!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair leaving black streak of soot in their wake in his white hair. “We turn him in, he gets arrested. The people who are looking for you… the ‘heroes’ will integrate him and find out your with me. Then it’ll only be a matter of time before we’re on the run.” He reached in his pocket and held out a knife to you, “He dies now. End of discussion. What’ll it be.”
You looked at the knife in his hand before crossing your arms over your chest and averting your eyes.
“That’s what I thought.”
You didn’t watch as he incinerated the man who was helpless to stop it, but you could smell the burning flesh and you could hear the brief scream of agony before it was gone.
Dabi waited until his hands had cooled down before he bent over and scooped you up. “It had to be done.” The car was still running with the driver door open from where he had driven over here and hopped out. He tucked you into the font seat and took a look into the back seat, “Fuck… the ice cream is melting.”
Your eyes bulged at him as he gunned it towards the main road, “You just murdered someone with no sympathy, but heaven forbid the ice cream melts!”
“Actually, I just murdered two people. And I would do it again without hesitation. I was looking forward to that ice cream!”
********
Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe@unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602@pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop@bakubby99
#bakugo katsuki imagine#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#bhna bakugou#bakugo katsuki#bakugo x reader#dabi my hero academia#dabi imagine#dabi#yandere dabi#dabi x y/n#dabi x you#dabi x reader#dabi bnha#mha dabi#dabi todoroki#mha fanfiction#mha x reader#my hero academia
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Marry Me?
Summary: It's been a few years since the Wizarding War and Harry and Ginny are still very much in love with each other. Harry proposes to Ginny, who doesn't take it very well. Little does he know that Ginny's still troubled by her monsters.
Read it on Fanfiction if you prefer!
...
Snow rested upon the park bench as if it were a feather cushion, soft and warm. It covered the rich deep wood in perfect white, and the newly clothed trees rose as wintry fairytale beings in that pristine landscape.
Ginny shivered, gently brushing the snow off from the bench, beckoning Harry to join her.
Harry shook his head and chuckled nervously. He'd been doing that quite often today, Ginny had observed, and while she had been curious at first, she had later ruled it out as simply Harry being Harry.
She shivered again rubbing her hands as she tried to get some warmth back to her body. True, she had a sweater and a coat on but in the chilly winters of Scotland, a two flimsy layers were not enough. If she had known they were coming there, then she would have worn more. Or better yet, not come at all.
Ginny blew on her fingers, trying to warm them up as Harry wordlessly shrugged off his jacket and stepped forward, wrapping it around her.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, taking the jacket off. "You'll be cold."
"No, I won't. You've nothing on, Gin."
"I'm wearing a sweater and a coat. Don't be an idiot, Harry, take the damn jacket," she urged.
But Harry had that stubborn glint in his eyes, so Ginny huffed in defeat, though she was secretly grateful for another thing to wear.
"Why Scotland?" she asked, a few seconds later. "And why aren't you sitting?"
Harry chuckled again, that same nervous chuckle and Ginny's heart clenched in suspicion.
"Are you breaking it off with me?" she asked, her voice stronger than she felt. If he'd brought her all the way to Scotland to simply tell her that they were over, then frankly she'd … well she'd probably yell.
Harry frowned, and then hid eyebrows contorted in confusion.
"What? No!" he exclaimed. "That's not the reason. Why would I…" He shook his head then reached into his pocket, slowly bringing out a small box.
Ginny breath caught in her throat as a humourless chuckle left her lips.
This couldn't be happening.
She hastily got up, Harry's jacket falling off her shoulders. Her heart hammered against her chest, leaving her breathless.
Harry scrabbled, bending down before stumbling as he almost fell face-first into the snow.
"Heh," he chuckled, "This-I-I'll just stand up."
In other circumstances she'd have laughed but her throat constricted as Harry got up on his feet and smiled at her, before opening the box.
Inside, there was a small silver ring, resting upon blue leather, and engraved with vines running across its length. It was beautiful. It was utterly and completely beautiful. If Ginny had seen it in a shop window, she'd have stopped and marveled at it. Now, however, the ring brought dread, and she could feel the panic threaten to overcome her.
She looked at Harry and spotted the hopeful glint in his eyes as he smiled brightly.
"I think you know where this is going," he said. "Ginevra Molly Weasley, you are my love," his voice broke, "my life, the one person who has been by my side through times, good and bad. You are, frankly speaking, my everything and I am so lucky to call you... mine. Will you-will you marry me?"
Ginny felt her eyes tearing up. Her throat closed and she panicked, stepping backwards as her mind floated most involuntarily to what he had said.
Ginny struggled to catch her breath as she saw Harry smile fall, concern replacing his smile.
The world was getting abnormally blurry.
It was closing up, it was suffocating and Ginny felt her mind wander over to the first place she could think of, willing all her strength to Apparate.
Home.
...
She landed in a small clearing near her house, her feet buckling as
her knees collided with the muddy ground. Her hands reached forward to support herself, and she retched violently, tears of exertion leaking out of her eyes.
A few acres away, she could see the smoke coming out of the chimneys. Her mother's burgundy dress had been hung out to dry and was just clinging to the line, as the chilly winter wind blew through their garden.
Ginny coughed, brushing away the dirt on her fingers. All she could think about was Harry's expectant face, and his huge smile, and all she could register was how badly she had disappointed him.
The thought made her want to heave again, but she refrained, instead choosing to turn away from her house. Even the Burrow seemed to stir dread in her, because all it suddenly reminded her of was the days she had spent locked in her room thinking about him.
"You were foolish to think I'd ever be a friend to the likes of you," he had said, while Ginny whimpered at his feet.
"Pathetic," he had spat then and she had winced at the menacing snarl on her face.
Ginny closed her eyes, bile rising up her throat at the memory of her lying on the cold, wet floor of the Chamber.
"I trusted you, you monster!" she had cried out, "I thought you were my friend. That you understood me. I told you everything!"
"Which only confirmed that you were a despicable wretch," he had laughed cruelly, and forced her chin upwards, as his nails dug into her skin. "Fancying Harry Potter, as if! Even he has standards enough to never bow down to scum like you!"
He had smirked and watched in evident glee as Ginny sobbed, utterly ashamed of what she had done.
"I wouldn't be so sure though," he had added as an afterthought. "Him being the fool he is, there's no guarantee he won't start inclining towards you."
A few tears fell, and Ginny rubbed at them furiously, her mud-caked fingers leaving streaks of dirt on her cheeks.
"But it would all be temporary."
"Ginny?"
Her eyes snapped open as she whirled around, the voice foreign to the one from her memory. Her eyes widened as she saw her youngest brother standing opposite her, concern etched on his face.
"Ron?" she questioned, as she wiped the dirt off of her face with the sleeve of her coat.
"What happened, why are you crying?"
"I'm not," she said hurriedly. "What-what are you doing here?"
"I saw you standing out here alone," he answered, "and don't give me that bull, why have you been crying?"
"I was not," Ginny said fiercely.
A smirk passed on Ron's face, which slowly grew into an impish grin. "Did he ask?" he said, a knowing expression on his face.
"How'd you know?"
"I'm his best friend, of course I know. What did you say?" he asked excitedly, almost jumping from one foot to another.
She stared at Ron for a few minutes, before bursting out crying.
Ron looked at her in alarm before stepping forward. "Ginny, bloody hell!" he exclaimed, pulling her into a hug. "What-wh-did he do something? What's wrong?:
"Nothing," Ginny managed between sobs. "I ran away."
"What?" Ron yelled, "You ran—what, why the bloody hell did you do that?"
Ginny's sobs grew louder as she clutched at Ron's shirt, and his grip around her grew stronger.
"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, panicked. "Ginny, talk to me, please. What happened?"
"I panicked, and I-I... I didn't know what to do, so I Apparated here."
She could feel Ron frowning, and knew it was a shock for him, seeing her cry like this. She knew he'd expected something more joyous.
"Gin," he urged. "Ginny, why'd you run?" he asked, keeping his voice level as best he could. Ginny knew he was at his wit's end, for after years and years of her being the one he had turned to in times of distress, the roles had reversed and he was helpless.
She looked up at him hesitantly, through watery eyes, half-expecting a confused look she so fondly identified with him. Ron wouldn't understand; this was not his forte.
What was not expecting was gentle eyes and as she looked up at him, she realized, not for the first time that somewhere along the way, he had grown up too.
But she just couldn't get herself to say it.
"I don't want to marry him," she choked out finally. "I can't."
Ron frowned, hiding his confusion extremely well. "You don't want to marry Harry Potter," he repeated, more as if convincing himself. "Why?"
"I," she sighed. "I just can't. I... don't want to."
"You don't want to marry him?" he asked incredulously. "Ginny, you do realize that this is the same man you've been in love with for years?"
"I just don't know, Ron," Ginny groaned. "I panicked, and I overreacted, and I-I just fled from the scene."
Ron stared at her for a few minutes, his brows creased in a frown before he hugged her again. Hugging always worked, Ginny had told him herself. Most of the time. She didn't think he'd take her advice so seriously.
"You're... allowed to overreact," he said, carefully choosing his words. "This is a decision that can affect your entire life, so if anything, you can cry a bit more. Anything that will help."
He winced as Ginny let out a watery sob, and more tears flooded her cheeks.
"You're, you're-you've grown up," he continued, his voice becoming softer, "And I never realized it, I think. But you were always wiser than me, always the one more practical, and somewhere along the way, I realized I looked unto you more than you or I will ever admit."
"Whatever you decide, believe that it is right, for I'll be standing beside you."
Ginny tensed, his words setting in her.
What she was deciding now was not right, she knew that but Ginny would not tell him that.
She couldn't.
...
They had gone inside after her talk with Ron, and her mum had almost cried seeing her. It had been two months since she had last visited, and her mum had immediately bombarded her with questions, just barely held back by her dad.
She had held on quite well before she saw Harry at the door.
Everything had gone downhill since.
While her mum amicably chatted with Harry, his gaze never left her, his green eyes piercing into her face. It was not long before she cracked and immediately excused herself, choosing to go into the fields instead of the recluse of her old room.
She couldn't handle the memories her room brought up. None of them were good enough, at least, none of them were good enough to overlook the bad ones.
She heard the small pattering of footsteps behind her and felt her throat closing in panic. There was only one person who would come after her right now, and it was the last person she wanted to see.
"You ran away," Harry said, his voice barely audible over the whistling of the wind.
Ginny turned around and stared at him, her face devoid of emotion for the first time that day.
"Why?" his voice cracked, but there was a touch of desperation in his voice.
"I don't know," she whispered.
"That's not a good enough answer," he said angrily. "Why did you run away, Gin?"
Ginny stayed quiet, her red hair whipping in the wind. It slashed across her face, pricking against her eyes, but she couldn't get herself to care.
"Is it too early?" Harry spoke over the wind. "Did I do something wrong?"
No, she wanted to yell. He had done everything right. She was the problem and she couldn't be more disgusted with herself. It was impossible to measure how much she loved him, yet now that the time had come to express her feelings, she was coming up with nothing.
Ginny felt the seconds ticking away as she looked at the ground, the white of the snow contrasting against the brown of her boots. She heard footsteps coming over to her and felt a hand resting against her own as Harry lifted her chin and forced her eyes to meet his.
Ginny gasped at the anger-laden sorrow in his eyes, and she pulled back, trying to get away from his piercing gaze.
"Don't run," Harry warned, as Ginny continued pulling. "For Merlin's sake, don't run!" he yelled.
She stopped in her tracks, a tear spilling from her eye.
"I deserve an answer, Gin, please," he begged. "Why?"
A choked sob broke through, and Ginny pushed Harry with all her strength, making him let go of her.
"This won't last," she choked out. "This is temporary, this is not permanent, he told me this wouldn't last!"
The whistle of the wind had become more pronounced, and it whipped around them, numbing the tips of her fingers.
"Who told you?" Harry pressed on. "Goddamnit, Gin, who told you that?"
"Him."
It was her voice that sent Harry recoiling, but in that briefest second possible, he knew exactly who she was talking about.
"Riddle," he whispered. "Shit, Gin—"
"There's nothing to talk about," Ginny said. "I can't do this, Harry."
The anger was back now. Harry stepped forward, his fingers wrapping around her forearm to keep her in place.
"Do you realize we've never talked about him, Gin? Never talked about that year?" he said, his voice dangerously low.
"We have, of course we have."
"Once," Harry's voice cracked, "when you yelled at me in my fifth year for not asking you how it felt like to get possessed by Voldemort. But that doesn't even…." he broke off, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Ginny couldn't bear to look at him. So she didn't, instead gazing away at the leafless trees, whose boughs weighed down due to the weight of the snow.
"For two years after, you listened to everything I had to vent about. But not once did you ever talk about him."
"Riddle has nothing to do with this, Harry!" Ginny cried out. "It doesn't matter what he said to me, it's what I choose to believe—"
"Doesn't matter?" Harry bellowed, grabbing her arm. "It matters, Gin, because after all these years, it's still influencing what you do!"
"Riddle has nothing to do with anything in my life!" Ginny yelled, pulling her hand away.
Harry let go of it, his green eyes, following her erratic breathing and her frenzied steps. "Do you know what he said to me in the Chamber?" he said quietly. "He told me how you poured your heart out to him. He bloody quoted you. That's right, he recited word to word whatever you had written in that damn diary."
"No," Ginny said. "No."
"Have you ever wondered why you're so scared of things lasting? How you always run away when it comes to me?"
"Stop, Harry, please," Ginny begged. "Please, just stop."
"Because I've let you in. I've let you solve all my problems, but when it comes to you, I'm helpless."
The wind whipped around, cold and unrelenting, blowing up billows of snow. Ginny closed her eyes, the cold of the wind creeping along her bones as she shivered, her hands wrapping around her stomach.
After a while, that seemed like ages, Ginny found herself being pushed gently towards the shed, Harry's hand on the small of her back as she stepped inside the building, welcoming the warmth of the place.
It was another few minutes before Ginny let herself look at Harry, her heart tugging as she saw his pained expression. His green eyes were still stuck on her, unmoving, and as brown met green, she realized just how torn he was over this.
"I'm sorry," she found herself whispering. "I'm so sorry."
Harry reached forward, his arms wrapping around hers and bringing her closer, until her head was under the crook of his neck and she was safely enveloped in his embrace.
"I'm just scared," she continued, in that same small voice she'd be ashamed to use in front of anyone else. But with Harry, it seemed, her guards melted away until she was her vulnerable self, her heart completely belonging to him.
"When I woke up in the Chamber and saw you," she said, "part of me was relieved and part of me was just vying the time until I'd become just Ron's little sister again. Stupid, I know."
"No," Harry said. "Don't ever say that."
Ginny looked up at him and braced herself for the words she'd say next. She'd never admitted it to anyone before, in fear she'd be shunned away for being too petty.
"The first time, I entered Hogwarts, I was known as the Weasleys' little sister, second time I entered, I was the helpless girl taken into the Chamber. The years after that," Ginny's voice broke, "I did everything I could to prove them wrong but I think-I think that part of me has always been scared that I'll become that small eleven-year-old kid again, who believed in something temporary. And I found myself applying that to everything."
Ginny choked on her words, as she felt the dam break and the tears start cascading down her cheeks. She'd said one of her worst fears out loud, and it just showed how controlled she still was by that… monster.
She felt Harry's rough fingers brush away the tears as he kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her skin.
"I don't think you know exactly how much I love you, Ginevra Weasley," he said, cupping her chin and looking directly into her eyes.
Green to Brown.
"And-and if I didn't have you in my life, I wouldn't know what to do," he said. "You, this," he pointed at each of them, "is the most solid thing I have, and it is not going away anytime soon. I won't let it."
She was still looking at him, her brown eyes streaked with red. It pained him to see her this way, but he needed to get his point across.
And after a long silence, Ginny whispered, her voice raspy from all that crying.
"Okay."
...
...
...
Spring had come with a gentle spirit, as one who realises that warming up slowly brings the best results to the heart.
Harry's head was on her lap, the ghost of a smile on his lips as Ginny played with the ends of his hair. It had grown out in the last two months, and he hadn't bothered to cut it, so that it now rested just above his neck.
Ginny, needless to say, was not impressed.
"You look like Tarzan," she complained. "Just with black hair."
"You know Tarzan?"
"I have a Muggle-obsessed father," Ginny quipped. "I literally grew up around Tarzan and Her-Hercel—"
"Hercules."
"Yes that."
Harry laughed and Ginny bent forward, her lips lingering on his scar. For a moment, she hesitated, her smile off her face in a short second as she nudged Harry to get up. Her hands left his hair and brought out a box from behind her, prying it open to reveal a silver ring, with vines running across its length, identical to the ones she had seen two months earlier.
"I know this is overdue and I know last time didn't go out as you'd have wished it to," Ginny scrambled, "But will you... marry me, Harry?"
"Huh?" Harry's eyes widened and he shot up, gaping at Ginny in disbelief.
"Will you marry me, Harry?"
Disbelief turned to delight as his face broke out in a smile in mere seconds and he kissed Ginny, one hand wrapped around her waist. The other slipped into his jacket pocket, and he brought out a small box that had been lying untouched for the past two months.
