#but Jonathan never justifiably laughs in his face
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I’m not trying to be overly precious about my fave, but, like, it is canon that Jonathan is useful in a fight. Even in otherwise good fics, I’ll see him characterized as “not a fighter,” especially in contrast to Nancy and Steve, and I’ll be like, “He literally stabbed a guy to death with a pair of scissors. He beat Steve’s ass. He can set shit on fire and perform impromptu surgery with the best of them. What are you talking about.”
#the worst is the surprisingly common trope#of Steve throwing Jonathan’s alleged lack of skills in his face#because he thinks Jonathan thinks he’s better than him#sometimes Steve learns a lesson about Jonathan having other skills#but Jonathan never justifiably laughs in his face#stranger things#jonathan byers
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We sat down with Rupert Graves post Season Three of The Tudors (warning - this discussion will contain huge spoilers for the entire season, particularly the finale).
(Or an in universe Tudors OT3 verse version of The Tudors TV show actor interview. Ellie belongs to @nocompromise-noregrets <3)
So, Norwich is really gone?
Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person!
I was particularly taken by the way the show uses the historical reports that a range of emotions apparently played across his face as the axe fell to say that he realised exactly how much the monarchs valued Thomas Cromwell?
It was such a bloody good way to frame it as a narrative - so much of his [Norwich’s] self image is tied up in being the smartest person in the room and to have his utter unravelling end with that realisation that he’d never understood at all - it’s fantastic to play as an actor, because you get to just utterly take apart the character. It was also personally just fantastic to see this odious fucker getting what he deserved, to understand just how disgusting and small he is.
I was going to ask you about that, about how it was playing someone who is a monster with a handsome face and charm?
So not just as a father, though that was a huge part of it, but as a human being? It was horrifying - as an actor I don’t feel like I need to justify a characters actions - and here especially, because ultimately my Norwich is a fictionalised version of a real historical person or even to understand it but I did have to ‘get him’ to make it work - I made a lot of visits to Welles Hall - they were fantastic.
A lot of guidance?
Absolutely! Ellie (Dr Eleanor Richardson, Chief Archivist and the discoverer of the Norwich Papers) and Ahmed (Dr Ahmed Rushton-Bridges, historian and author of ‘John Norwich: A Biography’) gave me a tour and an understanding of his diaries - it wasn’t a pleasant subject but they did an incredible job. And it gave me more of a sense of him, especially as a younger man with that sense of entitlement.
Did you visit his town house?
I did. I will say it’s a beautiful space now in theory but the atmosphere in the actual rooms makes your blood run cold, that’s the best way I can put it - they’ve been blessed and cleansed and a thousand and one things but something haunts that place. But it did give me something to draw on, both James and I.
[James Frain who plays Thomas Cromwell, Duke of Essex in the Show] He visited as well?
Yeah actually. We both found it very hard going honestly but we both felt it was very important that we went - for different reasons for playing these people. Afterwards we went and had a cry together - did that a few times throughout the season and then tried to keep it light. My method was that to play this we actually needed to have that trust with each other - to both be able to be safe.
Also shout out to that scene with Norwich and King Henry - though I don’t suppose you could tell us what Henry whispered in his ear?
Johnny (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) and I have agreed to take that one to the grave [laughs]. No, it was done in silence and so you only see Henry’s back for a reason - it was actually specifically Jon’s suggestion that the absence of words and faces actually works better for the menace and for this being a ‘historical rumour’ we use in the show [historical note: King Henry VIII did indeed visit The Tower shortly before the Earl was executed but the rumour that he did so to meet with Norwich is simply a rumour] - it also adds to the mystery!
Did you know there were people swooning over your character and the chemistry you and James Frain had?
I know a lot of people don’t know the history - I don’t blame them for that, it’s not something you’re going to cover in school in detail and it’s pretty recent but, no to answer this once and for all - it’s not meant to be sexy. Or if it is it’s meant to make you think about, well, the discomfort of how predators don’t look like predators - they are charismatic, they can be good looking and smart and present themselves like an ex lover - which Norwich genuinely believes and doesn’t make it any more wrong or repulsive.
It is meant to make you look back and see just how uncomfortable Cromwell is, how predatory it is - I know there were people who got it and I’m glad we didn’t…we didn’t present it through Norwich’s narrative. His narrative is there, but it’s not the one the show actually has, I don’t think.
And of course in lots of ways it makes sense that people swooned over Norwich - it’s how he was seen in the world before everything came out! The people who try to defend him after that though, that disgusts me.
I have to say you and Jeremy Irons Norfolk do have a fascinating something going on…
We joked that it was very much a ‘worst recognises worst’ situation but yes, there’s something there - a mutual respect and ‘only one I’m fond of in this world’ which I don’t think either of them expected. So yes, that was absolutely deliberate!
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Gordon yanks Blake down a ruined street. This has gone badly. He thought it might, but…not this badly, and not this fast.
The kid stumbles but keeps his feet and Gordon shoves him into a darkened doorway and hopes they can have a second’s respite before they run again.
To his horror, the door at his back squeaks open and he nearly falls inside. It only gets worse from there.
“Well, well.” Jonathan Crane has, to Gordon’s understanding, been playing judge for Bane’s kangaroo court. Even if that’s untrue, he’s the last man Gordon wants to see right now. “What’s this?”
The barking of the dogs comes closer and he grabs Blake’s shirt to keep him here. Sudden movements and the Scarecrow are a bad mixture.
“Crane,” he pants, “we’re not friends, but we don’t want any trouble with you.”
Crane’s face is unreadable. Rather than shut the door, he steps aside with a curt, “Forty minutes. Wake her up, and you’ll wish I’d killed you.”
He disappears into the dark building, leaving Gordon flabbergasted on the doorstep. The dogs move closer and he makes his choice. Better the devil he knows.
He drags Blake in after him and they shut the door, engulfing the place in darkness–no. Not quite. There’s a glow in the distance, firelight or something, and he begins the creep towards that.
“I don’t like this,” Blake whispers. “What if it’s a trick?”
It could be. Crane’s a bastard. But he’s a familiar bastard, and, frankly, one they stand a better chance of overpowering.
“Stay sharp,” he whispers back. Blake’s never crossed paths with Crane before, he has no idea how dangerous this could be. “Watch your corners.”
This was a bookstore once; it’s a maze of shelves, interspersed with a handful of comfy reading chairs and tables. The far wall has a fireplace set into it, and Crane’s seated in front of it with a copy of The Shadow of the Wind in his hands.
“You look tired, Commissioner,” he says, not looking up. “Been busy?”
Up close, Crane looks haggard; thinner than ever, with shadows under his eyes so deep and dark he looks skeletal. He hasn’t been sleeping, and the stress lines on his face are stark.
“Could ask the same of you,” he says neutrally, sitting down in the furthest available chair. “Heard you changed careers.”
“Merely living the American Dream.” He closes his book and turns those searchlight eyes on them. “Why are you still in Gotham.”
Really. Really?
“If I turned tail every time some asshole tried to take it over, I’d be a poor excuse for a cop.”
That sparks a laugh, sharp and mostly genuine.
“Fair enough.”
“Why help us?” Blake blurts out. “It’s like Gordon said; we’re not friends.”
Crane is quiet for several minutes. If Blake is hoping for some hidden moment of vulnerability, he’ll be heartbroken.
“If it had just been you, I’d have shut the door,” he says at last. “But they never do clean-up the way they should, and two corpses will start to reek.”
Elsewhere in the dark bookstore comes the sound of coughing. The coughs move closer and finally a white wraith comes out of the darkness.
If Crane looks haggard, Kitty Richardson looks ghastly, a vision out of some ghost story in here. She sounds it, too; when she speaks, it’s a hideous, painful-sounding rasp.
“Didn’t know we had guests.”
“Kitty–” Gordon always forgets just how fast Crane can move when he wants to. “You shouldn’t be up.”
“Does me good to. Walk around.” Gordon doubts that. She’s swaying a little, one hand clutching the nearest shelf for support. “Don’t worry so much.”
“I think I’m justified,” Crane says dryly. “That’s enough walking around now.”
She dodges him and makes her way to the sofa anyway, curling up against him when he sits down.
“You look like hell, Commissioner,” she rasps, a quick, shaky grin flitting across her lips. “Who’s the little one?”
“Detective Blake.”
“Ohh, a detective. Did you hear that, love?”
“Mm.” Crane adjusts his glasses. “You’ll forgive me for being unimpressed.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Gordon cringes inwardly. Outwardly, he tries to salvage the situation.
“You don’t look so well either, Richardson.”
“Little cold.” She squirms tighter against Crane’s side. “Nothing serious.”
Crane looks very tempted to disagree, but he just picks up his book again and intones, “Thirty minutes.”
It starts to rain. Gordon doubts that will matter.
Richardson dozes off after about ten minutes and some of the tension slips off of Crane’s face.
“Flu?”
“Mm.” He looks up at them again. “I don’t give a damn about Bane’s revolution, Gotham, or you. But I’ll give you a word of advice: get out of the city, don’t look back.”
“We can’t,” Blake protests. “There’s still people–”
“Oh, and I’m sure you think Batman will come and save you, hm? Guess again.” His tone turns mocking. “The Batman is gone. He was just a man, and men can be beaten. Case in point.” He gestures with his book. “There is no more savior. Gotham has fallen and all any of you can do now is scatter like rats.”
“No.”
“Where did you find this idealist?” Crane rolls his eyes. “Really. I’m shocked he’s lived this long.”
A chill goes down Gordon’s spine. It’s time to leave, fifteen minutes left or not.
“Thank you for letting us in,” he says. “We’ll get out of your hair.”
“One can only hope,” comes the dry response. “Good evening.”