"Only if you marry me, Gin," he said, as he took out the ring.
Ginny's eyes widened and she laughed giddily. "Have you been carrying that ring all this time?"
Harry nodded, smiling at the look of incredulity on Ginny's face.
"Then yes."
#fanfiction#harry potter#ginny weasley#ron weasley#love#marriage#written for the quidditch league fan fiction competition#marry me?#it is largely overlooked how much trauma ginny weasley went through as a eleven yer old#trauma#healing#hinny fanfiction#hinny#harry/ginny#tom riddle#chamber of secrets#second year#hinny proposal
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It was hard to decide but... 101 for smut prompt please? 👁️ (do I need to write lonelyeyes or is it default?)
Prompt: 101 - “you’re not wearing anything under that, are you?”
Eye, you absolute genius! Thank you for the prompt and for the beta read! I hope this is to your liking; I certainly had a grand old time writing this piece!
Disclaimer: These characters AREN’T mine. They belong to Rusty Quill’s The Magnus Archives.
Warning: This work ISN’T SUITABLE for minors. It’s a NSFW piece of slash fiction. Therefore, if you’re a minor or in any way squicked by what’s in the tags, DO NOT READ!
WORTH THE WAIT
Words: 2,9k
Pairing: LonelyEyes; Jonah!Elias / Peter Lukas
Rating: EXPLICIT
Tags: established relationship, University!AU, Young!LonelyEyes, unrequited crush, drinking, rimming, handjob, exhibitionism, mild dirty talk, rutting, fingering, touch averse!Peter, Slut-&-Proud! Elias, prompt fill
FILTHY LONELYEYES BELOW THE CUT, MY BELOVED!!!!!
WORTH THE WAIT
-
There has to be some sort of cosmic joke at play for Elias to develop a crush on someone from his uni class and that said someone happens to be Peter Lukas.
Because you see, as likeable and polite as Peter is, there’s something about the guy that keeps people at a distance. Try as he might, Elias never seems able to bridge that gap, much less make it understood that he wants Peter as more than a colleague or a friend.
It has occurred to him that Peter may not be interested in romance or sex at all. The first seems more feasible; the latter, not so much. Elias is always keeping an eye on Peter (perks of living across the hall from one another) and has seen him bring people to his room on more than one occasion.
Not often, no, but enough to make Elias wonder — about Peter, about those people, and what they could be doing together just across the hall. It takes Elias a while to fall asleep on those nights.
In class, Peter sits next to him and makes light conversation, but it never goes beyond that. Elias is annoyed that Peter doesn't seem to have any interest in him, especially when Elias is handsome, manly, and has an ass that looks great in joggers — which he makes a point to always wear to their study sessions.
If anything, Elias is patient. If he has to keep wearing joggers and asking Peter out with hopes that he will one day finally say yes, then so be it. Though that isn’t to say Elias will breeze through his trials with a smile on his face: by the end of another month of repeatedly getting turned down, Elias is snapping even at his mates.
It's surprising that this mood is what causes Peter to initiate conversation that’s not about class.
"Something bothering you?"
Elias blinks a few times because he isn't sure he heard it right.
"A few things, yeah."
"I've got something for that in my room. Come by tonight if you want. Will help you relax a bit."
Elias hopes that it isn't too evident that he’s essentially dancing in his seat from then on. Talk about a mood change: one could even call him cheery.
When night comes and the halls are quiet, Elias showers with such intent that his skin becomes red; he scrubs every nook and cranny, but doesn't apply perfume. He knows that Peter doesn't like it.
Elias puts on something easy to remove: grey joggers, a sweatshirt and nothing else. At least he can pull the sweatshirt down and hide the fact that he's half hard (he’s been on the very edge of horny from the moment Peter asked him out).
He never considers the possibility that Peter might have meant anything other than sex. When he gets there, Elias is hit in the chest with the sight of a cramped room. Four people are there besides Peter, sharing a now half empty bottle of vodka.
Elias' mood sours.
"There's the man! Mr. Bouchard! Took you long enough mate, thought you weren't coming," chimes Tim, a chipper guy from their class that Elias has no idea why Peter is even friends with.
Elias does his best to smile. "Yeah, I overslept a bit."
They welcome him inside with friendly pats on the back. Peter eyes him curiously, but doesn't say anything.
Elias wants to storm off and find better things to do with his joggers clad ass. But he's here already, isn't he? One doesn’t always get a chance to drink expensive vodka.
It doesn’t take the six of them long to finish the bottle. When midnight rolls around, Elias has had time to allow his alcohol addled thoughts to simmer. He can't believe he had hoped today would finally be it. Look at him now! This is so humiliating that he almost feels exposed, knowing that only a flimsy piece of fabric keeps him from being butt naked among these guys.
"Right," Tim says at some point. "I've got an assignment due tomorrow that I need to finish up."
“You mean due today,” Peter points out, and the others laugh. Elias rolls his eyes.
Tim’s departure is their cue to go as well, but Elias stays behind (perhaps due to some remaining fool’s hope). He knocks back whatever vodka is left in his cup and puts it aside, savoring defeat. He stands up.
"Well, I don't suppose you have another bottle hiding somewhere, so I guess I'll be going too."
Peter smiles. "I don't, but I don't believe that would help you."
"What do you mean?"
Peter scoots to the edge of the bed.
"I'm just saying you look as constipated now as when you first came in."
Elias can't help but laugh, and Peter’s grin widens.
"You have yourself to thank for that."
"Oh? What did I do?"
Should Elias tell him? Should he really dig a deeper hole for himself? Well, fuck it, he’s here already. And to make it worse, he is just on this side of drunk.
"Better yet, what you didn't do. Are you daft or what?! I thought I've been quite clear up until now. 'Something to help you relax'. Bullshit. You're full of bullshit, Lukas."
Peter's frown only lasts a second before realisation hits him, followed by the same old amusement. If Elias didn't spend most of his time wanting to blow the guy, he would've punched Peter in the throat.
"Oh god..." Peter says.
Elias clenches his jaw and juts out his chin. "Took you long enough," he spits out, but Peter's caught up on something else.
"You're not- You're not wearing anything under that, are you?"
Elias does his best not to wobble, but the wave of dizziness that hits him is real; his stomach sinks. He had somehow forgotten that fact.
"What if I’m not?!" He growls defensively. Why should he be the one to feel embarrassed when Peter was literally an oaf? "Hell, I'm out of here."
"Hold on," Peter calls, because Elias essentially bolts for the door. Elias pauses with a hand on the handle.
Peter sighs audibly.
"I figured. I mean, I had a pretty good guess when you kept showing up all commando, but I thought 'hey maybe the guy needs more room down there',” he snickers.
"Fuck you, Lukas."
"Sorry. I know."
What he says next is something Elias never thought he'd hear.
"Let me make it up to you."
Elias turns around with both arms crossed. Peter beckons him closer with a no-nonsense look.
Elias goes. Apparently, he's just that stupid for this man. He doesn't know what it is about this Lukas guy that has him betraying every single one of his self-preservation rules, but he finds himself breaking them more often than not. Maybe it's that gentle voice that Peter never raises, or the sharp wits and strong build. Perhaps it's the fact that even after a year, Elias hasn't managed to learn any more about him than that.
Peter is a mystery, and Elias is nothing if not curious.
Elias stands in front of Peter, who leans back a little in bed.
"Hell, you are pretty to look at."
Elias only raises his eyebrows. As if he didn't know.
"Come on. A man has to play safe."
"Don't bore me with politics, that's your family’s business."
Though, if he was being honest, the praise did feel good.
Peter smirks. "Take your top off."
"Pardon?"
"You want this, don't you?"
Elias ponders for a moment. Yes, he very much does, even if he's angry. The setting isn't great, so he'll have to work with what he has. He only wishes that Peter weren't so smug about it, because it's making Elias want to make him regret it.
When Elias goes to take it off, Peter tells him that there's no rush. His voice is calm, but the command is clear enough.
Elias takes a deep breath to ground himself and throws the sweatshirt next to Peter. Elias knows that he paints quite a picture even if he isn't ripped or anything; he still has a bit of a tan from his last vacation, and Peter eats it all up: from the eye tattoo on the centre of his stomach, to the tiny studs piercing both his nipples.
"Nice," Peter says.
"I know."
Peter smiles at him and Elias takes note. So he enjoys show offs. Well, good for them both, Elias had never been the shy type.
"Put a hand in your trousers," Peter tells him.
It's clear that Peter wants a show. Elias can sympathise, for he himself enjoys a bit of watching, too.
Elias doesn't get to do it much these days, but whenever the bathrooms are empty, he pulls himself off in front of the mirror. He knows exactly what to do to make it good, and the risk of getting caught has him coming harder and faster than usual.
He slides both hands down his chest and abdomen, keeping one at the waistband of his joggers while the other disappears beneath the fabric and takes hold of himself. He's half-hard and every one of his motions is clear, so he takes his time.
It doesn't feel good at first. The build up has been all wrong, and the fact that his hands are cold and dry doesn't help. But then he takes one look at Peter and the thrill of being watched sparks it all to life.
Peter doesn’t take his eyes off of him; his own hand is working in his trousers. He's big, Elias notes, and the thought has him fully hard in seconds. It doesn’t take long for a wet spot to form on the front of his joggers.
When Peter tells him to stop, Elias obeys, hoping that this is when Peter also has him kneel and put his mouth to work. Instead, Peter asks him to turn around.
"Show me," he demands. "You know how."
Elias slides his trousers down with a sigh. He hears Peter shuffle forward behind him.
Elias would hate it for Peter to miss any details, so he grabs his buttocks and kneads them open, stepping astride to let Peter see it all. Elias a bit damp down there, but he keeps himself shaved as a rule, and that earns him some praise.
"Oh fuck," Peter breathes. "Bend forward a bit."
"Like this?"
Elias doesn't expect an answer. Peter's hand is working fast and from the sound of it, his cock is very wet.
"Yeah, just like that. Put a finger in."
Elias teases, but doesn't. "Can't. Too dry."
Peter curses softly. "Get over here."
Elias is almost shaking with anticipation. He hasn't been eaten out in ages, and he's so here for this.
"You O.K. with spit?" Peter asks.
"Very."
Peter grunts in approval, then spits right onto his hole. Elias lets out a shuddery breath, then slowly works a finger in. It's hard doing it all by himself, and soon his arm gets tired; he flags a bit, lets his head hang.
"You gotta give me something here," he tells Peter. This isn't begging, he tells himself. This is negotiating.
"I know. Fuck."
Elias straightens up and gives Peter a side glance. "Problem?"
"See, usually I don't touch them."
Elias frowns. That's news.
"So you just-"
"I'm not a fan of touching, let's put it that way. And it's enough to just do this. Most of the time, that is."
Elias nods, but there's something to unpack here. "Well, you are turned on. Why isn't it enough?"
Peter's hand, motionless for a while now, withdraws.
"You, I guess."
Elias scoffs. "I'm sorry my asshole isn't to your tastes."
"I haven't tasted you. That's probably why."
Elias has the decency to blush. His heart has never beat so fast with anyone before, but he tells it to get a grip.
"Well I'm right here, aren't I."
Peter takes a deep breath. Elias can almost see the moment that his resolve locks into place.
"C'mere."
Peter doesn't go straight for it. He places both hands on Elias' hips and caresses his sides, making Elias aware of him (as if he isn't already). The act makes goosebumps rise on the skin, and Elias’ cock fills out again.
Peter kisses the low of his back and up his spine, where he can reach from a sitting position; then his cheeks, against which his shallow beard feels rough. Peter sinks his teeth into them, just enough to make it twinge. Just enough to make Elias' cock twitch and invite a hand to wrap around it.
Peter takes his sweet time biting his ass and pulling him off. Elias is ready to drive nails by the time Peter finally makes him bend forward and starts working on his hole. If Elias moans and pushes against his tongue, well, he's only human.
For someone who doesn't like touching, Peter is surprisingly good at this. Instinct or perhaps patience makes him into quite an attentive partner; he'll stick to any actions that elicit a more intense reaction from Elias; it isn't long before Elias loses it and reaches behind himself.
"What are you doing?" Peter rasps.
"I need-" Elias breathes, pushing a finger inside. "Keep going."
Peter does; they work together, establishing a rhythm that feels comfortable for them.
Elias will come from this, that is for sure, but it will take a while to get there. His arm keeps getting tired, which forces him to slow down. If Peter would just- If he'd just-
"Come on, come on," Elias whines in frustration. "Fuck me."
Peter grunts, burying his face deeper into his ass. Elias removes his hand and locks it around Peter's nape with a tight fist in his hair.
That's it, he thinks, and pushes Peter’s hand out of the way to give his cock what it actually needs.
Peter pulls back and sticks a finger inside. The girth of it is a perfect stretch, it makes Elias let out a broken curse and come a little just then.
"Shit, you're so hungry for it," Peter says. "Bet if I put my cock in you, you'll come right away."
Elias smiles at the idea. "Wanna bet?"
Peter snorts. "Another day, yeah. Wanna take my time with you."
"It's a date then."
Peter works his finger deeper, finding Elias' sweet spot.
"Here?" he asks, but the soft whimper that Elias lets out leaves no room for doubt.
Elias bears down on it. "Keep doing that. God, just- oh."
Maybe he had underestimated how turned on he was. He comes, sudden, dripping all over Peter's floor. It's so thick and heavy that Elias is somewhat embarrassed.
"Holding back, have we?" Peter observes.
Elias would kill him if he wasn't thrusting inside him so good.
"You would too if you had a schedule like mine."
Peter hums. "Drop by when you feel like it. It'll be my pleasure to help."
Peter pulls his finger out and stands up. Gently, he brings Elias to himself by the hips.
Elias lets him because fuck, Peter is so warm and large...The way he’s kissing Elias’ nape is sending shivers up his spine. Funny though, it’s almost as if Peter is unsure about it.
"First time doing this?" Elias asks. It couldn't be.
"No. But it's been a while."
Elias hums. Peter's cock is pressing against his ass and that’s quite distracting. "Want some help with that?"
Peter groans and rests his forehead on Elias’ shoulder. "Fuck. Can I- can I come on you? I won't put it in, just rub it against you."
Elias would be very much down to taking Peter all the way if he weren’t so spent. He had come here ready for it, anyway. Right now though, he’d have to make do.
"Sure," Elias says. He shuffles onto bed on his knees, spreads his legs and presses his chest to the mattress, to give Peter full view and access.
"Fuck, you don't hold back, do you?"
"Scratch my back and I'll scratch yours, love."
Peter doesn't hesitate, only pulls his trousers down, holds Elias by the waist and starts rutting against him.
It feels brilliant even after coming. Elias moans into the mattress, getting off on imagining the picture that they must paint.
Peter taps his hole with the tip of his cock, grazes against it. Elias never would’ve thought that Peter was the cursing type, but tonight is proving otherwise.
When Peter comes, Elias can feel it dripping down his balls and onto bed. They're both breathing heavily, but once Peter recovers, he pulls up his trousers and grabs some tissue to wipe Elias.
Elias had half-hoped that Peter would lick him clean, but maybe that was pushing the boundaries a bit too far for a single night.
Elias gets dressed and they face each other. Peter seems awkward — who would've guessed, when he seemed so in charge earlier.
"So," Peter says. "Hope I made it up to you."
"Are you fishing for compliments, Mr. Lukas?"
Peter laughs and scratches the back of his head.
"If I am, will you tell me?"
Elias considers it. "No. Maybe. Say pretty please."
"Goodbye, Elias."
Peter shows him to the door. They don't kiss; that would be a level of sentimentalism that might make Elias gag. That is, any other time it would have. Now though, they say goodbye and Elias goes back to his room wishing that they did.
#my fic#nanda's ramblings#tma#tma fic#lonelyeyes#lonelyeyes fic#lonelyeyes fanfiction#jonah magnus#peter lukas#elias bouchard#peterelias
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Pity Party Crasher༄ nakamoto yuta
↳ Just great. You’ve just been dumped at this stranger’s party and all you want to do is curl up in a corner and cry, which is... exactly what you do. To your surprise though, there’s been an uninvited guest to your pity party.
pairing: nakamoto yuta x reader
content: fluff, comfort fic, alcohol consumption
wordcount: 1912 words
author’s note: ehehe can you guys guess who yuta’s supposed to be? also, this is a little rushed which i hope you can forgive me for since it was supposed to be short but turned into a full oneshot
— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.
They don’t seem to stop. No matter how many times you swipe at your puffy eyes, the tears keep pouring down in a constant stream, falling in droplets onto the fabric of your costume and no doubt smearing your makeup beyond all repair.
People are starting to stare, you realise which does nothing to boost your crumbling self-esteem at the moment. Nobody even bothers to approach you and ask you what’s wrong. All they do is ogle at you like you’re some sort of strange creature at the zoo. But then again, if someone walked up to you right now and asked you what’s wrong, you’d probably start bawling like a baby and humiliate yourself further. Even so, you wish at least someone here bothered enough to ask you if you were okay. Call it selfish, but you really wish you had someone to turn to right now.