Turning his back on Crane is not a pleasant experience, but Gordon’s hope is that he won’t risk waking Richardson up to come after them. They make it to the door unmolested, but when he turns to close it behind them, Crane is right there.
“Another bit of advice,” he says shortly. “Maybe you’ll take this one: stick to the thick ice.”
The door closes and there’s the heavy snick of the lock inside.
Well. That could have gone much worse.
#banged this out at like 3:30 am and went back to sleep#yeahhhh#ficlet#jonathan crane#kitty richardson#dkr#jim gordon#john blake#scaryverse#crane respects gordon about as much as he does anyone else#which is to say very little
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unbreakable
nine: and then there were three
chapter summary: After Steve destroys Jonathan’s camera, Kate tries to make Jonathan feel better. Steve feels completely crushed after she leaves him and reevaluates his choices.
chapter warnings: language, extreme awkwardness, sibling loss, parental issues
word count: 2.7k
series masterlist | masterlist
KATE LOOKED OVER to her friend, who hadn't moved since they'd arrived at Jonathan's car.
"Go watch Stu, Jess."
"But—"
"It's fine. Just go."
Jessica frowned at Kate, waiting only a moment before she nodded, turning on her heels and headed back towards the school again. She knew when Kate needed a minute to herself, just to figure things out, and she could already tell that Kate needed about an hour.
When Kate turned back around the face Jonathan, he avoided eye contact with her.
"I–I'm sorry for that," she said awkwardly. "He… He can be a bit of a dick sometimes."
Jonathan still didn't say anything, avoiding any type of exchange with her.
Not wanting to wait on what he could possibly have to say, she sighed. "All right, well, I'm walking home. See you later, Jonathan."
Before she could take more than a step or two, Jonathan said, "Wait." She turned back to him, whose eyes had almost seemed glazed over. "I'm not gonna let you walk home after all of this. I… I can't."
"No, really, it's okay," Kate said. "I can't imagine you'd want to deal with anyone's bullshit after that, especially mine."
"Kate… please."
She gave him an unreadable expression. "At least let me pay you."
Jonathan shook his head. "You really think I'd let you pay me after all of this?"
Kate shrugged. "I don't know." She sighed. "You know, I think he's angrier about it than I am, because I–I'm not mad, really. I mean, come on, no one cares enough to come seek us out like that, especially with everything going on. I'm sure you were just looking for Will. He doesn't get it, he doesn't have any… any siblings, or anything." She paused. "Seriously, this isn't the worst thing that's ever happened to me. I'll live."
With Kate's words, Jonathan thought that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.
Steve's heart had sunk whenever Kate hadn't come with him.
She was all he could think about as he, Nancy, Tommy, and Carol sat in the hallway outside the gym, waiting for the game to start as if nothing had just happened, as if nothing had just gone wrong.
"So, I told Mr. Mundy, the solution of ten plus y equals blow me." Tommy laughed at Carol's story from math, her head in his lap. Nancy stood next to Steve as he sat against the lockers across the hall from them.
"Bull, if you did that, you'd be in detention right now."
"Saturday," Carol corrected. "Kate was there. If she were here, she could tell you."
Steve sighed. He wished Kate was there. If she were, she probably would've been reading, occasionally chuckling at one of his jokes when he'd finally said something funny enough to elicit a reaction out of her. She would reassure him, she would tell him that they'd beat whatever other stupid team they were going to be playing, and she would make sure that everything was okay.
He couldn't remember the last time she hadn't been to a basketball game of his—this one had to have been the first one since she had moved back to Hawkins, and it was all because of some creep she'd suddenly decided to defend. But why, of all people, was she defending him? Kate had never been one for conflict, sure, but this guy had been in his backyard taking photographs of them, even when he had to know it wasn't right. Besides, the pictures of her had been the most damning of them all. If anything, Kate should have let Steve defend her. His actions were perfectly justified. At least, in his book they were.
"I bet Mr. Mundy's still a virgin," Tommy said, pulling Steve's attention back to the room.
"Oh, he's so a virgin!"
"Maybe you should blow him, Carol," Tommy suggested. "Help your grades a bit."
Steve let out a forced laugh as Carol and Tommy cackled, but Nancy couldn't take anymore. She hadn't sat down in the first place, and she was glad she hadn't as she started to walk away.
"Woah, Nance, where you goin'?"
"I… I totally forgot," the younger girl started, slightly stammering as she focused on finding a good excuse. "I told my mom I would, um… I would, um… I would do something with her."
Steve stood up, taking his jacket off. Nancy couldn't bail on him, too. "Wait, what do you mean? The game's about to start."
"I'm sorry," she said, and without another word, she quickly rushed out the door.
Carol finally sat up as Steve sighed. "First Kathy, now her, too? What the hell's wrong with them?"
"Maybe they freaked out when you went all psycho on the psycho," Tommy said.
"Oh, give me a break."
While he acted like he didn't, Steve knew there was at least some partial truth to that. He knew Kate had always hated it when he did shit like that. Maybe that was why Kate hadn't really spoken to him—she was starting to grow tired of him. Maybe Nancy was already tired of it, too.
"What'd you expect, dating Miss Perfect? Hanging around a cop's kid?"
What pained Steve the most was that he couldn't even begin to answer.
Kate had found it odd she was in Jonathan's car.
Most of the time, she wasn't in anyone's car except for Steve's. The other times, she would be in Jessica's, Kim's, or Jamie's cars, maybe Tommy's every once in a blue moon, but most of the time, she was in Steve's. It struck her as even odder because it was a game day, but she was glad that Jonathan had been kind enough to offer to take her home. At least, after dinner of course.
"I'm so sorry about your camera, Jonathan."
He avoided eye contact with her. "It's fine."
"No, it's not," she said, shaking her head. "I… I'm gonna try to find you a replacement by Christmas. I know that's so far away, but I know I'll have the money for one by then. His ass is also apologizing for all of this."
Jonathan didn't respond, but only nodded his head once. She could tell he didn't exactly want to talk about his camera and Steve Harrington anymore, so she dropped it. She only hoped she could find him a better replacement for what he already had. The only problem was that she didn't know jack shit about cameras.
Instead, she decided to ask him a question that had been itching her since that afternoon. "Why'd you take the pictures? Or mine, I guess…"
"I… I don't know." Jonathan sighed, looking to the ground. "I shouldn't have taken that, or any of them."
"There's gotta be a reason," she said. Of course, other than taking pictures of her because she wasn't wearing a shirt. She could only hope that that wasn't the reason.
He sighed again. "I don't know. I just thought it was odd, seeing you like that. I could tell something wasn't right, but it was still… you. You were just more vulnerable last night or something. You weren't scared to break out of someone else's shadow. At least, it seemed that way. I don't know, it's stupid. I can't really explain it."
"It's not stupid," she replied, but she decided she just wanted to leave it at that. While the photographs were slightly unsettling, they weren't bad pictures. It was obvious he knew what he was doing when it came to photography, even if the photographs had come to be in such a weird way.
Jonathan had been at least somewhat right about the vulnerability she had the night before, but yet again, it was because she had absolutely no control of herself. She almost laughed—she really had been vulnerable, just not in the way he thought she had been.
"You're a good brother for going out there, you know. Looking for him."
"Yeah," Jonathan murdered. He was glad that at least someone believed him. Only a moment of awkward silence hung over them before Jonathan asked a question of his own. "Why are you friends with him?"
Usually, Kate could answer the question quite easily, most of the time with a side of sarcasm, but she knew the poor boy was genuinely asking. In a way, it seemed as if Joanthan was almost concerned for her after seeing Steve act that way. After that mess, she completely understood why he would ask such a question. Besides, it wasn't a secret that Steve Harrington routinely acted like a douchebag around pretty much everyone, and that included Kate.
"Our moms were really good friends. I mean, our families were really close growing up, even when we lived in New York. My mother, she, uh… she left, though, but Steve and I stayed friends when I moved here. He was the only familiar thing to me, and back then, everything sucked so bad that he… he was the only right thing at the time. I mean, we've been friends since preschool." She sighed before continuing. "You know, he wasn't always an asshole like that. That's… That's been more recent. Like, since high school, I guess. And I've never seen him really act like that before. He probably thought it would impress Nancy or something, I don't know." She looked down at her milkshake before pulling her hair out of her face. She was a mess.
Jonathan hesitated to respond at first. "You really like him, don't you?"
Kate turned to him sharply. "What?"
"I mean, if you're sticking up for him this much."
Kate wanted to hurt herself. The thoughts she was having about Steve were new, something that she wanted to push away. She didn't want to have this conversation with anyone, never mind him. "N–No. What, do you like Nancy or something?"
Jonathan hesitated. It didn't take a genius to figure out Jonathan had at least harbored a crush on Nancy, and Kate didn't need to be around them both for more than a few minutes to figure that one out.
Before either of them could say another word, though, a couple of police cars, as well as an ambulance, whizzed past the windows of the restaurant.
They both immediately exchanged glances.
Will.
Jonathan knew he needed to get home fast, but he didn't just want to leave Kate there after she refused to let him pay for anything. "I need to go home."
"I know," Kate said. "Don't worry about dropping me off. I"m just gonna go hang out at the station, wait around for my dad."
He nodded, and without another word, the two walked out of the diner and went their separate ways.
Neither of them had any idea that all that was found was Will Byers's body.
When Kate had walked into the station, she was immediately greeted by Flo.
"Kate!" the woman said, walking around her desk. "I wasn't expecting any guests, especially not you."
"Swung by last minute," she said with ease. She moved to the back counter, pointing to the coffee pot on the counter. "You don't mind if I steal some of this, do you?"
"Go right ahead, kid," Flo said, watching as the girl made her cup of coffee. "Isn't there a basketball game tonight, sweetheart?"