All this extravagance does not faze you though. The second the toilet door locks with a click, shielding you from everybody’s eyes, you make a beeline towards the toilet--well, one of the two toilets--flip the lid shut and fall into it. You tuck your knees to your chest, burying your face as you finally allow a sob to wrack through you.
In the back of your mind, the self-assured, rational part of you knows that this is dumb. That foul man doesn’t deserve your tears after what he’s done. He doesn’t deserve even another ounce of your energy or another second of your time. He deserves absolutely nothing from you, and you know that for a fact, yet the tears are still hot and wet as they continuously trickle down your cheeks.
In the back of your mind, the self-assured, rational part of you knows that this is dumb. That foul man doesn’t deserve your tears after what he’s done. He doesn’t deserve even another ounce of your energy or another second of your time. He deserves absolutely nothing from you, and you know that for a fact, yet the tears are still hot and wet as they continuously trickle down your cheeks.
How embarrassing, you think. Here you are, looking nothing short of stunning in your Halloween costume, isolating yourself in some stranger’s bathroom, mascara running down your face all because your no good boyfri--ex-boyfriend, stood you up and proceeded to dump you over text, leaving you completely alone at this party filled with people you’ve never met because he had pleaded for you to go. God, just thinking about it makes your blood boil.
Your very own pity party is swiftly sabotaged when you hear the unmistakable sound of a shampoo bottle dropping and a barely whispered, “Crap!” coming from none other than the bathtub.
At this sudden intrusion, you immediately lunge to your feet, grabbing onto the nearest available weapon (which is a hairbrush in your case) and soundlessly tiptoe towards the source of this mysterious sound.
You pause, swallowing dryly. “Hello? Is there somebody there?”
The shower curtains almost immediately slide open in response and a scream gets caught in your throat as you raise the hairbrush menacingly over your head, in what you think is the best position to strike this person in.
“Woah! Oh my God, calm down!”
The identity of the culprit is revealed, although upon seeing his face you still have no idea who he is and, more importantly, why he was hiding in the bathtub. The stranger has his hair dyed a bright, almost neon pink, and little equally as pink antennas sticking out of his head. It’s painfully obvious they’re handmade by how asymmetrical they look, but you applaud the effort. He has his hands up defensively as he peers at you with caution, like you’re some feral, untamed creature, though to be fair, you probably look like one. All this while, this weirdo is still perched in the bathtub.
“What are you doing in here?” you hiss, letting the hand which was holding your makeshift weapon fall limp to your side. The man’s shoulders visibly loosen.
“Look, I know how weird this looks--”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“But I genuinely didn’t mean to be here and listen in on you,” he says. “In fact, I was here first.”
While that statement is true, his argument just leaves you with more questions. “Okay, but why the hell were you camping out in the bathtub of all places? Who does that?”
The man smiles sheepishly. “Look, I have my reasons.”
You expect him to explain himself, but oddly, he keeps quiet. You tap your foot impatiently and cross your arms like a disappointed mother reprimanding their child. “Okay, well, do feel free to explain these reasons.”
“Okay, well, you might want to take a seat for this one,” he says, gesturing to the toilet you were previously sat on, and you can’t help but snort. Nevertheless, you take this peculiar man’s advice and sit back down on the cold, hard toilet lid. “So, long story short, some guy out there really wants to kill me.” He pauses for extra affect. “In the most agonising way he can come up with.”
You physically recline back in what can only be shock. “Oh, wow. You’re serious?”
“Excuse the pun, but yes, I’m drop-dead serious.”
You furrow your brows. “Well, that’s dumb. Why’d you choose to hide out in here of all places then? Why not just go home?”
The man’s mouth hangs open, almost like he’s about to say something in retaliation before he promptly shuts it. “Hey, you know what?” he says, head tilted. “I didn’t think about that.”
You roll your eyes at his confession, though you can’t wipe the amused smile from your face. You briefly wonder exactly why this man is on someone’s hitlist. But you think that asking that question would only lead to equally--if not stranger answers.
“What about you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why are you camped out here in the bathroom?”
You chew on your bottom lip, sudden anxiety beginning to grip onto you. You didn’t expect him to ask that. No doubt he had heard your heaving sobs through the flimsy material of the shower curtain, but you didn’t expect him to ask any further questions. Really, you were sure he was just going to brush it off and pretend like nothing ever happened, and that you were just in the toilet for more normal toilet-like business.
“I mean,” he leans on the wall behind the bathtub, “you don’t have to tell me anything. I totally get that. But if you want to say something, I’m willing to listen. I’ve got a lot of time to kill. Excuse the pun. Again.”
You smile softly. You’re not sure what exactly compels you to confide in this stranger, maybe it’s the genuine concern present in his voice, the delicate look in his eyes behind those green-tinted glasses, or maybe it’s just the fact that he’s somehow made you at least chuckle, just moments after your breakdown, which in the moment, was something you thought you’d never be able to accomplish, at least for another week.
“I--” you start, searching for the right words to say. “I got dumped by text by my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend,” you correct yourself. “And I didn’t even want to be at this dumb party to begin with. The guy had the gall to beg for me to come, and fucking dumped me after I dressed up and everything. Through text.” Crap. You can feel them coming. Another onslaught of fresh tears bombards you. You try your best to suck them back in, but a few stray ones stream down your cheeks.
“What a dick. Without a doubt, I can tell that you’re way above his league. He’s just a fucking prick.” Somehow, him dissing your ex-boyfriend makes your chest feel a little lighter. “But hey, are you okay?”
You angrily swipe your tears away with the back of your palm. “Yeah, whatever. I’m over it.” You know that’s a lie. But it’s more of a lie to fool yourself into believing than the man before you.
“If it makes you feel any better, the guy who’s trying to kill me is actually my girlfriend’s boyfriend.”
“What?” you sputter. You blink back your visible shock. “You mean you were seeing some girl who’s already in a relationship?” You can’t hide the evident disgust on your face.
“No! No! Of course not. I’d never do that!” he almost yells, appalled you’d ever accuse him of such a heinous act. “You know me better than that.” Again, his antics bring a humoured snort out of you. “I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I thought she was single. At least, that’s what she told me, but obviously, she was lying. She didn’t think I’d be at this party, so she brought along her boyfriend and now he’s found out and he’s trying to murder me, hence why I’m in the bathtub.”
You grimace. You should definitely offer him some consolation. It’s the least you can do after what he’s done for you. “Are… Are you okay?” you find yourself repeating his line of question back to him.
The man grins lopsidedly. “Yeah, I’ve drowned all my sorrows in alcohol and,”--He reaches into the bathtub before pulling out and entire bottle of some expensive looking champagne--“I’ve got more.”
You snort. “You stole the alcohol?”
“In my defence, this is so little compared to what’s out there that I really doubt anyone noticed.” He shrugs. “Plus, have you seen the size of this house. I mean, take this bathroom for instance. There’s two sinks! Who the hell needs two sinks? Even if I stole a truckloads worth of alcohol--which trust me, I was tempted to do--that would barely scratch the surface of this guy’s no doubt massive alcohol collection.”
You slump in your seat. “You know what? A truckload of alcohol sounds really nice right now.”
“Is that you telling me that you’re willing to help me in my alcohol heist?”
You laugh. “What? I didn’t say that… Although, my little hands could probably hold a bottle or two…”
The man leaps from the bathtub, outstretching his hand to you. “Alright then, come along my partner in crime. I’ve got some crisps in my car and we’re getting wasted tonight.”
“You’re just inviting a stranger into your car?” you tease. “What if all of this was just some extravagant ploy to get me close enough to kill you?”
The man grins cheekily, rouge beginning to dust his cheeks from the alcohol he’s consumed. “I wouldn’t mind being murdered by such a pretty girl.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you scoff, a bit taken aback by this brazenly flirtatious comment. Admittedly, you’re not opposed to it.
You place your hand in his, and his smile broadens as his hand tightens around yours. His smile is infectious, you find.
“And what might be my partner in crime’s name, may I ask?”
The man laughs as he tugs you from your seat, and it’s the nicest laugh you’ve ever heard.
“Nakamoto Yuta. My name is Nakamoto Yuta.”
“Well, Nakamoto Yuta,” you grin, “lead the way.”
#happy yuta day!#a little late I know lol#nct fluff#yuta fluff#nct dream#nct u#nct 127#nct imagines#yuta imagines#nakamoto yuta#yuta nct#nct yuta#nct scenarios#yuta scenarios#nct blurbs#yuta blurbs#nct drabbles#yuta drabbles#nct fics#yuta fics#nct reactions#yuta reactions#nct x reader#yuta x reader#nct oneshots#yuta oneshots#nct timestamps#yuta timestamps
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I feel so strange when I get out of our tumblr Byler bubble and see the impressions of the fandom at large - impressions of the show/Will in particular. Stranger Universe (YouTube channel) just made a video about “is Will gay?” and in the video said “all signs point to Mileven endgame” and my eyes burst through the top of my skull. All the comments were in a similar vein, including “he’s asexual” “he’s just not ready to grow up” etc. When I’m reminded we’re in a lil bubble, I start to wonder if us Byler Believers are just confirmation bias-ing each other to death until we believe things that aren’t true. That’s my cynicism talking, but I think you probably understand my feelings. Would love your thoughts!
ok, apologies to my Askers, but going in order just isn’t working for me now that I have quite a few backed up. I’m going to answer them based on which ones I’m most prepared to address at a given moment. I think that’s my best chance at clearing out this queue.
Ah, confirmation bias. You’re speaking to my psychology degree by bringing that up. For those who are not familiar with the concept, confirmation bias is the tendency for human beings to take in new information in a manner that reinforces their already existing beliefs. This is perhaps most often seen in matters of politics or religion, where beliefs are very strong. It’s a mechanism by which people sort of “cherry pick” parts that they like, but not really in a conscious way.
For Stranger Things fans, particularly the Byler and Mileven shippers that were mentioned above, this would manifest as fans on a given side latching onto anything that supports their own ship. A fan would claim that any evidence in their favor is proof, while basically ignoring or negating anything to the contrary. This is a very easy trap for any of us to fall into, as it is very difficult to be aware of it occurring.
It’s true that we are in sort of a bubble here on Tumblr, at least compared to other social media platforms. This does run the risk of us being in a sort of echo chamber, but I counter that other fans have essentially done the same on other platforms through aggressive shouting down of anyone the mainstream disagrees with. That said, we do need to be aware of our own bubble here and not let it lead us to ignoring evidence even if it doesn’t support our conclusions.
Personally, I feel like Byler supporters on Tumblr have done a pretty good job avoiding confirmation bias. It exists, sure, but all evidence seems to have been evaluated and analyzed by someone in the fandom (let’s be honest, if it exists, it’s been touched on by @kaypeace21). So, I don’t think we’re ignoring any evidence in order to avoid weakening our belief. In fact, after season 3 there seemed to be a rather significant swell of despair from the Byler community. That really drives home how much we weren’t ignoring what we were seeing. It was only after time allowed for a more meticulous look at things that we were able to see that the evidence actually grew. It wasn’t an easy road, and many had to be convinced anew. Our beliefs were challenged because we DIDN’T ignore what we were seeing, and it took a lot of work to not lose faith. This doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. There are other biases out there that we also need to be wary of.
I can’t say that I cruise the Mileven tag, but, from what I have been able to gather, the evidence their belief is based off of is rather flimsy. There’s not much look at subtext or any sort of analysis. It’s generally just a look at the obvious, which they genuinely seem to think is enough. Mike and El kissed, they said they love each other, they went to the Snowball, etc. What I haven’t really seen from their side is a look at evidence to the contrary. Generally, they seem to just disregard it out of hand by saying Will just isn’t ready to grow up, negating him as a romantic interest for Mike out of hand. If this is typical of Mileven fans, then they are rather guilty of confirmation bias themselves. I digress, though, and I’ll stop there because I don’t want to create a strawman.
I wouldn’t worry too much. The fact that you even brought up confirmation bias means that you are aware of it and actively thinking about it. This means you’re more likely to be more critical of the evidence. If our beliefs are challenged it can go one of two ways: 1) we consider the evidence and determine we were wrong, and we adjust our conclusion accordingly or 2) we consider the evidence and determine we were right, and our conclusion is strengthened. It’s a personal decision, but, despite my inherent cynicism, I lean towards #1 myself. I do think it’s always a good idea to be open to all evidence, but people screaming “Will isn’t gay!” without anything to back it up isn’t evidence. I’d be interested in how that video said “all signs point to mileven endgame” because I just don’t see it. So I’ll leave by asking you, “Did the video genuinely consider all of the evidence itself, or is it actually guilty of confirmation bias?”
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The Allegory of the Tin Man, the Dictator, and the Knight: a Dissection of Ironqrow and a Character Arc of Failure
“There lived in the Land of Oz two queerly made men who were best of friends. They were so much happier when together that they were seldom apart.”
— L. Frank Baum
A brief Ironqrow meta and character analysis of James Ironwood, the ultimate screw up, in three parts.
I. Qrow and Ironwood’s Homoeroticism in Canon Source Material and its Translation
II. Ironwood’s Repressed Characterization and the Inherent Chivalry of the Dictatorship
III. Ironwood, Alone
Qrow and Ironwood’s Homoeroticism in Canon Source Material and its Translation
Within the Oz series, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow are layered within homoerotic subtext, even if it is included unintentionally. Tison Pugh’s analysis Queer Utopianism and Antisocial Eroticism in L. Frank Baum's Oz Series posits that the land of Oz as portrayed within the series is a largely asexual environment of suspended adolescence that involves the deviation of binary gender norms, and of performative heterosexuality. Pugh refers to it later as a “queer utopia”. Men are portrayed as a lesser military force to women, and heterosexuality is a flimsy presence at best; all signs of procreation within Oz are stifled. While this could be chalked down to Baum not wanting to get into the subject of sex and exploration in a children’s series, it does contribute to a particular tone with real-life critiques of capitalism and a particular deconstruction of gender norms. Ozma, who will become the ruler of Oz after the Wizard and the Scarecrow respectively, for example, is originally a boy named Tip (the name itself holds phallic implications) who is “transformed” into a girl. The strongest military force is one of all-women led by a rebellious female general. Pugh observes, “At the same time that Baum satirizes...women as leaders…he consistently depicts women as more successful soldiers than men, and female troops appear better capable of serving militarily than male troops…[the] male army comprises of twenty-six officers and one private, and they are all cowards…” and cites the Frogman’s declaration that “Girls are the fiercest soldiers of all...they are more brave than men, and they have better nerves”.
RWBY itself isn’t opposed to this kind of subversion, either in its characters or its relationships. There’s an obvious effort to include LGBTQ+ representation (albeit primarily in the background), strong female characters are prevalent and make up most of the main and supporting cast, a character’s gender is not strictly reliant on its source material, and BlackSun, while cute and a valid ship in its own right, is treated as a heterosexual red herring to Bumbleby. Additionally, there have been a lot of hints by the voice actors, writers, and creators on social media that Qrow himself is queer, the infamous Ironqrow embrace included.
Admittedly, if I wanted to write an essay about the likelihood of Qrow being LGBTQ+ or having some kind of queer identity, I would probably focus more on his relationship with Clover, which had a lot more overt and probably canonically intentional Gay Vibes, and despite having known Qrow nowhere near as long as Ironwood has, it has just as much, if not more, to extrapolate. Unfortunately, that’s not the main point of this essay, although it remains relevant. While I personally don’t doubt that Qrow has had sex with women or experiences valid sexual attraction to them, I get the feeling that it is, to a degree, a performative act and a masculine assertation of enjoyment intended as a coping mechanism. It plays into the trope of the handsome, tortured alcoholic (best exemplified, perhaps, in the MCU’s Tony Stark, Dean Winchester in Supernatural, and critiqued in the superhero episode of Rick and Morty) who sleeps around just to recall the feeling of intimacy, or because he associates sexual ‘degradation’ as a reflection of his worth. Real self-deprecating, slightly misogynistic stuff. Qrow’s recall of short skirts, as well as his brief exchange with the waitress in an earlier volume, reminds me of one specific interaction between the Scarecrow and his own love interest. Within the series, the Qrow’s source-material counterpart, the Scarecrow, has one canonical love interest, the Patchwork Girl:
“Forgive me for staring so rudely,” said the Scarecrow, “but you are the most beautiful sight my eyes have ever beheld.”
“That is a high compliment from one who is himself so beautiful,” murmured Scraps, casting down her suspender-button eyes by lowering her head.
Pugh points out that the two of them never develop this relationship further than flirtation, and heterosexuality is reduced to a “spectral presence” lacking the “erotic energy [driving] these queer narratives in their presence”. Specifically, Qrow never reveals a serious or long running heterosexual love interest - he is not the father! [of Ruby] (despite much speculation that he and Summer Rose were involved) and he and Winter never really moved past the stage of ‘hostility with just a hint of sexual tension’ - and there is no debunking of potential queerness. His interactions with Clover (deserving of an entire essay on its own) seem to support this interpretation, and is more or less a confirmation of some kind of queer inclination or identity. Again, the “queer utopia” of Oz comes at the cost of the expulsion of the sexual or the mere mention of reproduction - still, through this device, same-sex relationships gain a new kind of significance with the diminishing nature of heterosexuality. Speaking of queer narratives, the Scarecrow and the Tin Man have the most tender and prolonged relationship of perhaps all the characters in the series, exchanging a lifelong commitment:
“I shall return with my friend the Tin Woodman,” said the stuffed one seriously. “We have decided never to be parted in the future.”
Within the source material, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow voluntarily live together, and are life partners in nearly every sense of the word. The second book in the Oz series is The Tin Woodman of Oz. In summary, the Tin Woodman recalls that he had a fiancée before the events of the first book, forgot all about her, and now must search her out so that they can get married. Who does he ask to accompany him in this pursuit? None other than his no-homo life partner, the Scarecrow. Although this sounds like a stereotypical heteronormative storyline, “this utopian wonderland...rejects heterosexual procreation...First, the Tin Woodman does not desire...Nimmie Amee...” and even acknowledges that due to the ‘nature’ of the heart that the Wizard had given him, he is literally incapable of romantically or passionately loving or desiring Nimmie, and by extent, women in general - to me, that works perfectly as an allegory for a gay man who is literally incapable of experiencing legitimate heterosexual urges, but ‘soldiers on’ out of obligation and societally enforced chivalry. “The Tin Woodman excuses himself from the heteronormative imperative...Only his sense of masculine honor, rather than a heteronomratively masculine sex drive, impels the Tin Woodman on his quest to marry his long-lost fiancée.” Again, Ironwood’s character follows the lines of propriety within the sphere of the wealthy elite, and his persona as a high-ranking military man and politician, as well as the conservative values instilled within Atlas, prioritize duty and obligation. This kind of culture is stifling and in a lot of ways aloof, as the upper class deludes itself into believing that it is objectively better and more advanced than its neighboring territories. *ahem the myth of American exceptionalism ahem*
“There lived in the Land of Oz two queerly made men who were best of friends. They were so much happier when together that they were seldom apart.”
I think it’s funny that the characters that Ironwood and Qrow are based off of are canonically the closest of friends, who coexist almost as a unit. In contrast, the first introduction we get of Ironwood and Qrow is a hostile exchange where they’re at each other’s throats, never on the same page, and never in sync, not when it matters. Indeed, Qrow snaps at Ironwood for his lack of communication, which is a recurring issue between the two of them on notable occasions. If the source material is anything to go by, there should be a significant relationship between the two of them, or at least some kind of connection, even if it goes unspoken or unacknowledged. To be fair, in RWBY’s canon, I think there is.
I’ve seen this joke that while Qrow hates the Atlas military, the only people he really seems to flirt with is Atlas military personnel. “Ice Queen” is something I interpreted to be partially hostile, partially mocking, and partially flirtatious, in equal spades - the voice actors and creators have indicated that it was flirtatious, and there was a whole Chibi episode dedicated to the concept of Qrow and Winter’s extrapolated sexual tension, albeit in jest. I might argue that his use of abbreviates aren’t reserved for people he dislikes, but for people who bring out his playful side. “Brat”, “Pipsqueak”, “Firecracker”, and “Kiddos” are all drawn from a place of affection, however short or mocking it may seem, because that’s what crows do: they mock others.
Qrow has little nicknames for people; while it’s not exclusively a sign of affection, I do get the feeling that ‘Jimmy’ is an informality that irks Ironwood, but can also be interpreted as Qrow giving James what he needs, rather than what he wants.
Glynda is by no means a pushover, but in assuring him that while he does questionable things, he’s still a good person, she’s softening the blow and probably further enabling deeply rooted and pre-existing traits, many of which contribute to his problematic control complex. It is established early on that Qrow resents the military (as he should), and it is implied that he’s spent a fair amount of encounters harassing and provoking military personnel (Winter being the most evident example of this), and has insulted the military numerous times to Ironwood’s face. He lectures Ironwood about the way he conducts his operations, his inability to communicate, and basically what a complete, inconsiderate asshole he really is.
What Ironwood needs is someone who operates outside of the pretense that he works, breathes, and lives under, and just tells it like it is. Jimmy isn’t all that - he’s a person, just like the rest of us, and he can flaunt all the titles that he wants, but James stripped down is still just Jimmy.
Qrow also is the kind of person who pries, who is insistent, and not particularly sensitive. For someone like Ironwood who has a lot of (physical and emotional) barriers, logically, in order for him to receive genuine understanding, Qrow fits the profile of someone who is invasive but not exploitive, who sees past the cracks in his armor and takes him for what he is. What is just important is that whoever Ironwood is with is someone who makes him want to try not only to be better, but to be real; thematically, General Ironwood seems to have a great respect for but a deep struggle with authenticity. He clearly resents the ignorance and frivolity of Atlas’s wealthy elite, as evidenced by his support for Weiss at the dinner party in announcing that “she’s one of the only people making any sense around here”, while struggling to project the facade that he’s carefully created.
See, we don’t have evidence that there is something going on between Ironqood and Qrow so much as we have enough evidence to inconclusively say that there’s not not something going on. I think there’s enough evidence to support the idea that something could be going on, or was going on.
When Qrow saves Ironwood at the Battle of Beacon, who is under the false impression that Qrow believes him to be the culprit of the attacks, his eyes follow Qrow and we get a closer shot of his awed expression; we the viewer can only imagine what he sees as Qrow arcs through the air and slices down a Grimm from behind his back. The focus on Ironwood’s expression portrays something like shock (so Qrow wasn’t trying to attack me after all, but then what the hell is he doing?), maybe wonder (I can’t take my eyes off of him, I can’t look away), maybe respect (I know he’s a good Hunter, but I’ve rarely seen him in action), but it is unfiltered nonetheless. In a show where fight scenes are vital to the progression of the story itself, the dynamics of these fights are at their best when they are character driven, whether it is revealing or reinforcing something about the characters and their relationships, or it is deciding their fates. There’s something to be said about characters being given moments together in battles, and what that says about the significance of their relationship. The best example of this might be the battle between Blake and Yang vs Adam; it served to give Adam what he deserved, help Blake and Yang reach closure in certain aspects of their own trauma, and solidify the bond between the girls. Similarly, Qrow and Ironwood’s moment is meant to reveal a theme that will later be revisited in volume 7; trust. Ironwood is startled but not shocked when he believes that Qrow distrusts him to the degree of attacking him, and is ready to attack or defend as needed.
Qrow tells him what he needs to hear, more or less: YOU’RE A DUMBASS. Ironwood is, indeed, a dumbass. While he does extend the olive branch of trust and good will to CRWBY and co. this trust is highly conditional and proves to be, while from a place of desperation and sincerity, at least partially performative.
When Ironwood snaps, he snaps hard.
Amber’s voice actress tweeted early on, joking that Qrow has two Atlas boyfriends, and Arryn has made comments, too. It’s one of the older ships, and the crew is certainly aware of it (“...extended chest bump...”).
Kerry has stated that he finds the Ironqrow relationship interesting, and wishes it had been explored more (additionally, allegedly lobbying that Ironwood’s arm in the Ironqrow hug scene be slightly lower). I’m not saying that they’re going to both make it out alive, or canon, or even that romantic subtext was intentionally woven into the script. All I’m saying is that I think their relationship is interesting too, especially when the subtext of their source material relationship is taken into context, and the way their characters are positioned is suggestive of some sort of compatibility, even if it is a hit or miss kind of opportunity, and I have the sinking suspicion that it was missed on both accounts.
The Tin Woodman of Oz concludes,
“All this having been happily arranged, the Tin Woodman returned to his tin castle, and his chosen comrade, the Scarecrow, accompanied him on the way. The two friends were sure to pass many pleasant hours together in talking over their recent adventures, for as they neither ate nor slept they found their greatest amusement in conversation.”
Ironwood’s Repressed Characterization and the Inherent Chivalry of the Dictatorship
“I don’t give a damn about Jacque Schnee...what about the other two? Do not return to this office until you have Qrow Branwen in custody.”
“And that’s not all we’ve lost...I had Qrow in my hands, and I didn’t do what needed to be done.”
Observe: Ironwood, at this point, does not care about politics. I doubt he’s ever wanted to, or ever liked it (if his tired outburst at the dinner party is any indication) but his Knightly qualities (we’ll get to that) have, up till this point, prompted him to adhere to them for both power and etiquette. James surrounds himself in a world that he understands and despises; more than anything, he’d like to be a general, a commander, and the Knight in Shining Armor archetype, because warfare is something he understands. It is a testament to his (superhuman) willpower that he forces himself to become fluent in the language of politics, and to live and breathe in it. To clarify, Ironwood sees himself as a man who does what needs to be done; if he wants to change and control Atlas, he will have to involve himself in its politics.
Likely, his resilience has contributed to the way he views himself and what he deserves, as someone long-suffering and almost martyr-like, a silent hero doing what needs to be done. But at the moment, he’s lost his goddamn mind coming undone. He’s murdered and jailed his political dissent (and might have considered executing prisoners), but at this point, that’s all that Jacque and Robyn are to him. First he dismisses Jacque, narrows it down to the two escaped prisoners, and finally reveals what’s really on the forefront of his mind: Qrow, free and out of his hands.
[ When recalling this dialogue, please do so while imagining a bad recorder cover of the Titanic music playing over the background. Here is a sample. ]
In the most recent episode, Ironwood seems to have gone off the rails even further. The fact that Winter, his most faithful lieutenant, is losing her unshakable faith in him, says a lot about how hard he’s fallen off the deep end. In Winter’s mind, I think that she sees him almost as a surrogate father figure, or at least a patriarch who can be positively compared to Jacques in every way. The previous volumes go to lengths to compare the two as adversaries and showing James in a favorable light; Winter is in her own personal horror right now, because she is beginning to understand that Ironwood is a man who may not be her father but is just as susceptible to corruption, and may have been that kind of person all along. Skipping over the...ah, genocidal tendencies, and the fact that he’s proposing to kidnap Penny’s friends to force her to obey him and likely is starting to realize that Winter is the perfect bait (let’s just say that “Ironwood is not good with kids” is the understatement of the year) Ironwood wants Qrow back (in captivity), I think that it’s significant that while Ironwood registers that Robyn is gone as well, his first priority is Qrow, probably for two reasons. On one hand, he still refers to Qrow by his first name, instead of the formal Branwen. Of course, that doesn’t have to mean anything at all. They’re colleagues within the same age range, both members of the same secret brotherhood and similiar skill sets.
On the other hand, it reminds me of the moment when Qrow and the kids first fly into Atlas, and they see the heightened security, and Qrow mutters, “James...what have you been doing,” under his breath, sounding concerned, apprehensive. He’s not addressing the kids, he’s talking to himself; he regards James much more seriously both as a potential threat and a friend than he’d rather the other know, and I think that James’ focus on Qrow at this point is similiar, only not only is this a sign of them knowing each other well, but of Ironwood’s slipping control. He offered Qrow his trust and camaraderie, his last attempt to keep a handle on his humanity (or, his heart). Qrow, in return, withheld vital information, got close with another operative instead, then allegedly killed him and and escaped ‘rightful’ imprisonment.
The Tin Man is offering Qrow his heart, at least proof of it, and the Scarecrow [and co.] steps back to observe the situation, and assesses that no, what you are going to do is wrong, and I cannot agree with it.
Ironwood is not an objective person, as much as he wants to be. He’s angry, desperate, scared, and humiliated. Worst of all, he’s rebuffed, and he’s taking Qrow’s escape personally. First, he understands that Qrow is a threat. He’s Ozpin’s best agent, he has years of field experience, and he knows too much, probably more than James knows. Second, they have history.
My personal interpretation of Ironwood is something this:
He’s a sad, sad, lonely bitch. What Ironwood longs for, just like his source material counterpart, is a heart. He will go to any lengths to achieve this, because he believes that he has self awareness and therefore is able to check and balance himself. He treats his subordinates well, is diplomatic, skilled in a variety of trades, fighting the good fight, and longs for the affirmation that yes, he is a good person, and yes, he’s had a heart all along. He just strays from the path, and loses his way.
This is symbolically represented by his partially mechanic exoskeleton; we have no idea how far the cyborg extremities extend, or how deep, but we do get the visual notion of humanity in conflict, or a man’s soul deconstructed and split between the cold efficiency of machinery and the very real warmth of a human body. Ironwood wants to appear human, and benevolent, and genuine, and in return, loved; he is human, and he could be all of these things. If my reliance on the source material holds any merit (although I highly doubt it), then there is also a potential struggle with sexuality, (Glynda herself even explicitly and exasperatedly references a testosterone battle between Ironwood and Qrow, suggesting a regular overassertation of masculinity) and a further incentive to achieve love and subsequent acceptance.
To clarify, I do believe that there were less-than-subtle allusions to Ironwood and Glynda having a vaguely flirtatious history, taking their shared scenes and background dancing into account, but this, again, does not “debunk” the presence of queerness within a narrative; it could be an assumption of heterosexuality, or performative itself, or just not an exclusive interest. Besides, Ironwitch isn’t what this essay is about. I’m not trying to persuade or dissuade someone of the notion that Jimmy is gay, or straight, or something else, only that the potential ambiguity exists. What I do think is most important is that James doesn’t openly ward people away, not when those people aren’t under his command and are technically outside of his jurisdiction. He’s friendly with Glynda, tries to extend trust to Qrow, is kind to people in the aftermath of battle, and overall clings to diplomacy as his first weapon. He wants to be accepted, to be liked, and to be welcomed. This is not an outrageous want, nor is it uncommon. Unfortunately, Ironwood’s understanding of love and acceptance is entangled within the concept of control, and he associates unquestioned compliance with this Want.
Ironwood’s introduction into the series shows him being openly cordial, and very considerate, especially his interactions with Glynda and Ozpin. He’s a gentleman, he’s apologetic, and, as Glynda assures him, he’s a “good man”. She doesn’t really elaborate on what a “good man” is, exactly, but we might presume that a “good man” is a person with good intentions, who strives to do what’s right, regardless of his options.
Here’s the thing - one similarity between Ironwood and the Tin Man is that they both have the capacity to love, but they fool themselves into thinking that they don’t; before the Wizard gives him a ‘heart’, the Tin Man suggests that he is only kind and considerate to everyone in Oz because he believes he needs to overcompensate for what he lacks, and is therefore doubly aware of how he treats others. However, the Wizard knows no real magic, only tricks and illusions, and what he gives the Tin Man is essentially a placebo that enables the Tin Man to act towards and feel about others the exact same as he always had, only with the validation that what he feels is authentic. Similarly, Ironwood has always had the option to be empathetic and not fucking crazy open to collaboration, which he’s very aware of, until his own paranoia cuts into his rationality and compels him to cut himself off from all allies and alternative perspectives. He then uses his difficult position and responsibilities to justify unjustifiable actions, to rationalize irrational urges, and to gaslight and brainwash his subordinates into compliance.
The Tin Woodman knew very well he had no heart, and therefore he took great care never to be cruel or unkind to anything.
“You people with hearts,” he said, “have something to guide you, and need never do wrong; but I have no heart, and so I must be very careful. When Oz gives me a heart of course I needn’t mind so much.”
Qrow sees through this, however, and not only seems incapable of following orders himself, but disrupts the decorum that Ironwood is used to. In return, I think we see a little more of James that he’d like to reveal.
“If you were one of my men, I’d have you shot!”
“If I was one of your men, I’d shoot myself!”
In case this entire ass essay doesn’t make it obvious, I do really ship Ironqrow. I’m open to other pairings, definitely, but this one in particular is just more interesting to me. It feels more revealing, more subtle. I have more questions.
In hindsight, maybe the dialogue example above ^ didn’t age well, considering where they’re at, but I do like how their professional animosity is flavored with a kind of camaraderie, and understanding. This exchange isn’t exactly playful, but they’re taking each other seriously - and, like repressed schoolboys, taking the piss at each other in a childish way, and isn’t that part of the fun of banter, when they’re so focused on each other that they forget to act their age? In a lot of ways, this is a really fun dynamic to watch. They’re opposite-kind-of-people, which I like, at least on a superficial level, and I can easily imagine them tempering each other in ways that would make them ultimately happier people.
They even look well-coordinated, with similar color schemes that lean on the opposite sides of the shared spectrum (white, grays, reds and black); I think the decorative design on Qrow’s new sleeves are supposed to be more ornate simply to communicate that Qrow is committed, and willing to be sentimental, but some viewers have suggested that it resembles the pattern on James’ weapon, Due Process (the revolver is based off of the Tin Man’s pistol, although, curiously, in The Wizard of Oz, the Scarecrow was the only character to carry a pistol, and the commentaries suggest that the 2007 Tin Man miniseries was the “basis of the allusion”. Does that mean anything? I don’t know. Probably not.). Still, it raises the questions: who was in charge of designing the team’s new clothes and gear? How much input did Atlas get, and was this intentional? Personally, I think that the vine-like pattern on Qrow’s sleeves also bear a resemblance to Ozpin’s staff, a subtle reaffirmation and foreshadowing of his allegiance in contrast to Ironwood, but I digress.