"Yeah."
Her eyebrows furrowed together. "So what brought you here this evening instead?"
"Oh, you know," Kate started. "I was just kinda hoping to catch my dad. I had a rough day, so I thought I'd swing by. Come wreak havoc on you guys."
"Hey, I'm not complaining," she replied, looking to the empty room. "I get lonely whenever the boys are gone."
Flo had always loved it when Kate had come to visit the station, even if she wasn't there to visit her. She had known for some time that Kate was somewhat of a troubled girl, partially because of the fact that her father was such a troubled man. The older woman, while already having kids of her own, loved Kate like she would her own daughter. She talked to the girl like her own child, too, because she knew that Hopper wasn't exactly the easiest person to talk to, especially about personal things. Besides, it wasn't like Kate had any mother figures in her life, and every girl needed one of those.
"Yeah, where are they, anyway?" Kate asked.
Flo sighed. "They've been gone for a while now. Stuck at the quarry, I bet."
"Why? Is that where they found the kid?"
"How did you—?" Flo cut herself off with a sigh. Kate really was her father's daughter—always finding out about things she probably shouldn't know about. She frowned, her eyes moving away from her. "Yeah, you could say that."
Kate shook her head in confusion, her eyes growing wide. "Wait, what do you mean by—" She cut herself off, realization hitting her like a brick wall. "Oh my God."
"I'm so sorry, Kate," Flo said, frowning slightly.
"I–I was just with his older brother, and he's gonna go home, and…" She tried not to let the tears forming in her eyes spill. "Oh my God."
"I know it's rough, Kate, I know it is," she said, standing next to her and putting a hand on her shoulder.
"I just wish I would've known," she said, the tears finally slipping from her eyes, her voice brittle. She'd continued on as if she wasn't crying, completely unbothered by her throat and eyes burning. "It's the worst feeling in the world, getting told something like that. I mean, whenever Sara died, I—" She cut herself off before she started crying even more. "I just know how it feels, and it sucks. I mean, at least I had time, I…" She trailed off, putting her head in her hands.
"I know, sweetheart, I know," the woman said, trying to reassure her. "YOu know, it's funny. Your father said something about how this kid was only a few weeks older than Sara just the other day."
Kate lifted her head out of her hands, wiping underneath her eyes. "He… He talked to you about my sister? Sara, as in my sister, Sara?"
"Oh, yeah, all the time," she replied. "he'd talk about you and her to just about anyone who would listen."
Kate nodded. In a weird way, she'd found comfort in the fact that her father talked about her and her deceased sister to the older woman.
"Hey, you wanna talk to your dad over the radio? Just to talk to him? See when he might be coming home?"
She nodded, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater as she followed Flo back behind her desk. Whenever she handed her the radio, she said, "You know how these work, right? I'm old, so I mess these things up all the time."
Kate stifled a laugh, another tear spilling over. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Thanks, Flo."
Whenever she had finally held the button down on the radio to talk to her father, she almost shook. "Dad?"
In less than a minute, she got a response back. "Katie?"
She nodded, finally breaking down. "Y–Yeah, it's me. Don't freak out, I'm fine. I'm just at the station, but I… I just wanted to check in. Over."
"I'm still at the quarry, kid. It's a mess down here. Over."
She wiped her face again. "Are you going to the Byers' after you leave? Over."
"I'm coming back to the station to grab a couple things before going over there. I don't know what to expect. I haven't had to deal with a death like this since we moved here." Hopper seemingly paused for a minute, almost as if he had been waiting for her to respond. "Hey, how about whenever I come back, you come with me? Then we can just go home right after that, not have to do anything else. Over."
She nodded. "Okay. Over."
"Love you, kid. Keep Flo outta trouble. Over."
Kate gave Flo the radio back, who only shook her head. "He thinks he's so funny."
She didn't reply, but she knew that the night was about to get even more difficult than it had already proven to be.
next chapter
tag list:
@thatsonezesty13 @cece5 @thepowerstoner @alovelytardis @coolchick333 @stand-tall-pineapple @littlet-holmes
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x hopper!reader#stranger things#steve harrington headcanon#steve harrington x oc#steve harrington series#steve harrington stranger things
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Unforgiven
Let me attempt to justify some...not so ideal writing here. Looking at you, Mr. Duffer and Mr. Duffer.
I think it's kind of unfair how people perceive the young adults at the end of S4 (Steve, Robin, Nancy) as uncaring because they don't acknowledge Eddie's death or don't visibly grieve. It's not just that everyone grieves differently, the stages of grief, all that, but (ahaha, here we go, re-purposing personal stuff for fics again...) something I had to learn from my psychologist. And maybe someone needs to understand this too, beyond this fic. So this is how I understand the end of S4.
When your brain perceives you are in a threatening situation, it can protect itself (and you) by narrowing down its focus. It's not that you don't need to break down - you can't afford to break down. If you allow yourself to feel the loss and fully absorb it, you will become vulnerable and use up the energy you might need for survival. So your brain takes the trauma, sadness and pain, it locks it away and sticks a sign on it that says TO DEAL WITH LATER. And I firmly believe this is what's happening to our three survivors. However, each one of them deals with it differently.
Nancy needs to be strong now because not only does she have to put on a tough face for Holly, Mike and her parents, now Jonathan is back too and she just can't catch a break, one emotional demand after another and if she lets one single crack appear, she might crumble. So she focuses on what she can change - she leads the fixing of Hopper's cabin because that's in her power, because she needs something to go right. Not for others, for herself. She needs that win, no matter how tiny. Once she does that and Hopper is back, a win on its own, she directs her efforts to organizing a plan of attack with Eleven and the rest of the people. She acts tough and confident, but it's eating her inside because her plan already failed once and it cost them nearly everything. Maybe if she thought it through, maybe if she didn't count on their unnatural luck to hold, maybe things would be different. Jonathan and Mike tell her she did the best she could under the circumstances, but that's not enough. Her best will never be enough.
Robin takes the opposite route, she just tries to give everyone some sense of stability by acting as normal as possible. She sometimes overdoes it, tries to be bubbly and rambles about Vickie, but she basically sabotages the relationship in its beginnings, it's not about finding a partner now, but about using Vickie as a tether to her old life. To pretend for others that things can be normal again, that they can overcome all the death and destruction. Maybe if she doesn't acknowledge it, it will not haunt her. Maybe if she makes others laugh, when she sees a smile on Steve's face when she flirts with her crush, they will all be able to forget for a second how much they lost, forget the doubt she has - that maybe she did something wrong, maybe it was her clumsiness that caused the plan to fail. She still screams into her pillow at night, voiceless screams for Eddie and Max, but as soon as she gets up, she smiles at herself in the mirror, forcing the corners of her mouth up until the emotion looks natural. She digs up a concealer too old to be sanitary and covers the dark circles under her eyes. She has an image to maintain after all.
Steve throws himself into helping the town in any way or capacity possible. He raids his parents' home, collecting anything and everything that could be useful, then drags Robin with him to the crisis center and drowns himself in work. Now, we don't see this happening, but I can Steve practically living there, only leaving to get a few hours of sleep, likely in his car. The Harrington house isn't his favorite place even under the best circumstances and he feels like he needs to be present, needs to keep an eye on things. And he feels guilt, so much guilt it's eating him alive, because Steve got his wish not to be the babysitter for the first time. And now he understands, now he sees why he needs to be there all the time with the kids. Because if he was with Eddie and Dustin, maybe Eddie would still be alive, hiding and complaining into his walkie, and Dustin wouldn't be limping, his eyes wouldn't have that haunted, empty look. Steve goes through the motions and destroys himself, as if him sacrificing his health and sanity could bring Eddie and Max back. It doesn't matter that he couldn't have split himself into three pieces, to be with each team to ensure they'd live and win. He chose to go with Nancy, with the illusion of a normal, stable life. He wants to be there for Dustin too, he wants to see that free smile again on his friend's face, but he's afraid of what he's going to see. He's afraid that Dustin will voice what Steve already knows he deserves - that it's his fault Eddie died. That he finally has Dustin all to himself and it's the worst feeling he's ever known.
They each hide their pain differently, but they have one thing in common. All three of them accepted the fact that they don't deserve to grieve. It's not their turn to let the tears out and admit how they feel, they've lost that right when they led a teenager and an innocent man to their deaths. So right now, they just push through it and work on repaying a debt that will never, ever disappear.
Will they eventually come to terms with their feelings? Maybe. Maybe after Vecna is gone or after one of them is benched after sustaining severe injuries, maybe they will break down and everything will flow out, ugly and rotten, but finally gone. Maybe it will take them years to understand that there's something festering in them and they will try to bury it deep, shove it down and keep it there, attempt to lead normal, happy lives. But eventually, they will have to come to terms with the simple truth that the debt they have is not just to Eddie and Max - it's to themselves. They will have to learn they owe it to themselves to face what they feel, to allow themselves to feel everything, and then maybe the inner wounds will heal, just like their bodies eventually did.
But it's not their turn yet, not now. So if Steve only sleeps a few hours a day, if Robin rambles more than usual and sometimes inconspicuously wipes her eyes, if Nancy spends days locked in the cabin with her brother, the Hoppers and the Byers family, drowning exhaustion headaches in medication, it's not because they don't want to address what happened. They are just waiting for the permission from their brains to open that Pandora's box.