They can also deliver that UST kind of banter that takes up their attention, and get up really close to each other, in each other’s faces, and just be pissed, which I think is very sexy of them, mhm. Enemies to Colleagues to Reluctant Friends to Lovers is a trope that I very much appreciate. Gaining some sort of common ground at the Battle of Beacon only to reunite, tired and battered, after the shit has already hit the fan? Slow burn kinda vibes.
That hug between them was something genuinely vulnerable and a sign of Ironwood letting his guard down because he is tired as fuck. It also was uh...kinda fruity.
Ironwood approaches closer, and Qrow scratches the back of his head, a characteristically nervous gesture that he’s made before; it’s a nervous twitch, manufactured nonchalance. He has no idea what Ironwood wants, but he does know that Ironwood wants something. James is the one to initiate the hug, and Qrow startles and even freezes up before relaxing into it. He seems suprised, but gives the bisexual eye roll of grudging fondness. This is out of character for James - Jimmy - but Qrow doesn’t think that Ironwood is a bad person. He leans into the hug, and the camera cuts out before they separate, suggesting that they probably end up standing there for a long ass time. You can also see from the side shots that it’s a close hug; their torsos are pressed up against each other, front to front, and there’s not a lot of wiggle room. James must be really goddamn depressed. It’s a long, manly, intensley heterosexual hug. Like I said, kinda fruity.
Other people have analyzed the hug shot for shot, so I won’t get too into it, but I think that it was intentionally left as a double red herring; some people thought that maybe he bugged Qrow, and after finding out that he didn’t, we were forced to conclude that this is a genuine olive branch. To find out that Ironwood is sincere but was still susceptible to corruption is that second subversion that I didn’t really expect. I hadn’t prepared myself for it, at least, and neither did Qrow. I wouldn’t go as far to say that Ironwood’s descent into fucking craziness paranoia is triggered by Qrow not ‘reciprocating’ or something, but I do think it’s interesting how the volume opens up with a signifigant interaction between Ironwood and Qrow, only for Qrow to spend the rest of the volume homosexually bonding with Clover, while Ironwood basically has no one as emotional support (again, his subordinates do not have the power or the place to be viewed as equals and the veil of formality is one of isolation). Qrow initiates nothing further, and nothing further happens.
Ironwood’s downfall, in a thematic sense, is that what he Needs is a heart, and when he gets that chance to demonstrate tolerance and empathy, James ultimately rejects his Need (a heart) and his arc reverts into one of villainy. To be specific, Ironwood is essentially a fascist dick, and that is not very sexy. (Speaking of dicks, the thought of Ironwood’s dick makes me laugh. I bet in the RWBY universe, people have made memes about that. I do not accept criticism because I am correct. Anyway,).
Dictators are charming, charismatic, and one of the pillars of their method is absorbing potential political opponents into their own administration to reduce the threat of rebellion, to appear openly tolerant to their supporters, and to further consolidate power. A good example of this would be Mean Girls, which runs on a comedic commentary of dictatorships as a political structure of power. I hate to compare James Ironwood to Regina George, but Regina’s posse includes Karen and Gretchen, two of the only girls who might take away from the authority she holds over the rest of their school, both in their wealth and attractiveness, and Cady’s interesting backstory and conventional attractiveness is the main reason Regina draws her into her own sphere - because she detects a potential threat. Much in the same way, while Ironwood likely has good intentions, his efforts to win over team RWBY and co. - including Qrow himself - is a logical way to consolidate resources. His willingness, at first, to cooperate with political opponents (ie Robyn) is because he’s not inherently evil, and he has nothing to lose. It’s when he is openly opposed and diplomatic gestures no longer hold the necessary weight that he snaps.
In one really interesting meta about Ironqrow’s archetypes (that I reread occasionally just because I really love it), @onewomancitadel posits that Ironwood is framed within the archetype of the Knight in Shining Armor, which should inform us of the moral consistency of his character. The meta was written around the beginning of volume 7, I think, and obviously we have a lot more character development and information to go off of now, but I think she makes a really interesting point about the nature of parallels and how that might help drive Ironwood as a character. I love her analysis of the visual of Ironwood stepping out of an airship wreckage, onto the street, the smoke billowing around him to reveal his cyborg prosthetics, and of the intentional framing. Once his uniform is stripped back, we see a man who is literally half-armor, which could be indicative of a lot of things. He’s emotionally guarded, he’s used as a human weapon, and he wants to be a line of defense. In her words, “The symbolism is really obviously put into perspective of his actions in trying to do the right thing: in the flesh (his true physical self) he is literally a knight in shining armour. From the ground up. Even if it's unseen or distorted by his uniform, his nature is still true.”
While Ironwood clearly has gone down a darker path in the most recent volume, I think this analysis holds true in a crucial way. “Ironwood is working with different information, and he’s doing exactly what he knows: stick to his knightly virtues, even disgraced.” Disgraced, indeed. Ironwood is holding onto his knightly values, and doing what he believes is right. If not right, he believes that it is necessary. The problem is that these values are manifested within Atlas’s sociopolitical-military culture in an inherently toxic way - his response is, at this point, neither rational nor empathetic, but it can be explained partially due to his cultural (flawed) understanding of justice, and because of the extenuating circumstances. The harsher the conditions become, the more difficult it is for anyone to project a facade that is not sincere at its core. If James is to uphold his Knightly virtues, he needs to be a protector, a leader, and a servant all at once while operating under limited intel with dwindling trust. All he has left are the few key players still in his grasp, and the control of the people he is responsible for.
To digress: generally, knights take an oath. It could be to a King, or Lord, or some noble, but Knights are supposed to operate on a code of honor, and chivalry, and to uphold these values throughout the land as an extension of whoever they have pledged themselves to. The story of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is a really good example of the way that, back in the day, chivalry and honor was supposed to place knights on a moral high ground compared to the common people.
In the middle of a celebration in Camelot, an obligatory tradition that has since lost real value but is rehearsed because Camelot fears that failure to uphold traditions that once had meaning is disrespectful, a Green Knight interrupts the celebrations and offers a strange challenge that boils down to a fight to the death. Gawain volunteers because accepting this challenge is what is expected of him, and Arthur would be humiliated if his knights, supposedly the best in the world, would not rise to the challenge. Gawain - and to a certain extent, the rest of Arthur’s knights - are fickle, in a sense, because their adherence to this code is performative, and it allows them to delude themselves into moral superiority and lie both to the commoners and amongst themselves; their identity as knights is based on a falsehood. Gawain is offered the first blow, and after beheading the Green newcomer, is horrified to see him become reanimated and immune to mortal blows. He invites Gawain to receive his own - likely fatal - blow, and gives him a time in which to meet, before promptly leaving.
Throughout the story, Gawain is tested in a variety of ways - in his final test, he fails, and allows his greed for self preservation and the fear of death to lead him to lie to his hosts and proceed to his meeting with the Green Knight under dishonest pretenses. While he is spared at the last second and becomes a better person (after it is revealed that Morgan le Fay orchestrated the ordeal to spook Queen Guinevere) - and by extent, a truer Knight, by the end of the story, the superficial and hypocritical nature of Arthur’s court is still in question, and still unanswered.
See, the entirety of Gawain’s trials was a test, not necessarily for him, but for Arthur and his court as a whole. Morgan wanted to prove the fickle nature of Arthur’s knights. The Knights of the Round Table were considered the best in the land, and to discredit one was to discredit all. What use is tradition if the meaning is empty, what use is chivalry if it is performed for reward instead of merit, and what use is loyalty if it is blind and unearned? Returning to Oz, the Tin Woodman, or Tin Man, grew to be made of tin because his axe became enchanted by the Wicked Witch of the East to sever his own body parts instead of the lumber he tried to cut down. A nearby tinsmith replaced each amputated limb with one of metal, until his entire body became tin and his meat body had been entirely discarded. Something to note is that Nick Chopper’s, (General Ironwood’s) wounds are technically self-inflicted. Each time he swung his axe, he made the decision to continue, knowing of the end result each time. In losing his bodily functions, the Tin Man believed that he had lost his humanity and ability to love.
The tragedy of his origin story draws a pointed correlation to Ironwood’s current dilemma; his unwillingness to stop, his self-imposed isolation, playing into the hands of the witch, and finally, the decision to let go of his ability to love remain consistent throughout both stories.
Watts even refers to Ironwood as a “Tin Solider”; a reference to the Tin (Woods)Man, no doubt, but could also evoke a soldier clanking around in metal armor. Ironwood is a Knight in Shining Armor, through and through. He wants to save the world, but at the terrible cost of civilian autonomy and possibly life. The problem is that he’s pledged himself to a discriminatory and hypocritical system, and his code is something that can easily be misconstrued by fear ( @disregardcanon ), much as Gawain’s own values. The Tin Man is, after all, still a man, and if we’ve learned anything from real fairytales, it is that men are fallible, whether or not they are made of metal.
Ironwood, Alone
he’s a lonely bitch
I know I f- up, I'm just a loser
Shouldn't be with ya, guess I'm a quitter
While you're out there drinkin', I'm just here thinkin'
'Bout where I should've been
I've been lonely, mm, ah, yeah
— Benee, Supalonely (2019)
You do get the sense that Ironwood is riddled with self-loathing conflicting with pride, with self-doubt clashing with competence, and that he is the kind of person who longs for things without verbalizing. Maybe his dad never paid enough attention to him as a kid. Maybe he suffered some terrible physical and emotional trauma, which might as well be assumed, given the extensive nature of his cybernetic limbs. Maybe (probably) he’d be more well-adjusted and would’ve made better decisions if the people around him trusted him and were a little more open. To be fair, though, he is the one at the wheel, and he is making the calls; no one else is to blame for his mistakes, and to pretend otherwise is to deny him accountability. I think we do enough of that in everyday life, in excusing powerful men of their responsibilities. To his credit, I do think he wants to help people. I think James also wants to project the personality of a leader who is stoic, controlled, and measured. He is charming when he wants to be, sympathetic when it suits him, and influential in just the right areas. He is not a sociopath, but he is a politician, and in a lot of ways, those are the same thing. We see in his brief flashes of temper, often prompted by Qrow, or most notably by Oscar, that this is not a calm, stable person. This is someone is on the verge of exploding, who is so fucking angry that he is not in control that it’s killing him, and so he is going to lash out and kill the things that are not within his grip. If the people beneath him will not reciprocate the heart that he offers, then he has no real use of it. James Ironwood does not begin this story as a bad person. This is a tragedy, in however many parts it takes.
I read, in one very smart and very put-together analysis that I cannot find and properly credit at the moment, that part of Ironwood’s (many) failures can be seen in Winter, and how, like Ozpin, he has appointed a woman as his talented, no-nonsense, second chain in command at his right hand. In this way, Winter is an intentional parallel to Glynda, who is, without question, a bad bitch. In theory, surrounding yourself with strong individuals is a demonstration of self restraint, in implementing your own checks and balances. James wants to project that he is powerful, yes, but he is reasonable.
I take this to mean that, to some degree, even if it’s unintentional or subconscious, Winter serves to boost Ironwood’s ego.
The issue with this is that within the inherently hierarchical structure of the military, Winter cannot question, undermine, or challenge Ironwood in a way that is particularly meaningful and their relationship is one of commander and subordinate before colleagues or equals (link to a fantastic post about Winter’s role as the Good, Conscientious Soldier by @fishyfod). Whereas Glynda is free to argue with, converse, and be as combative as she needs to be with Ozpin (although their power dynamic is arguably one of commander and subordinate albeit informally), Winter cannot temper Ironwood effectively, and through the illusion of equality, Ironwood is further isolated.
His head and arms and legs were jointed upon his body, but he stood perfectly motionless, as if he could not stir at all.
Dorothy looked at him in amazement, and so did the Scarecrow, while Toto barked sharply and made a snap at the tin legs, which hurt his teeth.
“Did you groan?” asked Dorothy.
“Yes,” answered the tin man, “I did. I’ve been groaning for more than a year, and no one has ever heard me before or come to help me.”
The Tin Man needs oil to lubricate his joints; without it, he cannot move, and he is rendered helpless and inanimate. When Dorothy and the group find him, he is entirely isolated with no one in sight, and he has been there for such a long time that he has begun to rust. Similarly, Ironwood needs valued voices of dissent to keep him in check. His colleagues were able to serve that purpose in the beginning, and out of them, Qrow is the best example of someone who doesn't take his shit, openly questions him, and looks down on the performative decorum of the military culture that Ironwood is surrounded by. What Ironwood needs is to be flexible and adaptable; his Semblance, Mettle (heh, metal, very nice pun, RoosterTeeth), is a double edged sword in that it gives him supernatural focus and willpower - enough, perhaps, to flay/chop off your own limbs - but it blindsides him, and is only further prolonging his pain.
There is a lot of sympathy to Ironwood’s character, as much as I’ve ragged on him for being an authoritarian, kind of a dick, and bad with kids. There are moments, such as the previously mentioned dinner party, where he shows his colors a bit, and when he assures the students at the Vytal Festival that there’s no shame in leaving before the battle begins, and in giving Yang a prosthetic arm before her father even has to ask. As far as Generals go, it seems that he’s seen soldiers come and go and understands, at least in his best moments, that not everyone is the same, and not everyone has power of unflinching determination to rely on. Ironwood performs his best when he tempers himself because he understands himself, and others. It’s when he fails to self-reflect that his hypocrisy shows through. Glynda points it out, too, as does Qrow; Ironwood advocates for trust but often fails to give it himself, going behind Ozpin’s back, being absolutely shit at field communication, and now the whole fascist, borderline-genocidal keruffle he’s gotten himself into.
I think that Ironwood reaching out to Qrow was his ethical last stand, his last chance and conscious effort to choose the right path. Qrow is unequivocally an equal, not like how Ozpin is the Big Boss, the authority that James becomes disillusioned with and tries to overthrow. He wants someone to trust, desperately so, and Qrow wants that too, but narrative subversion has hands. The Scarecrow and the Tin Man have no brain and heart respectively, and are in need of them. As it turns out, Qrow is actually a pragmatic guy with solid principles angled against authoritarianism, and Ironwood is a dick who would rather enforce martial law than to empathize and tame his military-shaped boner for one second.
I might conclude that someone like Qrow might be best for Ironwood, but that does not mean that someone like Ironwood would be the best for Qrow. Qrow has a brain after all, but Ironwood does not choose his heart when it matters, case in point. Even the intro of the current season features Salem and Ironwood on a chessboard; his white pieces are disappearing, dissolving into dust, as hers transform into Grimm. Ironwood is isolating himself by depleting himself of allies. As this post by @hadesisqueer points out, Ironwood isn’t even positioned as King, the supposed commander, but the Queen, the most versatile player on the board that is so far underused, since he hasn’t moved from his spot. Ironwood’s refusal to unify against Salem is his failure to strategically utilize the best resources that were available to him; soon, the pieces will be swallowed by the dark.
James is guilty of something that a lot of us are guilty of: doing a Bad Thing for what we have convinced ourselves is a Good Reason, when in reality, it is actually a lot of Very Bad Reasons. James Ironwood is a Knight archetype, through and through, and he is charging forward to do the right thing. He is afraid, he is lying to himself, and he will never surrender.
“All the same,” said the Scarecrow, “I shall ask for brains instead of a heart; for a fool would not know what to do with a heart if he had one.”
“I shall take the heart,” returned the Tin Woodman; “for brains do not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.”
Dorothy did not say anything, for she was puzzled to know which of her two friends was right, and she decided if she could only get back to Kansas and Aunt Em, it did not matter so much whether the Woodman had no brains and the Scarecrow no heart, or each got what he wanted.
The lesson of James Ironwood is a lesson of failure, and of the way that we succumb to fear, because that is Salem’s agenda, really, in the end: fear. It’s the negative emotions, fear being first and foremost, that draw in and empower the Grimm, and it’s fear and uncertainty that causes chaos. It is when Dorothy’s friends give into their fear that they are truly defeated. FDR’s assertion that “The only thing to fear is fear itself” holds true here; it’s not so much that these characters are afraid of losing their lives, their loved ones, and of the dark, but that they do not have the love or the resources to be brave for themselves or for others.
Qrow as a character is introduced as one who is already defeated, in a sense. Half of his team is gone, dead or estranged, he’s forced into the shadows of espionage to protect a world he knows is darker than it should be, and he’s fighting a losing battle with alcoholism. As charismatic as he’s written, he’s referred to as a “dusty old crow”, a hunter of renowned skill but past the prime of his life.
Dorothy’s three titular companions are defined by what they lack; in the same vein of the Disney I Want song (a main character’s main monologue song in which their wants and desires that motivate them throughout the rest of the film is laid out in song; ie Part of Your World, Reflections, How Far I’ll Go), the Lion, Tin Man, and the Scarecrow want bravery, a heart, and a brain respectively. RWBY relies on flipping the script of its characters based on what the audience might expect from the source material; Ruby is not just a helpless little girl - her introduction is a badass with a scythe. The Scarecrow is a chronic alchoholic. Cinderella is a victim of abuse, and is also a villain who wants to set the world aflame. Subversion, subversion, subversion.
There are obviously parallels between the characters in RWBY and in their own fairytales to keep them in character, and part of the fun is spotting those clues and occasionally connecting the dots to anticipate the direction of the narrative and certain connections between characters and the significance of their arcs. While I’m not aware of Dorothy Gale’s RWBY counterpart, if she has already been established or is yet to be introduced, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that Ruby has adopted a Dorothy-eque persona and can act as a surrogate in a way. She begins as a sweet, naive child eager to join a world of color and excitement, who initially believes that she has “normal knees” and is thrust into a political scheme full of powerful and older players. She even has a small dog as a companion, Toto Zwei, who seems like an odd addition, since he’s usually sidelined and basically forgotten about except in a few spare moments, unless he’s there to draw further comparisons to Dorothy. She may not be from Kansas, but she is first helped by Glynda (the Good Witch), and later expects assistance from Ozpin, Qrow, and the later Ozian counterparts. I find it a peculiar detail that for Ruby to be Little Red Riding Hood alone, she is surrounded specifically by Dorothy’s companions. This, of course, only increases the importance of the relevance of the Oz series in particular and the characters that are borrowed.
In the case of Ozpin’s inner circle, Dorothy’s closest comrades (sans Toto) differ in crucial ways to their source material. (After finishing this essay, I found a much better, condensed explanation by @neopoliitan )
Disillusioned by the Ozpin, the Wizard (who has been projecting an illusion of a failsafe) and overwhelmed by the rise of the Wicked Witch of the West, Lionhart (the Lion), gives into his cowardice and ultimately forgoes the arc and redemption of his character from the source material; as such, he is by all definitions, a failure and a premonition, as Ironwood eventually follows. If RWBY is a dark take on classic fairytales, then it is only fitting that these characters are charred husks of their fairytale selves - these are people, and some people are selfish, scared, and cowardly, and they do not overcome these traits.
This is all opinion based, pure speculation. I have no idea what will happen in the next episode, and whatever goes down will be...shit will hit the fan. I’m under no delusions that Ironqrow is going to be canon in a healthy, tender, endgame sense. They’re both kind of losing their minds, and Ironwood is shitting absolute bricks. No, they’re going to try to kill each other, and I personally cannot wait for Qrow to cleave this man in two. (Not sexually, just, literally. Like, with a scythe.)
On that note, I think that the RWBY writers are good at callbacks, at drawing attention to their own connections, and if Ironwood and Qrow’s inevitable confrontation is scheduled, then it will include visual callbacks to Qrow saving James at Beacon, maybe shot for shot. Their visuals have only gotten better as time goes on, and I imagine Ironwood’s eyes widening as Qrow leaps through the air, scythe drawn, in recal of a moment so long ago when they weren’t on the same page, but they were at least on the same side. When Qrow brings the blade down, there will be no enemy behind him. Only Jimmy James. The difference between the two of them will be that Qrow isn’t fighting out of fear, but out of love, for what happened to Clover, and to what could happen to his girls.
Qrow’s reliance on alcohol, as well as his (mostly) feigned nonchalance is meant to fit with the motif that the Scarecrow has no brain, and, had he a mind to desire anything, would desire it most of all. His role is, also, notably, gathering intelligence for Ozpin (his character is also based on Munnin from Norse mythology). There is so much about Qrow that is an act and so much that is not, and I think that this act is born both from this motif and from his own cynicism, and the alcohol contributes to this act. However, he eventually gets sober after Ruby expresses legitimate frustration, and he understands that he’s putting their lives at risk. While one could say that he gave up drinking for the kids, I would argue that the kids - Ruby in particular - made him want to give up drinking for himself, to better himself.
While Lionhart and Ironwood betray the people depending on them, Qrow’s love for his nieces (and for the kids) allows him to deviate from this pattern. The answer to fear is perhaps not merely bravery - Qrow’s triumph is love.
Ironwood knows triumph in the context of a military state, but he’s backed himself into a corner. Soon he will find himself alone and friendless. Hopefully, his last stand will not be in vain.
#ironqrow#james ironwood#qrow branwen#rwby#rwby8 spoilers#rwby volume 8#rwby meta#ok this is all just based on my opinion ok#like i ship ironqrow but ironwood is a dicktator if u know what i mean#he is probably gonna die but anyway#ironqrow meta#winter schnee#snowbird#also includes links and credit to other posts and metas#I just had to get this off of my chest ok
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okay so rewatching 15.13, and the usual that I’ve probably said before, but like... everything with AU!John being the best guy who was still alive and “spoiled” his sons with private label scotch and their hunting empire and private jet and everything. And not even a mention of Mary, who... ??? in that world.
(and yes, I know this is Bucklemming, and therefore hand-waveable, but like... it’s still canon and still a dangling thread of wtf that kind of needs addressing, and I can’t stop thinking about this post by @hazeldomain https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/639861646083473408 explaining the wtf of the finale by putting the altchesters in the bunker while the actual TFW was off having a beach vacation, because they are the ones who make sense dying in this finale far more than our TFW, and you know what? it makes sense... at least, it makes more sense than what aired.)
We knew things in that world were different, and now know that the Altchesters didn’t have a Castiel of their own. I’d argued when the ep came out that it didn’t even seem likely that those spoiled soft boys probably never made a deal for each other’s lives, never went to Hell, never really faced any sort of real adversity. And yet, having JUST lost their father they’re... oddly unmoved by it. Their entire world, everyone they would’ve cared for there... and they’re complaining about their clothes and the fact Sam told Alt!Sam to ditch the man bun. Like.
Those Winchesters had a lot of the material comfort of a “normal life,” while still getting to hunt corporate-style. But they don’t really understand how to survive. They’ve never known what it was like to not have a home. I mean, they didn’t even have a bunker in their world (no MoL in that world then? maybe?). They never had to struggle for anything or want for anything. They had trust funds, ffs.
But in this world, the original Winchesters did have to fight for everything. They did face down Heaven and Hell, angels and demons, and God himself. They have lived ENTIRELY different lives, and I’m half wondering if Chuck didn’t send those particular Winchesters directly to our Sam and Dean for laughs. Like...
Chuck had already told them that every other Sam and Dean in every other universe eventually gave in to satisfy his story. In every other universe, one or the other or both of them went bad. One or the other of them had to die. And yet, these two show up and there’s zero evidence of any of that sort of meddling in their lives. These two lived pretty comfy lives of privilege and plenty, everything handed to them without having to fight anything other than the occasional monster they jetted around the world to hunt. They were effectively the BMoL of their world, and I bet they’ll find themselves equally unable to live up to the reality of wearing the faces of the most recognized hunters in *this* world for long.
Then there’s their essential personalities. A Sam without the lifelong burden of feeling like something was wrong with him, who’d been fed demon blood as a baby and always believed he was somehow tainted, and terrified he might be something less than human. That Sam never struggled with impurity or the fear that he could go darkside or give in to Lucifer. He never struggled with where he belonged in the world-- he didn’t have to run away from hunting and his family to seek any sort of “normalcy.” It wasn’t a conflict he ever had to face. That Sam never suffered the losses-- but also not the victories-- of our Sam.
That Sam didn’t have an Eileen, either. Or a connection to anyone else in this universe.
That Dean, though, didn’t have what our Dean has, either. It seemed like given the chance, he’d want it for himself, but it took our Dean 40 years of living and another 40 suffering in Hell to become that, though, and I’m not sure Fiat McGee had that sort of investment in doing much more than cosplaying our Dean with the trappings he found most intriguing. But the primary thing that Dean lacked was everything Cas included in his confession to Dean in 15.18. That Dean, in other words, was not entirely made of love. He hadn’t sacrificed himself over and over to save what he loved, out of love. He may have appreciated the comfort of a good flannel, but he was nothing more than surface-level Dean-coded, you know? What was truly important to our Dean, this guy was basically cosplaying for kicks.
Which is weirdly how Dean in 15.20 felt to me. Like a shell of the Dean I’d watched for the last 15 years.
And of course, we have to mention “the car” again, the one the altchesters supposedly took out for a drive... we all agree there’s no way on earth they were actually referring to Baby, right? Because DEAN was driving Baby the entire time the altchesters were in the bunker, left alone to explore the place. Like... Baby wasn’t even on the premises, so what car did they actually drive? What car in the bunker’s garage did they think had some sort of special status? And why did Our Dean seemingly assume they were referring to Baby, when he literally had possession of the Impala the entire time?
I know that’s not specifically relevant to the finale, but the hollowness of these alternate Winchesters theoretically still living in the OG universe is incredibly galling to me if the finale was actually a true accounting of events for our TFW. I can’t countenance a universe where these flimsy replicas without any of the things that made Sam and Dean who they are surviving when the real versions we’ve spent 15 years loving, crying for, and hoping for got exactly nothing of what they’d fought for and finally won.
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Solitude - Epilogue
Characters: Mark Lee x reader, members of nct
Category: sniper!mark, mafia au
Word count: 4.9K
Warnings: death, cursing, violence
Navigation: preview | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue
Author’s note: ahhh! this really does mark the end of this series ;; I felt emotional writing this I had to stop every now and again hahaha but I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who have been patiently following this series from the day the preview was released. I had so much fun working on this and I hope I did the plot and characters justice. love you guys, and I really hope you like this.
The sun shines brightly above Johnny, the cloudless skies giving it all the space it could possibly need to spread as much light as possible. Still, the wind that blows occasionally is cold, sometimes even biting his skin, but nonetheless, it’s a beautiful day to be out and about. Too bad, the weather just didn’t seem to fit Johnny’s mood, no matter how much it would’ve lifted his spirits on any other given day.
Johnny sighs for the umpteenth time in the day, too early for his liking to be sulking when he hasn’t even gone through half of it yet. His hard eyes are trained below him, re-reading and re-reading the words engraved on the cold stone. Lee Taeyong’s name shouldn’t be on it, it really shouldn’t because Taeyong was still so young and still had so much ahead of him, still so much to patch things up with Johnny. Yuta was gone, but Taeyong was too. It’s been weeks, it’s been long agonising weeks after the incident but Johnny remembers it all so well, like it was just yesterday. But what he remembers the most is his best friend, slipping away right in his hands where he vowed to save him, to save his life, because Johnny swore he couldn’t deal with another loss of someone he wanted in his life forever.
But Lee Taeyong is gone. Forever.
And Johnny isn’t so sure exactly he’s holding up because he’s always known that being a part of this kind of world, of this kind of a job even when he left ages ago, that lives are bound to be lost. He just didn’t expect it to be Taeyong. And he most definitely didn't expect it to be so soon. At the back of his mind, Johnny was for sure convinced nothing would be worse than losing the love of his life, that maybe nothing would ever compare to that kind of loss, but being here now, standing right in front of a dear friend’s grave, reminds him that losing anyone you hold so close to your heart will always be just as heartbreaking and as painful as the first.
Johnny bends down after a good fifteen minutes to set the bouquet of flowers he’s been holding in his hands since his arrival, setting it down beside the others that had already been put there by previous visitors of the group. Johnny’s eyes are empty when he stands up straight again, releasing a big sigh. It’s a pity, he believes, how his last moments of Taeyong weren’t pleasant, how he’s grown all too complaisant the past two years of always believing Taeyong would be around, and that there’d always be a time to make amends whenever the time was right and when he had properly healed himself.
That’s when the guilt sets in.
“Hey.”
Johnny finds Jeno to his left with an arrangement of flowers in his hand. He smiles at the elder as he walks towards him and Johnny tries to return it. Johnny watches as Jeno sets the flowers down next to his, falling into the space beside him as he breathes in the fresh air of the hills. There’s silence for a good two minutes, each of them unconsciously studying Taeyong’s headstone laid flat on the ground. When Jeno sees Johnny sigh again from the corner of his eye, that’s when he decides to talk first.
“I hope you’re not blaming yourself,” he starts lowly, not really sure how to address such matters to the elder who’s always been the one on the giving end of advices. “You’ve been here every single day for the past two and a half weeks.”
Johnny should have expected this from Jeno by now, his sharp personality literally not missing a single thing without even trying. It’s no surprise he’s noticed something even he didn’t, for coming here every single day didn’t feel like anything to him at all anymore. “I don’t know.. I just.”
“Yeah,” Jeno agrees even when Johnny doesn’t finish his sentence. “We.. the boys still can’t believe it either.” Jeno kicks lightly at the ground, tearing his eyes off Taeyong’s name for the first time since he arrived. “But, it’s not right to blame any of ourselves, I think.”
Johnny shrugs his shoulders. “I just feel like I should have done more to keep him alive. Maybe if I’d just taken him out of there sooner-”
“Okay Johnny stop,” Jeno interferes, twisting his body to face him. “We were all there, alright. And if you had done that, who knows, we would have lost more than just Taeyong that day.” Jeno sighs, his shoulders dropping, “Taeyong is already so much to lose... we can’t afford to have lost you either.”
Johnny doesn’t answer, still too lost in his own thoughts.
“Look,” Jeno huffs, but feels for Johnny. “There is nothing Taeyong wouldn’t have done to protect all of us, to make sure we’re safe, right? It’s always been his utmost priority to keep us alive and knowing him, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do anything to stick to that.” Jeno reaches a hand out to pat Johnny on the shoulder. “Yes, it’s a shame to have lost him in the process, but Taeyong... he would never want any of us to point fingers because it was no one’s fault.”
Johnny sighs again, the last memory of Taeyong too similar to his last memory of Ari and he thinks that’s why it’s killing him inside.
“Just..” Johnny murmurs. “His last words to me were “I’m sorry”... I wish it was something else. Because knowing he died feeling sorry to me, just makes me regret so much, makes me feel like there was definitely more I could have done to save him.”
Jeno gives Johnny’s shoulder a squeeze, seeing him vulnerable for the first time ever since Ari’s incident. “You know, for the past two years, Taeyong has wanted nothing other than to say sorry to you.” Johnny looks lifts his head from the ground and looks at Jeno.
“And the fact that he finally got to say it you, already meant so much to him.”
Donghyuck heaves a sigh to himself when he sees Jeno, Renjun and Jaemin all slumped on the couch on a Thursday evening, right before they’re about to set out for a transaction that’s been planned from way before. Nothing feels right, his chest too heavy sometimes it’s too much for him to bear. But knowing he’s next in line after Mark, he couldn’t help but shoulder all the responsibility that’s suddenly thrown in the air after Taeyong’s passing. It’s cruel, he thinks, how the world continues to revolve even after something so tragic occurred. But it’s a reality he knows they’re all going to have accept sooner or later. Sure, they’ve lost members before and have definitely put their lives on the line to secure deals and payments, but this time it was different, because it was Taeyong they’re talking about, the very alpha of the mafia, the very person who breathed them into life from years back. It felt weird not having him around, despite the constant fear he elicited in them, because at the end of the day, Taeyong always looked after their wellbeing on the down low even if he didn't show it.
Donghyuck’s never seen the boys so sullen before and now that he’s suddenly in charge for the time being, he needed to be the one to pull them altogether, otherwise, they’d all fall down together and that was the last thing he wanted.
Life had to go on.
“Alright boys,” Donghyuck half yells as he claps his hands together once, the sound echoing in the almost empty room. “Let’s get this done fast so we can all go home and plan for our next.”
Jeno rises from the couch quietly as Renjun follows almost begrudgingly while it takes Jaemin a little bit more effort to get up. Donghyuck sighs again, walking over to Jaemin and grabbing his hand so that he can pull him up. Jaemin grumbles, his body flimsy from not wanting to get up.
Donghyuck is about to snap, his short-tempered nature threatening to show but he figures it’s not what the boys needed today. So he sympathises instead, “Look, I know it’s hard. But we have to do this. We can’t sit here and mope around all day. We have to keep going.”
Upon hearing this, Donghyuck gets the most response from the boys for the first time in a while. Jeno had been doing well up at this point, but seeing Renjun and Jaemin acknowledge him and his instructions, makes him a little relieved and a little less on edge, the determination on their faces evidence of the need to do well.
They were going to be back in business in no time.
It takes no less than thirty minutes for Jeno to drive to their destination with the crates secured in the boot. From what they’ve gathered, it’s a small transaction with a group they’ve almost never heard of but upon research, are supposed to be very brutal with exchanges. Donghyuck’s not too worried and he can tell the others aren’t either when Jeno pulls up to a secluded area right in front of an open gymnasium. It’s the perfect place be, no people around, dim lights flickering over the whole building, and just three people waiting in the middle for them. Donghyuck steps out of the van first, followed by the rest of the boys who take it upon themselves to grab the crates from the back. But what surprises Donghyuck is not by what he sees, but by who he sees.
He runs his tongue across the inside of his cheek and a smirk follows when he realises who he’s about to make a transaction with. He raises a brow as a he rests his hands on either sides of his hips, tapping his foot on the gravel three times.
“You’re Charlie?”
The woman in front of him tips her head upwards, raising her chin as she inhales a breath, crossing her arms across her chest in the process.
“And you’re eighteen minutes late.”
Renjun and Jaemin stop right behind Donghyuck as they place the crates on the ground in front of them. He’s just as surprised as Jeno when their eyes widen, their attention falling on the woman who appears to be the leader of the two men on either side of her.
This was definitely a first.