#stranger things drabble#strangerthingsdrabble#stranger things hc#strangerthingshc#angst#steve harrington#stranger things#robin buckley#nancy wheeler#eddie munson#dustin henderson#I have thoughts and I'm about to share them#character analysis
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So with stranger things volume 2 being out I need to put my thoughts somewhere. (its been out for two weeks but thats not important)
SPOILERS FOR STRANGER THINGS 4 VOLUME 2
(These are all my opinions don't lose it)
Ok so, while I was watching it I kinda felt like it was going nowhere, it took so long to advance the california gang to Hawkins. Which in the end only happened after the climax, which I was kinda disappointed by cause there could've been so many great things there. Lot of wasted potential. Anyways the part about Will and his painting was a whole 'nother level of heterosexual audacity. Never in all my years have I been queerbaited so hard. I didnt expect byler to become canon, I'm not delusion, this is netlfix, but the fact that wills painting and all his feelings of being an outcast and feeling lost, were wasted. Him being gay was used to advance a straight relationship and that was just insane. Especially with the amount of hinting we got in interviews, I expected at least something of a coming out scene towards Jonathan. I did appreciate Jonathan and Will coming closer to each other again, but I had hoped that atleast he would notice will was hurting and actually say something about it and not dance around it vaguely.
Speaking of people not noticing obvious feelings, there is no way in hell that Mike didn't notice Will, his best friend, cry next to him. Nor should he be so fucking insensitive that he tells el his life began when she appeared, the day that Will disappeared. And even if he didn't mean it that way, there is no way Will missed that and my boy has been hurt to much and deserves so much better.
About El and Mike I don't have much to say, I appreciated Mike getting his head out of his ass, did not appreciate the fact that we spend an entire season, and the previous season, watching El come into her own, and rediscover her powers and her past, for her to need Mike's reassurance to defeat Vecna. I didn't mind the whole nina project part at first, it was a good wy to give El some closure, but escpecially at the end, when it seemed El was leaving only for her to be capture again, I was tired of it.
(still kinda laughing at the fact that the whole 'big reveal' was that Vecna was behind everything, The Duffers clearly have never seen their fans, cause people figured that out very fast.)
Anyways, a reoccurring theme in my thoughts is how sad I am that the meet up was so late. The Russia storyline was great, also it was probably the only one which had any lasting effect (jopper being canon, which had me kicking my feet and giggling like a little girl, they're so cute). It did feel like they were never gonna get out of there, which was kinda annoying, but I'm glad we don't have to worry about the demodogs and demogorgon anymore. I do wonder what happened to Enzo, since appereantly a russian guard trying to fit into a small American town during the Cold War wasn't interesting enough. We now have no informationa about what happened and that is just sad. All we really got for a resolution was that El and Hoppper were reunited (thank god).
Now, I can spend a long time listing other things that didnt sit right with me, but lets face it, my biggest complaint was that Eddie died. Not the fact that he died per se (I was heartbroken but thats another story), but how and why. The idea was that he 'didn't run this time' and wasnt a coward. But that doesn't make any sense, sure he would've thought he was a cowards for running and leaving Chrissy, but if I saw that happening in front of me I wouldn't just stay, I'd run like hell. So the times he ran were justified and there was no sort of poetic justice. Additionally, during the first DnD game he says that its ok to run, now that obviously sets up the whole 'running' theme, but they shouldve let him listen to his own advice. Or let him die for a good reason cause now it was just like they wanted to kill off someone and were to scared to kill the main cast, or follow through with Max, its the continous theme of killing of the new likable character in each season. And im pretty sure they left his body in the Upside Down, cause wtf no one reacted? Not Steve, who he just met sure, but was bonding with, not Mike, who let his hair grow out to be more like Eddie? Just Dustin and his uncle? What about the rest of Hellfire? I think the writers were to scared to write how Eddie coming back to Hawkins wouldve worked out and thats sad cause there was a lot of interesting potential there. Eddie didn't even die for a good cause, the bats didnt need to be distracted more, how would he know that after they killed him they wouldn't just follow Dustin, or how would he know they would even leave the Upside Down had he left. They gave Steve, Robin and Nancy plenty of time. Overall it was very poorley executed and a waste of a great character.
There is probably a bunch Im missing but idk something was just off this season.
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Steve Harrington was never a bad person
Obviously Steve has the best character development in the show as a whole but I really want to talk about the completely missable moments along with the blatantly obvious scenes before he decides to change.
First off he doesn't target Jonathan at all, we never see him bully or use his King status to hurt others. He actually defends Jonathan when Tommy jokes he killed Will:
This isn't something an 80s douchebag would do, he would laugh along or ignore what his friend said as to not seem caring or at the least sympathetic towards a very easy target for bullying or a joke like that.
He invites Barb, who clearly doesn't fit with the rest of the group to his party and makes sure she can find the bathroom after cutting her hand. This part really irritates me because Nancy pulls Steve into the blame of Barb dying but he had no part in telling her to go home or knowing what she was doing. She was Nancy's friend, not his. Her throwing guilt at him was unnecessary but that's a rant for a different day.
When he finds out about Jonathan taking pictures he makes sure its true. He doesn't jump to conclusions or trust the people around him without checking its true and he was right in being annoyed at this. Jonathan took none consensual pictures of his girlfriend but what I find really interesting is the way he acts after breaking the camera.
That is not the face of someone who likes what they just did. He instantly regrets it and leaves straight away, it comes across as if he thought he needed to do this to prove a point to his friends and himself that he is right and Jonathan is wrong.
Later on he freaks out because his parents are going to find out about the party because of Barb going missing and Nancy is angry with him for this reaction. Totally justified as her best friend is missing and his first thought is himself. However, he apologises very quickly and tries to make her feel better about the whole situation.
He knows she has a crush on Tom Cruise and asks if she wants to go see a movie with him in it to distract her from everything bad that's going on. She declines and he understands but is still concerned about how she was acting so goes to her house that night to check on her.
Note, he is the one who drives there with Tommy and Carol also in the car meaning he had no intention of staying or doing anything beyond checking on her. Except he then finds Jonathan in her room.
Not something you want to find after the week you've had and the fact you know this is the same boy who creeped on you and your friends.
Now, I believe that he got back into his car, told them what he saw and they used his current state of mind to influence what happens next. He is devastated, literally heartbroken and so Tommy takes that and uses it to hurt Nancy and Jonathan.
He is truly upset here and he is surrounded by people who would rather use that to be nasty than comfort him. Nancy wrongfully slaps him. In no situation is that warranted.
She doesn't tell him what really happened so he snaps, he gets more angry because that pain twists and Jonathan is the root of it. So he says some very nasty things, a literal slur (which some people completely ignore) and then ends up in a fight. A fight that he loses.
This then prompts him to realise his friends actually use him instead of care about him and he ends up at the Byers.
In conclusion, I genuinely feel that Steve was never a bad person but instead surrounded by bad people. Along with pressuring parents and probably a lack of good influence in his life. It just took Nancy for him to fully break away from the people he had around him since he was much younger.
People have constantly used his wealth and popularity for themselves and not because they actually care about him. This is further shown by the fact Billy is placed pretty much exactly in his place, same friends and lack of positive influence at home included. But that's a whole other point to discuss.
It has been well discussed the clear moments of Steve being a good guy but I've seen a lacking in some of the ones I mentioned. This doesn't devalue his development, it just proves that he always had the chance for change but it took some serious push to get him to.
Thanks for coming to my TED Talk I guess
#i did not proof read this#it is 2am#and I was getting some shots of s1 Steve#and noticed some things#steve harrington#joe keery#stranger things#long post#longpost#edit#analysis#Harringrove
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For @babyyodablackwood who asked for tinnies in the park xD
I love your mind! It’s ‘bag of cans with the lads’ but it’s Jon and Martin just getting park-drunk
jonmartin, nebulous happy non-200 future
“You ever do this when you were a teenager? Jump the gate after dark, freezing your arse off on some kid’s playground equipment?”
“God no.” Jon’s refusal is tinged with a buzzed laugh at the idea. “Though I’m flattered you think I’m cooler than I almost certainly was back then.”
The flat, bulky plastic of the swing-seat is uncomfortably damp under Martin, the seat of his trousers now sodden by the remnant traces of earlier rain. The blocky chain connecting it to the ominously creaking overhead bar is digging painfully into his hip as he sits wedged in place, and he’s content to rock himself back and forth with the soles of his feet, toeing at the shitty asphalt left to fragment through misuse by the council.
Jon’s faring better, making squeaky parabolas. His breath is huffing out in faint gushes of white where his exhales meet the rapidly chilling night.
“You mean you never pretended to be eighteen at some dodgy off-license to buy you and your mates some… I dunno, White Lightening or Buckfast or some gut-rot shite like that?”
Jon makes a face, slowing down so Martin can pass him his can. Martin makes a laugh that he feels rock in his chest, taking it as a no. The buzz from his can of shitty cheap lager makes the world sway pleasantly.
Jon misses his mouth a bit on his next swig, and splutters, wiping at his chin with his sleeve.
“This stuff’s dire.”
“ ‘s why it was so cheap.”
“Ha. It makes me feel like I should be a teenager, to justify this. The end of some shitty date.”
“Are you saying you would have taken me to the park for a date? And here was me thinking you had class, Jonathan.”
“I never pretended that.”
“Liar.”
“Heh. I suppose so.” He takes another sip that fares more successfully. “Me all grumbly and goth and my voice still breaking.”
“I had one of those… you know those moustaches that are just, god, just bumfluff. God, I was so oddly proud of it. Wouldn’t shave it off for ages.”
“My facial hair wasn’t much better, I can promise you.”
“We’d have wandered around all the shops together, but then it’d be getting late, and then they’d all be closed, and you wouldn’t be able to get into the pub for a drink.”
“We wouldn’t.”
“Nah, I never got ID-ed, even before I hit eighteen. It was the height that did it, I think.”
“Lucky you.”
“Ha. So we’d have ended up here because, well, for obvious reasons, neither of us could take each other back to ours – ”
“ – Absolutely not – ”
“And I wouldn’t have got my license yet because I failed like, three times, so I wouldn’t have been able to give you a snog in the front seat of my banged-up fucking, Ford Fiesta or Skoda or whatever.”