Donghyuck frowns when she retaliates, not only was she meeting a female leader of a mafia for the first time, she was calling into question his authority of the situation too. Donghyuck suddenly feels threatened, and it hasn’t even been five minutes yet and she’s barely spoken a few words. But Donghyuck is convinced it’s because of the way she’s looking, no, glaring at him from where she stands, facial features sharp that make her look extra aggressive. Her orbs are dark, the dark shadows on her lids adding to the intensity of her stare with her black hair tied up neatly in a ponytail, loose curls falling just past her shoulders. When Donghyuck eyes her up and down discretely, he realises they’re wearing almost the exact same clothes, all black from head to toe, topped with a leather jacket that hugs her body perfectly that he can't seem to take his eyes off of her.
Jaemin blinks from behind Donghyuck when he notices how long the silence has stretched on and how his friend is just only ever gawking at her. So Jaemin nudges Donghyuck using his elbow to hopefully snap him out of his trance.
Donghyuck’s throat runs dry and he coughs when he finally comes back to his senses. Straightening himself up, he reminds himself what he’s here for and that he wants to finish strong, just like how he always does.
“Better late than never, right?” Donghyuck challenges, his voice mocking.
But Charlie does not look amused, she doesn’t even twitch a muscle, just continues to stare at Donghyuck like he’s the most absurd creature she’s ever seen. And this puts Donghyuck on edge even more, more than he’ll ever admit.
“Either you arrive on time or never come at all,” Charlie replies calmly, pulling the sleeve of her jacket to briefly glance at the watch on her wrist. “My time is too valuable for people who can’t respect it.”
Renjun makes eye contact with Jeno and they both share unsure looks with each other, already knowing Donghyuck was going to have a hard time dealing with the lady who’s probably making him sweat by now.
Donghyuck is never nervous nor intimated, and absolutely never both at the same time. But Charlie has made history tonight because those two are exactly what he’s feeling. And it feels so unfamiliar it makes the hairs on his skin stand.
Donghyuck clears his throat again and it only makes the three boys behind him even more nervous. “So then why don't we get this transaction on the road so that we no longer “waste” your time?” Donghyuck attempts to fight back, making sure to use quotation marks as a way of obviously mocking her in attempts of masking what he’s feeling.
“Thought you’d never ask,” Charlie mumbles but loud enough for Donghyuck and the boys to hear as she rolls her eyes.
Renjun and Jaemin push the crates to the middle, in between where Donghyuck and Charlie stand. Charlie walks over to it, tapping both boxes with her foot before signalling her two men to step forward and examine the contents of each wooden crate. She doesn’t take her eyes off the two even for a second and when they're done, both looking back up at her with a nod to let her know everything in there is everything that was initially agreed on, Charlie nods back, the two falling in place behind her again.
Charlie throws a black duffel bag on the ground and it lands right by Donghyuck’s foot. Donghyuck, taken aback by how laid back this person is, especially considering she might have a good idea of who he was and which mafia he belonged to, looks back up at her slowly after watching her toss the bag to him.
“The exact amount is in there,” Charlie says, unbothered and clearly bored. “See you around.”
There’s something about this woman that Donghyuck can’t seem to point his finger at, something about her that makes it almost impossible for him to take his eyes off of her and he’s annoyed with himself for feeling so... mesmerised by her, by her every word, by her every move. No one, and he means no one, has ever caught his attention this much before. So he continues to watch her, continues to examine her to try and find what it actually is about her that's gotten him in a tongue-tied mess, as she lowers herself, readying to pick up one of the crates from the ground, pulling both the sleeves up of her jacket in the process.
Donghyuck’s eyes almost pop out of their sockets in that second.
Because that’s when he sees it.
The dragon etched on her right arm.
The exact same one as his.
Mark keeps you close, as close as he could possibly have you, pressed up against his body as you become oblivious to the world around you when you fall into slumber. He still can’t fathom that you’re here, with him, right beside where he can hold you like this, arms wrapped around your frame, your breath against his skin. And what’s even better is that every now and again, you’re scooting and shuffling in your spot, needing to feel more of his warmth unconsciously. He’s never been this close to you before, not even during all those times you shared shelter in the same roof and to finally be able to embrace you for as long as he desired, for as long as you needed him to, feels too good. Too good it doesn’t seem real.
But when you jolt under his arms, he knows it’s real.
And as much as he loved the idea of you right beside him like this, he hated the fact that you were suffering and hurting right before his eyes.
You startle in your sleep again, a jolt that’s stronger than the first, your body trembling from its after effects. You’re having another nightmare, Mark believes, and he’s almost sure it’s a replay of one of the events you’ve had to witness in the past few weeks. Nights have consisted of these, of him losing sleep just to he can make sure you’re getting yours, of him holding you close because you’ve told him it helps you sleep better, of your nightmares seeming too real you jolt awake in tears.
Mark begins to rub your back with his palm in a soothing manner in hopes of putting your nightmares to rest. The shaking stops momentarily and that’s when your consciousness brings you back to life, making you flutter your eyes open only to be greeted by Mark’s orbs that are already staring at you.
“Nightmare?”
You force a small smile before you move closer to rest your head against his chest, “Mhm,” breathing a sigh of relief at his warmth. “Taeyong, this time.”
Mark has apologised to you a thousand times before, so much so that you’ve had to stop him from ever saying those words to you because even without vocalising how sorry he was, you already felt it. You felt it in the way he tended to all your needs during the aftermath of it all, in the way he looked at you with sad eyes and in all the ways he’s made extra effort to look after you even in the smallest ways. Mark didn’t have to say he was sorry, his body gave him away too much, it always has.
But Mark has never felt even more compelled to say sorry than now, at times where you can’t sleep at night. Because at the end of the day, he will still always feel responsible for your suffering now, no matter how many times you’ve reassured him.
“Please don't say sorry,” you murmur into his chest, Mark’s eyes widening at your words that correlated with his thoughts. “Please,” you lift your head away from his chest and crane your neck to look up at him, “Don’t say it.”
And Mark understands.
“Okay,” he breathes. “I won’t.”
You let your eyes linger on his sparkling ones, captivated by the thousand galaxies they held, even in the darkness of the room. They’re searching yours, looking for something, anything he can possibly hold on to so that he doesn’t feel the need to say sorry any longer, something that can tell him you’re okay now.
“I feel safe with you,” you almost whisper, meaning every word, gazing straight into his painfully crystal eyes that are reflecting you.
Mark doesn’t move, letting the words sink in because if there was anything else in this world he wanted you to feel around him, it would be safety and security. And knowing that now, those words coming right from the deepest part of you, relieves him in so many ways he didn’t expect, from having been on edge the moment he chose to drag you into his life.
He knows you mean it, but a small part of him wants to make sure, “You do?”
You nod, bringing your thumb to swipe across his cheek repeatedly. “I do,” you smile, feeling him lean into your touch, “I feel the safest with you.”
Mark doesn’t remember the last time he cried because he isn’t the type to and never in a million years did he imagine he’d be on the verge of tears from having heard those words come out from you. But then again, they’re words he’s been longing to hear, and it’s coming from the one person he’s always wanted to hear it from.
“You don't know how happy that makes me,” Mark whispers back, a smile now lifting on his face, his cheekbones appearing in the dark. “That’s all I ever want.”
You mirror his smile, content to have put his worries and doubts to sleep, his smile reaching his glistening eyes. “Hey, what time is it?” You ask.
“A little past two in the morning.”
“Let’s go for a walk?”
Staying in Johnny’s for the meantime house had a lot of pros, and one of them was that you had access to the beach in no less than two minutes. It’s a full moon tonight, the bright light it emits shining through the few clouds and reflecting right onto the gentle waves lapping by the shore. You’re warm in Mark’s hoodie, one of the many things you missed during your time apart and he reaches for your hand and laces it with his fingers, like it’s the most natural thing for him to do. But you smile anyway, because his hand feels warm in yours and he’s smiling gently at you with a gaze so soft it can melt your entire being.
It all feels nostalgic, remembering the very last time you were here was with Mark and with the discovery of him being your soulmate. You remember how scared and confused you were then, wondering what the future had in store for you. But tonight, there was none of that. It felt right to be here, to be here with Mark and even though you still had no clue what the future held for you, you didn’t seem to mind it too much anymore, because you knew that you weren’t going to be fighting for your life anymore.
You let your bare feet sink into the sand as you traipse along the shore, the stillness of the air soothing you, untying the knots in your muscles you weren’t aware had formed. Mark falls in step with you and you feel his eyes linger on you, not even one short moment passing where you don’t feel his gaze on you.
“Mark, I’m going to melt if you keep staring like that,” you say without even looking at him, catching him off guard.
Mark chuckles bashfully and finally tears his eyes off of you, “Sorry.”
The sound rings in your ears and it makes your heart stop momentarily, remembering just how endearing this man was. No one speaks for a few moments, allowing the gentle sounds of the waves take over and that’s when you realise you’ve never really talked about soulmate aspect of your relationship with Mark, the only time it ever really came up was when he confessed. So you decide to ask him tonight.
“Mark?” You call out, making his head turn. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
You purse your lips together as Mark anticipates your question before you finally muster the courage to ask, “When... you found out, about, you know, about me being your soulmate,” you pause, looking upwards to see him react. He only nods at you with a smile, urging you to continue. “How.. how did you feel?”
Mark draws in a breath as he looks away from you, looking straight into the distance to help himself find an answer. He begins to think back to that time, when he unintentionally came across that picture of you and your mark. “I felt curious, I guess. I mean I never really believed in the whole soulmate thing you know? Or, well, I mean I didn't believe in it happening to me. I just never thought about it up until that point.. that I actually have one. But-- it’s not that I didn’t believe in them completely, Johnny found his.”
“And then I found out you were mine. I felt shocked because wow, I actually do have one, someone out there exists for me. But then you turned out to be the person I had to...” Mark trails off and looks at you with a shrug of his shoulders and you get what he’s trying to say. “Fast forward, we began to live under the same roof, I got to know you over the few weeks that we had and if I'm being honest with you, I slowly started to understand why you’re my soulmate.”
Your brows shoot up, your curiosity growing, “Mhm?”
Mark laughs to himself awkwardly, avoiding your eyes as he uses his free hand to rub the nape of his neck. “This is going to sound really cheesy. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
You chuckle and urge him to continue speaking with a nudge, “I’m sure.”
Mark blows air out of his cheeks and braces himself, pretending to stretch his muscles in the process. He gives your hand a light squeeze and you return the favour to let him know you're all ears. “Okay, here goes. Have you ever noticed the way I've never talked about my family before?” You blink and then nod when you have no recollection whatsoever. “Well, that’s because I don't have any. I’m an orphan. I used to live on the streets y/n, for a really long time until Taeyong found me. And that’s how I got into the mafia.. the boys have similar stories, and that’s why we owe everything to Taeyong.”
You feel Mark hold your hand tighter and you prepare yourself for what he’s about to say next, comforting him by using your free hand to rub his arm. “That mafia, the guys, this thing that I do, that was all I ever knew growing up. I didn’t have anything else. And I guess, a part of me, there was always, kind of, some place empty, you could say. I was looking for something I didn’t even know, just because, I didn’t feel enough. I- I, didn’t know what it was like to feel.. complete.”
Mark stops in his steps and turns to face you, your heartbeat pounding and your knees growing weak because you see something in his eyes you haven’t noticed before. “But then.. you. You changed all that. You’re my soulmate because, you,” Mark pauses to smile, bringing both of his hands to cup your cheeks. “You fill all the empty spaces. You, you make me feel complete. And for the first time I'm not wondering what I'm missing, because I finally have it,
I.. finally have you.”
You’re not sure how you’re not crying yet but you can definitely feel the tears brimming your eyes. “God, I'm so glad you feel the same way,” you blurt out in a breath, half laughing to yourself incredulously.
Mark’s eyes widen, “What?”
You chuckle as your first tear falls, “It means I like you too, idiot.”
Just when you thought Mark’s eyes couldn’t get any bigger, they do, “You do?”
“Mark, I’ve lost count of all the times I thought I was going to die..” You start, just as Mark runs a thumb across your cheek to wipe away your tear. “And then I met you and a part of me, a big part of me wished and hoped my soulmate would’ve been you because God, everything with you just felt so right. I felt so safe and secure and it was a feeling I never knew existed but couldn't get enough of..”
Your breathing starts to become uneven when the tears don’t stop, but Mark doesn’t drop his gaze and never stops catching your tears.
“After years of running away, for the first time, I, I felt at peace,” you muster a weak smile, your vulnerability on full show.
You step away from Mark, using the back of your hand to wipe away the remainder of your tears. You turn your back to him and bundle up your hair to one side before you're tugging down at his hoodie to show him your mark on the nape of your neck. Mark, having seen it for the first time in real life, thinks it’s beautiful, that tonight, you've proven him it was actually possible for you to be even more beautiful than you already were.
“This mark,” you say, your back still facing him. “Our marks, do you know what they symbolise?” You turn to face him again when he doesn’t answer, fixing his hoodie on your body. “It symbolises peace Mark, and it fits so well because you’re my peace.”
Mark falls for you even harder than the previous times.
“Why are you crying?” You ask with a breathy laugh, another set of tears falling when you see Mark’s.
Mark laughs and is quick to wipe away his tears. He shrugs his shoulders after, “I don’t know. I'm just really happy.”
You reach to embrace him and he holds you tight by the waist, nuzzling his nose into your shoulder and hoping for this moment to never end. You run your fingers through his hair, a sigh of relief and contentment leaving you to finally have everything off your chest.
When Mark pulls away, his hands never leave you, lifting them both up to hold carrels your cheek and neck. He’s looking straight into your eyes, his orbs shining like they always do, and there’s so much adoration and affection in them and knowing that they’re all for you makes you feel overwhelmed all over again.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, leaning forward to lean his forehead against yours.
You close your eyes to relish in the feeling of having Mark so close like this, “Yes.”
Mark takes another moment to study your features, mentally thanking the heavens for blessing him with someone as painfully amazing as you.
Then he kisses you.
And you swear that nothing has ever felt this right in your whole life ever.
#solitude#mark lee#nct mark#nct#nct 127#nct u#mark lee scenarios#mark lee imagines#mark lee blurbs#mark lee drabbles#mark lee au#mark lee fluff#mark lee angst#nct scenarios#nct imagines#nct blurbs#nct drabbles#nct au#nct fluff#nct angst#nct mafia au#mark lee scenario#mark lee imagine#mark lee drabble#mark lee blurb#nct scenario#nct imagine#nct drabble#nct blurb#superm
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Midnight Musing
John Wick x reader (A/n- Another one of those things that i wrote but saved for when I had nothing else.)
Warnings- Some angst, but mostly fluff.
“A road need not be paved in gold to find treasures at its end.”
-Alan Brennert
Y/n felt small in John's arms and he could feel the slow rise and fall of her chest, matching the soft sound of her even breathing. The flimsy silk of her nightgown, smooth and soft against his bare stomach and chest, felt almost as fragile as she did, and he could feel the warmth of her breath fanning his neck.
With the exception of a pale yellow glow washing the room through pulled curtains, their bedroom was dark as John sunk deeper into his thoughts. The stroke of midnight had long passed and Y/n had been asleep for no more than a couple hours. She had succumbed to slumber quicker than she usually did when they talked over the phone and John had reckoned that it could have been because he'd done quite a good job at wearing her out after she'd come home from work. Though, Y/n would always argue that she slept better when he shared the bed with her.
It had been nearly a month since they'd last done that; shared a bed. John had been gone on a job in Europe. He had estimated two weeks, but things had gone awry and he’d been forced to stay back until he could get it done. When it was finally over, John had taken the first flight back, intent on surprising his love. And surprise her he did. Y/n was pleasantly stunned, and extremely excited when she’d come home earlier that evening, only to find him in the backyard playing with Dog; haphazardly dropping her bags on the kitchen counter and running out through the open screen door only to leap into his ready arms.
"I missed you," is what she had mumbled, her face buried in the crook of his neck, holding onto him as if her life depended on it.
"I've missed you too princess," John had returned, only pulling away so he could lay a proper kiss on her lips. It had felt like ages since he'd had her lips on his, tasted the undertones of her favorite coffee creamer mixing with something uniquely Y/n, something that always felt so surreal and magical, that John could hardly believe that she was there.
He felt like that a lot. That was how he had been feeling that night too, laying in the dark, their roles reversed as he clung to her for fear life. It wasn't really that John had a hard time believing in Y/n's existence, not really, for a man like him could never be afforded such a singular though. No, it was that he couldn't, for the very life of him, fathom why, out of every man in the world, she'd picked him. What could she have seen in him to make her ignore the monster that resided within and love the lonely, at times broken, man beneath?
John’s eyes glazed over as his troubling thoughts consumed him. Y/n was the nicest person he knew; a kind heart and gentle touch that could still the quickest hearts and ease the worst pains, at least, to him. They had met on an off chance, it had been one of those days where John was reminded that he wasn’t really like everyone else, his life wasn’t normal and that he was a brutal killer walking among men. He had just left the Continental after returning from a job the night before and must have looked like the perfect contradiction; dressed impeccably in his usual suit though with cuts and bruises littering his face. The limp in his step had significantly slowed him and the soreness in his muscles was evident every time he shifted.