“I wouldn’t have let you give me a snog in your Ford Fiesta.”
“I stand corrected.”
“You’d get one love-bite I’d have to cover up the next day, and that would be that.”
“I’d have taken it.”
“Then it’d be like this and we’d be pretending we weren’t cold, and we’d hold hands on the swing and maybe you’d read me some of your angsty poetry and I’d tell you all the things I hated…”
“…and at the same time I’d be getting paranoid about how sweaty my hands were getting.”
“Christ, this date sounds awful.”
Martin laughs with another belly-deep sensation. He smiles at Jon, who gives him a moon-softened fond look back.
“Might not have been so bad.”
“Yeah. Maybe not.”
#tma#the magnus archives#fic#jonmartin#content warning for flagrant use of britishisms#fluff#the lager is probably fosters or tennants
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At Dawn’s Break III
PB!Dio Brando x Maid!Reader, Jonathan Joestar x Reader (platonic)
Warnings: none! sfw, mention of death, but nothing too graphic. Mostly plot. Not the healthiest relationship dynamic. Technically yandere Dio but its very tame
Notes: Part One- sfw, Part Two- nsfw, Part Four - nsfw
This has been in my drafts for so long I’m so sorry. I do have a friend helping me edit my ao3 stuff so there might be some grammatical differences between that and the stuff posted here but i'll try to keep it as consistent as possible- story-wise its still the same.
In the coming months, word would arrive of your father’s death.
Sad wasn’t the right word for it. The man was old, sick, and frail. He fell ill and never recovered. Things like that happen. It was expected. His passing was quiet, happening in the early hours in the morning. You had grieved his death long before it actually happened. Your love for him was more out of a sense of duty than anything else. He was never a proper parent, the harsh expectations of life were thrown upon you rather young. At nineteen you were left as the sole guardian of your siblings. Some nights you would scream about the unfairness of it all, others you would wallow in your pity. The constant "sorry for your loss"s infuriated you. It would not bring him back. It would not fix this hole you've dug for yourself. It did nothing to justify what you've gone through. The world wasn't going to stop spinning just for you to feel sorry for yourself.
So you returned to work.
Your meetings with Dio grew fewer and further apart. Your conversations were short, ending with arguments. What he could dish out, you threw right back. Often you found yourself bitter and frustrated with him, leaving much space between the two of you. It wasn’t that you loved him any less, but he wasn’t exactly understanding in this matter. Neither of his fathers- adopted or biological- could he stand. Putting it plainly: Dio was awful at comforting people. Sympathy was not one of his strong suits. Going to him for comfort was out of the question.
Your life was soon after consumed by the mundane nature of work. The repetition of it you found soothing. It was nice to have a routine. Even if Dio wasn’t there for you, it was. The head maid took notice in your sudden interest in work, and blamed Dio for your lacking efforts. You just nodded and kept your head down.
Mr. Joestar would soon fall ill. Due to his old age, it didn’t come as a surprise to many. Very few questioned it. He was older, but seemingly healthy at the time. He fell sick overnight with the flu, which soon turned to pneumonia. It was not looking like he would recover. His coughing fits could be heard from across the manor. Much of it reminded you of your own father, so you often stayed away, only coming around when it was asked of you.
It makes you wonder if Dio feels the same sense of duty to his father. Probably not. He does not understand family ties in the same way you do. He was very attentive when Mr. Joestar fell ill, often providing medicine for him. If you were called to help, he would go in your place. It feels false, like a mockery of a doting son. Yes- he's providing for his father, but it feels like an alien trying to copy a human. Like a robot trying to replicate human love. It’s not out of any kindness in his heart. What he feels isn’t love. Sometimes you don’t think he’s capable of it. But if he did love something, it was power. He’d never admit it, but it was also you. Having you so consumed with grief enraged him. It was a childish want for attention that he found hard to conceal. He never took out his anger on you, finding himself afraid of turning out to be like his birth father driving his mother into an early grave. Often he thought about how easily he could force your hand, make you chose between him and your family. Deep down he didn’t want to toss out an ultimatum. You had just as much of a bite as him; unstoppable force meets immovable object. In no way he saw that ending well. Others had noticed the growing distance between you. People talked- as they did- rumors spread.
“Y/N.” Jonathan’s voice startles you.
“Mister Joestar, how-”
“Call me Jonathan.”
You cringe at the interruption.
“Jonathan.” You say. “How can I help you?”
“Will you take a walk with me?”
He guides you out to the garden. Winter has left it scraggly and barren, washed out in cold, white light. A few wilting leaves cling to the trees. Only a handful of rooms are lit within the house. It feels personal, being dragged through the place where you spent so many of your nights with your lover. Calling him that feels strange. Lover seems like too innocent of a word.
Over your time at the Joestar estate, there isn’t much you know about Jonathan. Dio talked of him. Often. It was never good, though he had a way of exaggerating things. By now you’ve learned to take it with a grain of salt. Your meetings with the second Joestar son have been few and rather brief. He seems sweet, albeit a bit naive and too engrossed in high society to talk with the likes of you. The girls in the kitchen swoon over him, although he’s sweet on a neighbor girl. Erina- you’ve heard of her. She’s been over for dinner before.
"How are you?" He asks.
"Fine, I suppose." You say, a bit irritated with the small talk. "What is it you need of me?"
"I heard what happened," absentmindedly he picks at his nails, "and I wanted to give my condolences. I imagine this situation is... unpleasant for you."
"I manage." You say. "But I doubt that's what you brought me out here for."
He nods. "I wanted to ask you something."
"Then ask away. I'd be happy to answer."
“You’re close with Dio, aren’t you?” He asks.
“A bit. Why?”
While you’re almost certain he knows, it feels easier to lie. You were not the star-crossed lovers that Jonathan and Erina were, the type of partners that made the girls you work with swoon and wish for such a thing, the type of love people write books about but fail to recreate. Your relationship was more out of a mutual agreement than it was proper love, but you suppose it was there. The two of you were angry, scathing people who were capable of god knows what. Together you could be terrifying.
“You two seem to spend quite a lot of time together.” He says. “Have you noticed anything strange with him?”
“No.” You say. “I haven't noticed anything like that."
"He's awfully attentive with father..."
"It's bizarre." You say. He laughs.
"I'm heading to London in a few days- to the university. Father's medicine hasn't been working, and I want it to be examined." From his coat pocket he produces a small green bottle. it's familiar. Dio has one quite like it.
"Do you need anything while you're away?" You ask, wishing to get back to your work. There was laundry that needed to be done.
"No," he says, turning to you, "thank you for your time. I should get going."
Before you can leave, he stops you.
"I know it's no business of mine, but my brother is bad news. You're a sweet girl and I don't want anything to happen to you. Dio is capable of things you couldn't even imagine."
"You're right. It is no business of yours."
He gives you a quick goodbye before leaving you alone in the garden.
Over time, Dio has grown more serious about keeping you close. He has a malicious, possessive streak to him. Your recent distance has only brought that out more. There is no talk of marriage- his adoptive father would never approve- but he talks of the future. Often. For you, the future meant work. To some extent, you could live with that. You never knew what it meant for him. He jokes of world domination.
You’re not quite sure you want to rule the world, but you do want to get out of London.
You stop just under the apple tree. It’s sickly and sad looking. The last of the fruit has fallen off and rotted. A few wilting leaves cling onto the branches. Jonathan gives you a quick goodbye, before returning to the house.
The door to his room is open. A lantern is lit, though the curtains are drawn shut. There’s no need to knock, you’re the only person who will walk in.
“Sit with me, pet.” Dio says.
Maybe the nickname has grown on you. It no longer draws out the same reaction of disgust and discomfort. Time has softened your hard outer shell. He opens his arms and instinctively you go into them. His chest feels unnaturally cold, but being so close to him makes you feel safe. The smell of his cologne is familiar and comforting, you find yourself leaning in closer. You allow yourself this one moment of weakness. He rests his chin on top of your head.
“I don’t have long,” you say, “I must get back.”
He pulls you closer. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“Jonathan came and talked with me earlier.” You say.
You could almost swear you heard his heart skip a beat. His grip around you loosens, allowing you to shift to face him. His expression is unreadable.
“Yes.” He says. “I figured he would.”
“Why?”
You almost ask what he’s done.
Accusing him of something would only make him shut down. You already have a guess. The entire conversation leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It’s a constant unease and discomfort, more than it is outright pain. He's scheming- as he does- but more importantly, he hasn't told you about it.
“My brother doesn't believe in my ways.” He says. "I would never do anything to hurt father. It's no fault of mine that he won't recover."
"Then tell me what was in the bottle." You say. "As of right now, Jonathan is on his way to get that 'medicine' tested."
"I never gave any of it to him."
Jonathan won't see it that way. The authorities surely won't be as kind as his brother. And if he gets caught- what then?
"So you give it to someone else- so some unassuming person is killing him."
Dio doesn’t respond. Do you really expect more of him? He’s proven to be capable of many things. You’ve long since learned he wants to be the sole heir to the Joestar estate. It was a given. Power is something he craves. As much as he jokes about world domination, there's always a serious tone behind them. In the beginning, it just seemed like his nature; he was always collected and intense. Some truth must have been behind them. He makes no attempt to hide that. But this...
Murder is a bit too cold-blooded for your tastes. Morally you don’t have the high ground. You don’t find yourself above much, but you'd like to think you're above murder. If its what you need to do to survive, you believe you'd give it a pass, but as the time comes you're less sure of it. Mr. Joestar gave Dio an opportunity that doesn’t even come once in a lifetime for many. It feels like a slap in the face, just adding insult to injury. This feels like betrayal in the purest sense of the word. While you aren’t close to his father, you have a bit of respect for the man. His death would not cause you the same grief as your own father’s, but you would be sad.
But he is old, and not all old people recover from illness.
Most of the estate would go to Jonathan upon his father’s death. Really, this seems short-sighted. As the younger son, Dio isn’t entitled to all that much. But getting rid of his brother might be easier said than done. Part of you is angry for how little he’s thought this through. Truly, you expected more from him. With as much as he schemes, you had expected a better plan.
Your reaction isn’t quite what he expected. Anything but blind love and acceptance is seen as betrayal to him. To you, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong.
If he fails- if- there is no recovering from this. If he is caught, many signs point to you as an accomplice.
Silently he exits, leaving you alone in his dark room.
#jjba#jojo part 1#phantom blood#jojo's bizarre adventure#dio brando#dio#dio brando x reader#dio x reader#jjba x reader#yandere dio brando#i guess???#yandare dio brando x reader#cw yandere#ik i abandoned this for a full month#but#its back#fem!reader
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idk if tumblr ate my ask but. if it did, 30 (obsession) for the riddler or scriddler?
Tumblr says, ‘your other ask was delicious, nom nom nom’
I says, ‘even if it hadn’t this is taking me a really long time because the music I’m listening to has made me too hype to write with any speed at all’
AO3 :D
‘Obsession’
Characters: Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma [Scriddler]
The first time Jonathan saw him was on the front page of the newspaper. He could say with absolute certainty that was the day it started.
Before that day Jonathan would have been first in line to declare there was no such thing as a human being that was so attractive that one could not control themselves. It was poppycock, he insisted. Anyone who allowed something as primal as hormones to waylay their every thought was a weakling and a fool. Jonathan had looked upon a lifetime of people and had never so much as done a single double-take.
The newspaper was in a browbeaten metal box next to a bus stop. It was locked and the only access was either by key, vandalism, or coin. Jonathan obviously did not have a key, the location made it difficult to vandalise, and he was loath to pay for absolutely anything. But one of those three he needed choose, and he justified the third by telling himself it was a small price to pay to get the newspaper into his hands and thus have physical evidence that the man pictured there really was not so beautiful as his memory was bound to recall him. He tucked it under his arm and did not look at it until he was safely home, and he discovered he was correct: he was not so beautiful as he recalled. He was even moreso.
Jonathan put the newspaper into his desk drawer and failed not thinking about it. Every single minute of every single day was haunted by the image of the beautiful man printed upon its face. He could not sleep for the thought of it. His lectures at the university, already marred with his general disinterest with being there, were now riddled with pauses and repetition as his thoughts unravelled even while he was speaking them. He was well-known to the staff as a solitary and unpleasant creature, so his constant inquiries as to the man in the newspaper were met mostly with confusion and dismissal. He was disgusted in himself for the asking but he could not stop.
Until the night he no longer had to, for he entered his apartment to find Edward there within it. He stood in the doorway to his bedroom motionless and thoughtless and directionless.
“Well,” Edward said, his voice beautiful and direct from his lips to Jonathan’s ears, “you wanted me. Here I am.”
Jonathan had never put a single neuron into concluding what Edward must have smelled like, but all of the ones available were thinking about it now. He had no name to put to the man’s subtle scent other than ‘perfect’. And he was draped casually across Jonathan’s desk, which would doubtlessly cause it to sink into the wood and remain there long after he left as an olfactory spectre which Jonathan would find himself unable to escape.
His hair was in that god-awful tousled style that Jonathan would now never be able to see on another man without thinking of him. It was that certain colour that was achieved only by maple leaves only on one day of the year and some of it was visible from the top of the shirt of which he had not done up the top few buttons. Jonathan had a nearly visceral need to see the rest of it, and whereupon it ran down his torso, down towards his artfully concealed genitals. Jonathan’s own were filling with a steady heat it was already too late to hide. Not even the rare shame threatening to wash through him was enough to convince his barely used equipment to settle back where it belonged. For all his former conviction, it turned out he shared this carnal similarity with all those he had debased after all.
Edward laughed. It was condescending, and Jonathan hated that he deserved it. Edward swung himself to sitting with his knees spread and Jonathan hated that he had done it. “Surely you haven’t been stalking me all this time just so you could stare at me,” Edward said. “What was your aim, hm? Did you mean to lock me up in your basement, perhaps?”
Jonathan had indeed fantasized many times about that very thing. About restraining him, naked, to the wall with manacles which would chafe and bruise and ruin his beautiful skin. He would leave him down there until he was emaciated and weak and then this would all end for he would have been made ugly as all of humanity was.
Edward shook his head and twitched his wrist up to eye level. “I’m out of time, I’m afraid. Good talk.” And he simply stood and left as Jonathan stared after him, his entire body rigid and unmoving.
The obsession somehow escalated from there.
His room was soon plastered with every newspaper page which contained any mention of Edward. Any and all news stories about him were preserved on video tape. He dreamed and he dreamed and he dreamed of Edward, and he had never before been one for masturbation, but it did not matter how often or in what way he did it for the intense sexual desire Jonathan had for him never ceased. In the dreams Edward was always beautiful, always enticing Jonathan to come to him, but when he did his hands could not feel the shape of him nor could his mind conjure up any image of what he may have looked like beneath his clothes and he knew it was because whatever he managed to think up would be so far inferior to the real thing that it was not worth the effort to visualise. He lost hours sitting at his desk, the scent Edward had left behind erasing all notion of time or purpose.
Then Edward began to turn up in Jonathan’s daily life.
Jonathan did not ever have to look for him. He would simply appear at places where Jonathan was already fated to be. Some of these places were common sense and some of them were not, but Edward appeared in all of them nonetheless. Jonathan could not leave his apartment without scanning every person he passed for Edward. He could not remain inside of his apartment without scanning every person who passed the window for Edward. Night was the only time he could continue his work, and continue his work he did for he had concluded it was his only way out of this. Edward had stolen his body and so Jonathan would steal his mind.
When next Jonathan saw him the toxin was ready. He approached, which he had never done before. Edward’s smile implied he had anticipated such a thing and Jonathan hated the thrill it sparked in his stomach.
“You have something in mind today, I take it?” Edward said. His words were the lyrics to a song no one had the skill to write. Jonathan nodded.
“I have a truck parked out back.”
Edward hummed in satisfaction and followed him. Jonathan did not want to take his eyes away when he lifted himself into the bed and leaned back in it as though it were his own and not Jonathan’s, but he had to. He had to stop this now. He removed the needle from the glovebox and concealed it behind his back.
“What have you got there?” Edward asked. Jonathan did not answer. He instead climbed onto the bed and straddled Edward and pressed his left wrist above his head, at which time he -
They were so close together. And he knew. Jonathan could tell that he knew, but he had come anyway. All of this together stole Jonathan’s breath and his thoughts and replaced it with the violent need to grind his body against Edward’s until the ever-present ache between his legs was relieved at last. He glanced downward to find that Edward’s bulge was no more present than it had been before, but his was firm beneath Edward’s knowing fingers. He turned his head aside, into his right arm, in an attempt to dissipate the ensuing moan into his sleeve, but he knew the moment he did so it had not worked.
“Something tells me,” Edward said with accursed playfulness, “that drug isn’t going to be one of the ones I like.”
Jonathan could not answer because his ability to form words had been lost with a motion of Edward’s free hand.
“You know, if I wasn’t certain that was a lethal dose of your little fear experiment, I would have gone for it. But as it is I’ll have to refuse. No hard feelings.”
Jonathan bent down and pressed the point of the needle against the side of Edward’s neck. Edward did not flinch. Sweat was beading along Jonathan’s hairline and underneath his arms and the place where Edward’s hand was still bewitching him. “If I kill you,” Jonathan murmured into his ear, “then this will end.”
“Why would you want it to?” Edward whispered. His breath seemed to caress Jonathan’s skin. “Tell me, Jonathan. When was the last time you felt this much excitement? This alive? You never have, have you? That’s why you’ve fallen into this so hard and so deep. Your work gives you purpose, but it does not give you life. Not like I do.”
Jonathan prayed that his grip upon Edward’s wrist would not weaken and that his thumb on the plunger would not falter.
“If you kill me,” Edward went on, the sound of his voice making Jonathan helpless, “you will never know the part of yourself that I have awoken. And you can’t have that. Can you.”
Jonathan’s breath stalled. Edward’s eyes glittered knowingly in the dark and Jonathan could not stop looking at them.
“Drop the needle and do what you should have done when I laid myself out so nicely for you on your desk.”
Jonathan’s body obeyed against the panicked protestations of his mind. He was kissing him at long last, hard and desperate. His hand had released the needle and was clenching as much of Edward’s buttock as it could grasp, and Edward was laughing but Jonathan did not realise it until he ran out of breath. He lowered his head to the breast of the man who had broken him and left it there. Edward’s free hand was in Jonathan’s hair, at once reassuring and condescending, and he did not want for him to ever move it.
“Oh, Jonathan,” Edward fairly hummed into his ear, “you have been fun.” And his hand, still holding Jonathan’s crotch, clenched and twisted it with sudden violence. Jonathan saw white and that was all he was able to perceive for a good few moments. His resumed awareness told him he was curled against the side of the truck, and once he had regained enough of his breath he scrabbled his hand up the bed until he could push himself to sitting. He looked over his shoulder to see Edward sitting atop the other side, and as soon as their eyes met Edward smiled and swept his legs over the side and disappeared. Jonathan could not get up fast enough to chase him and he noticed with a start that the syringe was gone.