Y/n had been walking towards his direction, latte in hand, eyes glued to her phone, trying to solve some work problem or the other; she was a nurse practitioner, but John hadn’t known that yet. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t really see her until they clumsily crashed into each other, her scalding hot coffee drenching his shirt. Y/n had apologized profusely, and John had done his best to reassure her that it was fine. She had even offered to pay for his dry cleaning, but he had politely declined.
That might have been the end of their interaction, until she saw the fresh cuts on his face, worry for a stranger tugging at her pretty features, eventually insisting that he come back to her place so she could make sure he was okay. John conveniently neglected to tell her that the hotel’s doctor had already done that and Y/n couldn’t didn’t even seem bothered that she was inviting a strange man into her apartment.
Three years after that day; Y/n had long moved out from her little apartment in the city and into John’s house, and by then John hardly ever needed the Continental's doctor, not when he had a trained professional waiting for him at home. Home. That was what Y/n had turned his house into; a home that they shared. Formerly plain walls were now lined with pictures they’d taken together on birthdays, anniversaries and vacations. Dresses, navy blue scrubs and other articles of women’s clothing had joined his things in the closet while Y/n had made it her mission to liven their backyard with happy little flowers of varying colors.
John was more than grateful, in fact, he’d often think that there wasn’t a word that was enough to encapsulate just how lucky he was to have Y/n. Even if he couldn’t fathom her reason for staying. How could someone so inherently good, optimistic and pure, love a man as jaded as him? Even after he had come clean about his life, expecting the bloodshed and shear horror of it all to scare her off, Y/n had stayed. Even after she’d seen him at his worst, broken down and frustrated when a target just slipped out of his grasp, she had assured him that it would be okay. Even when he showed up at her apartment, after just six months of dating, clutching his side, bleeding onto her floor, barely able to hold himself up, she had nursed him back to health.
John simply couldn’t get it.
He took lives, and Y/n saved them.
She was like an angel among them and he was the corruption that she let into her life.
John was so far gone that he hadn’t even realized that Y/n had stirred awake, until she called out to him softly, “John?” she whispered, she always whispered in the dark, even when it was just the two of them; she’d once told him that it was because the dark was so quite that speaking loudly might disturb it, “What are you doing up?”
“I, umm...” he trailed off, trying to look at her in the low light. By the grace of the moonlight, he could see that her hair was fanned out on the pillow, lone strands falling over her face, “I was just thinking.”
Y/n craned her head awkwardly, glancing at the alarm clock behind him, “At two am? I think there might be more convenient times for thinking Jonathan,” she teased, “Are you having trouble sleeping?” Her mood sobered when he didn’t quite laugh at her quip.
“I guess,” he shrugged, “It’s just.....” John hesitated, though, eventually asking her anyway, “Do you ever think about why you love me?”
“I...” Y/n hesitated, pushing herself up on her elbow, grazing the fingers of her free hand on John’s cheek. She couldn’t guess what had brought that on, or what he meant for that matter, but she could tell that something was bothering him. John was a man of very few words, even less so when they involved talking about his feelings, but she never needed vocalization to know that he was letting his thoughts get the better of him. It usually came out in the way he held her or looked at her, as if he was hoping she could make it better, soothe his mind the way she’d often heal his body. “What are you talking about?” Y/n furrowed her brows, brushing some of his hair behind his ear, letting her thumb slide over the apple of his cheek.
John dragged his lip through his teeth, seemingly thinking on it for a moment, “I mean, why are you with me? When you could be with someone who’s good, like you, someone who’s not a murderer and who’s job doesn’t put you in danger. How can you love me when I’m everything wrong in your life?”
Y/n stammered, her eyes going wide, her hand finally relaxing, cupping John’s cheek. Emotion tugged at her heart and Y/n worried on her lower lip. She hated that he’d think like that sometimes, like he didn’t deserve her, especially when Y/n knew that John deserved every bit of good in his life. He wasn’t just the Baba Yaga, the Boggyman or the man to fear, in fact, to Y/n, he wasn’t that at all. To her, he was John, the man who’s arms felt like the safest place on earth, the person who worried about her when he was away, risking his life, the love of her life and the man of her dreams. She hated the mere thought of John feeling less as if he was any than that.
Scooting closer, Y/n leaned forward to greet John’s lips with hers, “When are you gonna stop thinking like that, huh?” Even if only by pale light, John could see Y/n’s eyes questioning him, the glassiness of worry sparkling beneath.
Letting his large, work-worn hand skim Y/n’s side, settling in the dip of her waist, John, trying to dismiss her concern, teased; “When I pinch myself and realize that this was all a dream,” probably the best one he’d ever have.
Scoffing, Y/n pinched him on the bicep for purpose, smiling softly when John winced dramatically, “There, I pinched you for both of us; we’re both awake and you need to stop thinking about yourself like that,” Y/n sighed, her frown deepening, the ‘v’ between her brows prominent, “You’re not everything wrong in my life,” she quoted loosely, “In fact, John, you’re the best part of it. My favorite person, the man I love more than anything or anyone else in the world and the only man that I can imagine spending my life with. Why would I ever want to question that?”
“Because I’m-”
“You’re not a monster,” Y/n cut him off, tangling the tips of her fingers in his dark hair as she cupped his cheek, already remedying the bellying sea of worry in his mind. Her touch was cool and comforting, reminding John of the wonder that she was. “You’re a good man, who got dealt a shitty hand. But that doesn’t make you a bad person, and if it does,” she teared up, the words caught in her throat. Sniffling, Y/n continued, “Then I’d still take you over the best of men, because to me, there’s no one better. I wouldn’t trade a second of our time together, in fact, I’d give up anything to have more. John,” she breathed his name, smiling quietly, “You’re not what everyone says you are, what you think you are. You’re so much more than that, and I know sometimes you can’t see in yourself what I see in you, but I’m reminded of it everyday. I love you John. I love you because you’re strong and brave, because you’re determined and have a huge heart, and you’re over-protective sometimes, but it’s cute,” she giggled softly. “My point is you don’t need to be different for me to love you, and you’re not what’s wrong with my life. But you are the only thing that seems right sometimes, and I’m so grateful to have you.”
Blinking back tears that he hadn’t realized were there, John smiled, just enough for Y/n to notice. What did he ever do to deserve her and everything she gave him? John didn’t think he’d ever know. What he did know though, was that he was grateful too. So, so grateful to have an angel in disguise, loving him despite his flaws, to have someone that made letting go seem impossible. “Thank you, I love you,” he whispered, kissing Y/n again, his lips locking with hers in the sweet expression of their love.
“I love you too,” Y/n said against John’s lips, her body flush against his, his soft strands laced with her delicate fingers, his muscled arms keeping her close.
When they broke for air, Y/n’s forehead was pressed to John’s and they laid nose to nose, “Don’t ever leave me,” he pleaded a distinct urgency in his tone as John curled his stocky fingers in her silky tresses.
“Wouldn’t even dream of it,” Y/n reassured him, quick pecks supporting her words.
“Good,” John hummed. He knew that no matter what he though of himself, Y/n would always love him, but suddenly, he needed ultimate assurance. He wanted her to always be with him, always love him. He wanted to always love her too and make sure that she knew it. So, right there, without any prior plans and at two am when most of the rest of the street was sound asleep, blissfully unhampered by his turmoil and haplessly unaffected by her soothing grace, John blurted those two sealing words, not really as a question, more like a pleading statement, “Marry me.”
Without any hesitation, Y/n knew her answer, even if John’s request came seemingly out of no where. It was the same answer she’d have in any other instance. Giggling, Y/n hooked her leg around John’s waist, kissing him passionately, which arguably was an answer in itself. “I’d love to marry you,” she eventually murmured sweetly against his lips, when they had rolled over so Y/n was laying on top of him.
John held onto her tight, feeling her excited heartbeat against his own, her lips working perfectly in tandem with his. It was set, in words that were as sure as stone; Y/n would be his, forever, and he’d be hers.
As they kissed, the grey in his mind seemed to melt away, becoming a problem for another night. John would never know what he’d done to deserve Y/n, and maybe, he might never see the man that she saw, but he did know that as long as she was in his life, everything else was minute. His job was just a job. His pain was just pain. And it had all led him to Y/n, so really, it was worth it.
******
Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi
#keanu reeves#john wick#john wick x reader#john wick x you#keanu reeves x you#keanu reeves x reader#john wick fanfic#keanu reeves fanfiic#ff#fanfic#fanfiction#keanu reeves fanfiction#john wick fanfiction#midnight musings#fluff
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I honestly believe that antis don’t know what dramione is actually about, and believe we just ship a bully with his victim–and refuse to deviate from their reasoning.
But dramione is NOT about that, because literally NO ONE in the dramione fandom (except a few bad apples) would ship a childhood bully draco with hermione. We understand that yes, doing that would make it toxic/abusive.
draco’s racism was taught to him, just like the weasley children were taught that muggles and wizards and muggleborns were equal. the first eleven years of his life, he grew up with lucius malfoy as a role model–one of the chief blood supremacists. we know that canonically draco worshipped his dad. he learnt that muggleborns were scum of the earth. why would he question that? when we’re kids, we don’t question what our parents teach us–we just assume they’re right and that’s how the world works.
the same concept applies to his classism. the first thing he said to ron was “red hair. hand-me-down robes. you must be a weasley.” now, keep in mind that this is the first time draco is meeting ron. how is an eleven-year-old who’s never met the other child before, know exactly who the child is, and how the child would look?
again, the parents. lucius malfoy worked with arthur weasley in the ministry. he would obviously go home and complain about the “blood traitor and his poverty” to narcissa, and draco would probably overhear, and assume that that’s how you treat the weasleys, because they’re “bad people” in his father’s book, and by extension, his.
the second book: at the start, lucius puts draco down because his marks were lower than hermione’s. draco is obviously put off, but he understands why–he’s a pureblood. he’s a malfoy. he’s supposed to be doing better than the muggleborns, because according to his father, they don’t deserve to attend hogwarts. later, he calls hermione a mudblood–again, where would he learn that type of language? definitely not the internet, because that didn’t exist. that takes us to his parents.
now, the question probably is why wouldn’t draco see other non-racist people in school and change? because he didn’t hang out with other houses. slytherins are very isolated, and usually pitted against the rest of the school. draco’s friends, children of death eaters, were probably raised in the same way he was. if his parents taught him pureblood supremacy, and his friends’ parents taught them the same thing, why would he think to question it?
draco malfoy was taught right from wrong, but those values just happened to be the opposite of what everyone else, like the weasleys, was taught. but just as the weasleys went in knowing that draco was wrong for believing in them, draco went in knowing that the weasleys were wrong for believing in theirs.
in the third book, I think the whole buckbeak incident was realistic. if a child provokes a dog, and the dog bites it, the dog is the one that’s put down no matter what the child did. I’m not saying it’s “right”–I definitely thin draco 100% deserved to be punched by hermione–but it’s how the world currently works–maybe it will change later but for now, it’s reality.
and as for the slytherins’ hatred towards hagrid–I’d say it was justified, because hagrid himself was no sweetheart to them. don’t get me wrong–I love hagrid, but he didn’t like the slytherins–you can see this when he talks about them in the first book. again, the books are from harry’s pov, so even if hagrid didn’t like the slytherins and said something about them, it would be biased. but yes, the slytherins often took it too far.
the fourth book–draco’s bullying wasn’t even that bad. he actually warned hermione to get away at the world cup, in his own twisted way. he accidentally hit her with a curse meant for harry. he made “potter stinks” badges–juvenile things.
now for the fifth. let me get this absolutely straight: I hate umbridge. I hate the inquistorial squad. I hate that the slytherins joined them.
but we have to go back to slytherin inequality for this. the slytherins are booed at quidditch matches. the whole school, including most of the teachers and their headmaster, are against them. in fact, I could say that the only teacher that favoured the house was snape, and have canonical evidence. it’s basically the slytherins vs the rest of the school.
now, comes along a lady that actually seems to favour slytherins. for the first time, they’re made to feel important. she wants to form a little group to catch their worst enemy in an illegal act. who would say no?
but again–the golden trio was no less. they purposely excluded the slytherins from the DA. forget malfoy and his cronies. not EVERY slytherin would be devoted to umbridge/malfoy. but the trio didn’t invite ANY of them–and not all their parents were death eaters.
now, put yourself in their place. imagine your school formed a club excluding your house. why would you protect them, instead of catching them? they had no reason to protect the DA, so they didn’t.
in the sixth book–I think at this point, draco’s grown out of his blood prejudice and realised that it isn’t a game. his father, probably the person he expects the most to protect him is in azkaban. voldemort has his mum, and will kill her if he doesn’t murder the wizarding world’s most powerful wizard. but why did he continue his discrimination?
do you really think that draco malfoy, bully and blood supremacist for five years, suddenly stopped bullying muggleborns, that word wouldn’t reach his house? his friends/housemates would tell their death eater parents, and somehow, it would reach his father, or worse–voldemort, who would just find it an excuse to kill his mum.
but admittedly, he didn’t bully the trio that much that year, and I think he called hermione a mudbblood only once–at the top of the astronomy tower, when he was trying to kill dumbledore.
also dumbledore KNEW that draco malfoy had been ordered to murder him. he knew who had been making those attempts the entire year. and then five minutes before the death eaters got them, he offered protection. draco was expected to make a life-changing, life-threatening decision in five minutes? when he didn’t even know whether he could trust the order? for all he knew, they could hold his family hostage to draw voldemort out.
but even then, he began to lower his wand, but it was too late.
IMHO, I think draco only referred to her as “mudblood granger” at that time as a last-ditch attempt to constrain to his father’s beliefs–which would be VERY advantageous to him at that point, because then he would be able to find a reason to murder dumbledore. but we all know he wasn’t able to do it.
in the seventh book, he refuses to identify harry, even though it’s obvious he recognises him and his family could gain EVERYTHING–but that’s a flimsy redemption arc at best. he stands by while hermione’s being tortured, yes, but that’s because it’s bellatrix lestrange–probably the most feared death eater of all time. would you do anything? I think not.
draco malfoy was brought up in a different way, having different beliefs ingrained into him. do you actually blame a child for doing what his father said, when the child should have been old enough to make his own choices? do you still blame that child for having been exposed to only one sort of right their whole lives, and having a biased opinion because they were never taught to see from a different perspective? and do you still blame that boy, despite everything he’s faced, that he never went through with it?
people who say “draco had a choice and he made the wrong one” are just wrong. what kinda choice would they make if a genocidal maniac was sitting at their dinner table, holding their mum hostage, until they killed the president of their country?
to me, I think draco and ron were both very insecure people, though for different reasons, and just had different ways of showing it. ron cut people off when he thought they were going to succeed without him, and draco made comments about the other person’s insecurities, probably to make himself feel better. ron was insecure about harry’s fame, but since he was harry’s best friend, he just had to put up with it (until the 4th book). draco had no such obligations.
and to say that draco malfoy isn’t redeemable, is saying that people who mess up when they’re kids, will remain that way for the rest of their lives. it’s sending a message to all young people out there telling them the consequences of making a mistake–no one will like them.
I’m not “excusing” draco’s racism. he was a piece of shit, plain and simple. but I’d say 98% of that is because of the way he was brought up.
also isn’t it the whole point that we want people to wake up and realise their mistakes? half of america would have LOVED for donald trump to get up one day and realise that he’s a racist misogynist. ofc it wouldn’t change the past, but it would change the future.
now, onto the dramione argument.
first off, saying that hermione wouldn’t forgive draco for the past is going against every aspect of her character. she had a soft spot for kreacher, the house-elf that grew up in a racist household and was therefore racist and called her and ron “mudblood” and “blood traitor” (quite similar to draco, actually). she understood where he was coming from, and why he was the way he is, and ultimately didn’t care. after that, how can you say that she wouldn’t forgive draco for having beliefs and values ingrained into him from when he was a child?
second, who is the real enemy in HP? yes, you could say voldemort, but it’s more about what he represents, which is prejudice. having draco, a former blood supremacist and the son and nephew of death eaters, getting together with hermione, a muggleborn girl, would show that he’s thrown his beliefs out of the window. it’s his character growth and how he matures through the war and its aftermath.
putting draco and hermione together as kids without any change to their characters is toxic and abusive, no doubt about it. but that’s not what dramione is about.
even in hogwarts fics like isolation, what the room requires, and clean, the authors make sure that he repents. they make sure to explicitly write his character arc, and to show that he is no longer a bully or blood supremacist.
hermione is NOT draco’s redemption, since canonically he shows signs of awakening, if not actual repentence. she’s the conclusion of his redemption. it’s officially showing the world and society that he is no longer a blood purist.
dramione isn’t about crazy fans thinking it’s adorable for a bully and a victim to fall for each other.
dramione is about change. and if you believe that people can’t change, that’s on you.
———-
Edit:
I agree with most of the points you’ve made except for the second paragraph. The majority of Dramione fans do indeed ship Hermione with redeemed Draco, but there’s nothing wrong with reading fics in which their relationship is toxic (I do that every once in a while) because neither Hermione nor Draco is a real person and you can put them in all types of circumstances. They’re both fictional characters and thus can’t be hurt.
- AgnMag
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