Days went by. Days, and then weeks, and then months. Edward had gone. He had vanished. Jonathan tore through newspapers for mention of him in between glances at the ever-on television for a hint towards his whereabouts. He scoured the Internet to the best of his limited ability and glowered at the publicly viewable footage and photographs and words describing the man who should have been his and only his. He fantasized about storming into the places who thought they had the right to publish anything about him, inflicting upon them their worst fears and watching as the building burned to the ground before him. He did not purposely sleep, and the occasions he found himself doing so he woke with clothes both sticky and sweat-soaked, driven by dreams of all the things he could have done when Edward had been beneath him but had not.
It was seven months and twenty-five days later when Jonathan received the postcard. The photograph upon the front contained nothing he recognised, but the words upon the back froze his very blood:
You want me. Here I am.
Jonathan learned then there was something worse than lust. The rage that rose up in him was blinding and numbing and deafening, and a scream of fury tore a strip into the back of his throat that would echo for days. His hands, divorced from any thought at all, tore the postcard asunder into a hundred jagged pieces and his eyes did not watch himself do it. When vision returned to them his breath shuddered and his legs weakened. He found himself kneeling on the floor amidst the fragments, and after a moment he began to gather them together in a panic. “No,” he whispered to himself with a horror he would never learn how to inflict upon another. “No!”
He tried for hours to reassemble the card, but to no avail. The pieces were too small and too many. He held the scrap which contained the most of the words Edward had written and clenched it tightly within both hands. And then Jonathan knew something which was nearly as horrible as the rage had been, and that was sorrow. His body was a rigid inward curl and he cried hot and bitter tears into his own knees, his forehead pressed into his clasped hands. Edward’s laugh was echoing in his ears. Even now Jonathan could not find it ugly.
The sleep that came to Jonathan then was of a sort he had not known in years, deep and black and dreamless, and when he awoke and looked upon the evidence of what he had spent months upon months buried inside of he felt nothing. He felt nothing at all. Edward was still beautiful, but whatever part of him had cared was no longer there. His eyes fell to the paper scattered upon the floor.
“No,” he said to it. “No, I think I will wait until it is you who wants me.”
And he rose to his feet and laughed and began to think of what he would do when finally that day came.
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I FINALLY uploaded again to my first Harringrove fic ever, so here’s an easy way to read ch. 1 since a lot of people here don’t know me from Dracula Has a Mullet haha
Read on ao3 here ~
💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋
The discovery that Billy Hargrove is a vampire came at a weird time in a weird way. It’s just not everyday that you walk in on someone fingering Alexandra O’Neil with their teeth—fangs—in her tit.
There were stranger things in Hawkins, unfortunately. Unfortunately? How fortunate is a vampire?
“For fuck’s sake. Really?”
Billy has the grace to extract his freaking teeth with a semblance of being surprised. “I didn’t know you had that kind of mouth, Harrington.”
Steve waves a scolding finger at him with all the gusto of a drunk, and he has the solo cup to justify it. “Put those away! She was homecoming queen last year. Jesus, have some class.”
“You serious?”
Steve downed the last of his beer and Jäger with a grimace, his voice going raspy. “Look, I’m not one to judge a lady’s standards, but really, Alex…Alex?”
The lady in question was so blissed out she looked like one of those unnaturally stupid women in every Dracula movie. Billy actually moved aside as Steve pulled her away from the wall—away from Billy—to try and talk to her. Righting her dress with quick yanks, he covered her gorgeous, if small, breasts and gave her a shake. “Alex! Hey!”
He could hear—could feel it, more like—Billy moving behind him in the dark room. Steve had come up here hoping to claim the guest room before someone used it to hookup from the party downstairs. It wouldn’t be the first time he woke up from a mid-party nap to someone being blown, but sometimes it’s the price one pays for free liquor and an ounce of decent sleep.
“What’s wrong with her standards? Huh, King Steve?”
The voice is right behind him, so close that the damn vampire has to rear backwards when Steve whirls around. “What kind of vamp name is Billy? Wait, that’s short for something—”
“If you call me by anything else, I’ll hang you from the ceiling by your teeth.”
“You’re not charming like vampires,” Steve practically complained. “Gotta work on that. Everyone gossips here. Folks will know you’re toothy like…” He fumbled a clumsy but sharp snap of his fingers.
Billy made a derisive sound before his voice crooned, “Seems like I’m flying just fine under the vampire radar, then.”
He was heaving Alex back up from where she had slumped against the dresser when Steve released her. Steve raked a hand through his hair, thinking. It was a slog through the alcohol, but he surmised that he could not take her away from this guy. Case being: Steve was far too drunk to logically drive, and to where? It was her house.
“You. You gotta go.”
Billy huffed one of his low, mirthless laughs. Instead of setting Alex nicely on the bed, he just kind of dumped her there. She let out a sort of dumb-giddy moan as she face planted a pillow and he faced Steve. “Excuse me?”
“You’re, like, biting people at a party!” Steve realized somewhere between his tone and his slight—or perhaps exaggerated, it was hard to tell at this point—sway, that Billy was far more sober than he felt.
Not the time to play hero but whatever.
Billy slowly stepped toward him. “There’s plenty worse at this shit house than me, Harrington. Worst weed I’ve ever had. And that shit whiskey’s been so watered down, it’s nothing but wheat water.”
“Hey!” Steve was poking two fingers at him before he meant to. “They just renovated the place and I got well paid for the tiling and paint!”
“So you’re the reason everyone’s been tripping over the same spot in the kitchen?” Billy huffed.
“And the whiskey’s not so bad if you chase it with grape juice. It’s like toast and jam water. Whatever, no one’s here for your holier-than-thou, California bullshit!”
Billy was caught by surprise that time. His whole expression lifted, brows and eyes widening as he repeated, “Holier. Than. Thou. That’s the kind of shit you pick up from books. I didn’t know the king could read.”
“Fuck off,” Steve grimaced, really just wanting to get Alex tucked into bed and maybe join her. “You’ve been riding me ever since you got here.”
“I definitely have not been doing that,” Billy retorted and then smiled. “What, you offering?”
“Was she?” Steve cornered, drawing himself up to his full height. Admittedly, not much taller than Billy, but small victories lead to great heights or something.
Billy wiped his mouth and Steve’s eyes plummeted to those lips. “Yeah, she was. She pulled me upstairs, or is that so hard to believe, blue balls?”
“It kind of is, yeah,” Steve said with his hands on his hips. “Alex has asthma. Like, inhaler tucked in her bra at prom in case the slow dance was too much. She’d never get with a chain smoker like you.”
“She would if her high school sweetheart cheated on her with the first college bitch he found.” One of Billy’s eyebrows perked up with his shrug. “I’m a favorite for ladies looking for a rebound.”
Steve grimaced. “Derek cheated? How do you know that?”
“That’s between her and me,” Billy said, stepping forward again. “But I hear you’ve been due for a rebound for a while, Harrington.”
He didn’t want to talk about Nancy. It wasn’t even Nancy, really, but he didn’t want to talk about anything regarding his sex life or lack thereof. Steve diverted, “I want you to leave. Go find someone else to—whatever the hell this is.”
“Well. You’re right here.”
“Not me, dumbass. I told you to leave the house.”
“That’s not gonna happen,” Billy smiled. “What? You’ll let me beat the shit out of you again? We had an audience last time too.”
“I wouldn’t be too cocky about last time,” Steve groaned, beginning to take a step back. “The way I hear it, Jonathan had to mop you off the floor after—”
Billy wasn’t listening. His eyes were on Steve’s neck and the only gut wrenching, instinctive thought Steve had was weapon. It came in the form of a glass lamp, which he wrenched out of the wall to break over Billy’s head.
The hard thud of thick glass hitting before the shatter and glass raining over the floor had Steve gaping at him. Billy stood very still. Way too still. Steve wondered if he had knocked him out, but his legs hadn’t unbuckled yet.
Then Billy lifted dark eyes beneath his mess of a fringe, pupils blown wide. Steve continued to stare at him with the mechanical parts of the lamp still in his hand. “Holy shit, you didn’t even flinch! You’re supposed to dodge when furniture’s coming at you—”
Billy gripped the wrist holding the parts and wrenched him so far that Steve couldn’t react to Billy’s other hand on his pants. Heaving him up by his belt, he slammed Steve onto the table from which the lamp had originated. Music thrummed around them, the very beams in the walls vibrating. Steve defied the laws of his denim pants by folding his leg against his side to kick Billy in the gut. Ragged sounds from both of them went unheard by the party below. Steve slid like a heavy tablecloth to the floor with Billy likewise winded and crouched in front of him.
“Why…” Steve tried, rubbing his chest and hoping his talking lasted long enough for him to decide whether running or trying to pin Billy down was the best decision. “…can’t you just…not do this? Whatever alpha bullshit game you think life is.”
“Some of us don’t want to go through life with your dashing prince crap,” Billy spat.
“You think I’m dashing? I couldn’t tell, I passed out the last time you punched me in the face.”
Billy laughed. “Yeah. You’re just as soft as I remember.”
He was moving again and Steve felt a wild, foolish—downright stupid—thrill to try something else. “You need to leave, man. Really. I know a party of blackout graduates might seem like easy pickings, but Hawkins is different.”
“You don’t know shit about different,” Billy growled. “You’ve never seen grass outside this bum fuck of a town.”
“I’ve been to Disney World. And New York City. There’s gotta be some hospital nurse you can swoon into letting you raid their blood bank?”
He couldn’t tell if Billy was getting angrier or not. The man was always angry, seemed like. “I’m not drinking from a freezer. Now shut the hell up. You’ll enjoy this like your homecoming queen.”
A last ditch effort, diving in the direction of the door, but it wasn’t the first time Billy had been on top of him with murder in his eyes. Steve’s hands fumbled at Billy’s face, but then his wrists were pinned above his head and a panicked whine escaped as Billy’s hot, humid breath found him.
Steve went slack. They always do. Billy had figured out that something in his teeth or saliva sedated those he bit, and more. A whole lot more. It made a good flirt into a hell of a time. Alexandra of the Hawkins Homecoming Court had already come on his finger when Steve, of all people, waltzed right in.
It made hunting annoying. It made hunting fun. He had to be picky; didn’t want anyone he couldn’t look at for longer than three minutes moaning all over him while he tried to feed. His looks did most of the work. The right dash of charm here, a nice compliment there, and then his fangs did the rest.
Steve was hard under him. Billy felt the distinct push of his jeans against his own ass while he slid his fingers under Steve’s nape. Lifting his neck, he made sure the moron’s windpipe stayed open, as well as lifted his meal closer to his mouth—
A strange sound came from Steve. Billy’s eyes flicked to his face, but when that labored breathing sound happened again, he sat up and stared. Steve was crying.
This had never happened before. Those doe eyes that all the girls had ranted about when he first drove into Hawkins were red and squinted as moisture slid over his temples. Billy even checked to make sure he wasn’t sitting too heavily on his dick or something, but the gears of his brain slid into place.
Steve usually wore sunglasses at parties. Billy couldn’t help but huff a laugh. “Are you a drunk crier, Harrington? Hey, I’m talking to you.”
He gripped Steve’s jaw, but his whole head lolled, those eyes barely finding him through the daze. “I just wanna sleep,” he said quietly. Fresh tears raced into his hair as he passed out.
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Again, been reading a lot recently, and here's some recent reads and my thoughts. (All very spoiler-free)
Johannes Cabal: The Necromancer by Jonathan L. Howard
I'd heard about this series for a while, but had always kept putting off reading it, and finally I was in the mood for some comedic (yet dark) shenanigans--and a villain protagonist as charming as Johannes Cabal really hit me just right. I really enjoyed the first of this series and the introduction to this 1920's-ish universe similar-yet-different to our own that Howard's created. His writing is crisp and clever--and Johannes is a villain protagonist worth cheering for. He's duplicitous, arrogant, and cold, yet sharp-witted and competent enough to be engaging, and even though he's amoral (driven predominately with an "ends do justify the means" mentality) there are glimmers of a conscious buried in there.
The basic gist of the first book is that Johannes Cabal is a necromancer dead-set (ba-dum-sh) on thwarting the biggest plague affecting mankind: Death. As such, he's willing to go to extreme lengths to hone and perfect his necromantic abilities. In the pursuit of this knowledge, Cabal sold his soul to Satan, but he comes to realize he actually needs his soul for his necromancy to work more properly (apparently without a soul it gets very unpredictable). In order to win his soul back, he strikes a wager with Satan: he will accumulate 100 souls for Satan in return for his own. Satan, ever the fair player (not), gifts Cabal with an infernal carnival to help Cabal reach his goal within the year. Shenanigans ensue.
While I read some books in-between this one and the next in the series, I'll write about the other here--
Johannes Cabal: The Detective by Jonathan L. Howard
So clearly I enjoyed the first installment enough to keep going, and I am glad, because I enjoyed the second one even more than the first. It feels like Howard got more comfortable with the characters and world than before, and in this one he expands his universe with some made-up countries that are similar-to-yet-different than countries on our Earth. In this one, Cabal does less fantastic tricks, as he dons the role of investigator (there's been a murder--on an airship!), but the plot was very fun. I will say this is one of the first books in a long while to genuinely make my world-weary ass laugh out loud in public. Howard truly does know how to turn a phrase and comes off with some great witticisms.
Guns of the Dawn by Adrian Tchaikovsky
Tchaikovsky has been on my radar for a while because I have had Children of Time on my reading list for what feels like an age (and I still haven't gotten around to reading it, but I will soon). To prime myself, I looked up other works by Tchaikovsky. This was around the time I was look for good "stand-alone" Adult Fantasy novels as well, so the two linked up and I had this on my TBR for a while and got around to finally cracking it open.
I really loved this book. If I could describe it in any way, it would be sort of like Pride & Prejudice if Elizabeth Bennet got drafted into a war. Seriously. That's how it reads--and Tchaikovsky made the allusions to Austen's work very clear. The setting is very English-inspired, and the time period mimics Napoleonic times. Definitely the first "Flintlock Fantasy" I've had the pleasure of reading.
The themes of the book are about the caustic nature of nationalism, the blurring of truth during war, and what is true patriotism in the face of falsehood and horror. Definitely my kind of questions--and I love watching characters thrown into completely unfamiliar environments. A genteel woman (Emily Marshwic) being tossed headfirst into grisly, mosquito-infested swamps armed with a musket? It's a fascinating journey she undergoes.
Plus the novel featured a romantic subplot that hits my enemies-to-lovers buttons hard. (It's not at all like one of those tired YA enemies-to-lovers stories, but something more grown-up and messy, which I approve of, because I love drama.) But this is more of a personal note. It's definitely not going to be for everyone.
Retribution Falls (Tales of the Ketty Jay #1) by Chris Wooding
After Johannes Cabal, I got into the mood for some steampunk, and I hadn't actually read much in the way of steampunk, so I looked up some recs and the Tales of the Ketty Jay series seemed to appear on a lot of lists for this kinda thing. The basic gist of this one is... imagine steampunk Firefly. That kinda gives you the whole vibe and feel. It's about a crew of disparate and colorful characters all running from something who meet on the ship the Ketty Jay and have to learn to work together to survive.
Overall, it was a fast-paced read (I read this 400 page sucker in a single day--while doing other stuff) and Wooding knows how to write action and interesting character interactions. The world had some glimmers of brilliance (the wizard analogs in their world--daemonist--were the most intriguing part), but otherwise it was very typical steampunk. I had no real quibbles with any of that (aside from the fact some of it read as very cliche and Wooding's inspirations seemed a little obvious--Fullmetal Alchemist and Firefly being the two big ones that kept hammering me over the head), but my main complaint was with the writing and treatment of female characters. First, there is only one main female character in the Ketty Jay's crew--Jez. I had no real issues with Jez's character or writing (in fact she's refreshing in some ways), but she's completely isolated from any other female characters (and is also the only crew member who isn't really allowed to be a complete screw up--she's somewhat sanitized, which, I guess the heroic women characters aren't allowed to be fuck ups like the men?). Second, the other predominate female characters, of whom there are only three, are mute/dehumanized (Bess), characterized as stupid and unhinged (Amalicia), and have rape-as-a-backstory-written-TERRIBLY (Trinica). All that said, as much as it was cringe, this was written in 2009, and I am sure Wooding has had some growth as a writer since then.
I liked this one enough to decide to check out the next in the series (even knowing the writing for the female characters leaves much to be desired).
Black Sun by Rebecca Roanhorse
A Fantasy taking place in an Americas-inspired world? Absolutely refreshing (and more please). The main gist of this one is that a cult sets out to resurrect a dead god (seriously that's the main plot crux) while political machinations are going on in the central city of this country where the resurrection is going to take place. As the novel progresses, it's like a countdown clock to game time. There's four POV characters we follow: Xiala (a Teek sea captain who is kind of an outcast from her native people and has a love for beautiful people), Serapio (the man who has been groomed since birth to be the vessel for the resurrected god, part of this process has included blinding him), Naranpa (the Sun Priest of the capital city who is trying to garner back control the priesthood has lost), and Okoa (who really doesn't even appear until way later into the book; he's been separated from his family to train to be a warrior). For the most part, I was primarily engaged (re: 90% engaged) with Xiala and Serapio's story. They were the most interesting characters, and the journey of them on the sea trying to get to the city before the ceremony was exciting and emotional. The political dealings in Naranpa's segments kind of bogged down the action--and I didn't feel anything for that. Overall though, definitely a thrilling read with a beautifully constructed world. If I had one big criticism, it's that it ended incredibly abruptly without any resolution. I knew going in this was a part of a greater whole, but I still felt the ends could've been knotted a little tighter. I'm left dangling! But I'll be sure to pick up the next one (if anything just to find out what happens to Xiala and Serapio).
Vicious by V.E. Schwab
As an unapologetic villainfucker, I had to read this one, right? It's about not just one, but two villains! How could I lose? And they're in an intense rivalry? Revenge? Betrayal? Superpowers? Gah! Be still my heart!
I'll say I enjoyed this book (fun characters, solid writing), but I didn't love it as much as I thought I would (I wish I could love yooouuuu!). Definitely worth a recommendation to anyone who loves villains and fast-paced narratives, but... there were a few things that tarnished what could've been sparkling. The biggest for me was the jumping around in the first half. For a length of time, the novel leaps between three different points of time, sometimes 2-3 pages at a time, and it was jarring (not confusing, mind you, but it was a jolt each time). I get it was done to create an air of mystique and intrigue, but it felt like I was getting dragged around by the ear. Along with this, the plot just seemed... very convenient? As various moments kept happening, it all felt too tidy and paint-by-numbers. The characters were certainly messy and fun (and I love messy and fun), but the action itself seemed to glide on well-oiled rails with no hiccups. This did lead to the magnetic pacing of the book (which I also read in a day), but it didn't do the drama any favors. Never once did it feel like the characters were caught with their pants down--and I think that's part of the point, but it kind of dampened the tension.
I liked it enough I am definitely going to check out the sequel Vengeful though. If anything I am reading for Sydney, Mitch, and Victor. I gotta know what happens to them!
--
Right now I am reading some fluffy fluff to cleanse my palette because I've been reading so much moodiness. I'm mid-way through the light and breezy Half a Soul by Olivia Atwater (and it's super cute so far) and then I am finally going to crack open Andy Weir's The Martian (because I have put off reading it for far too long).
#recent reads#book review#just jotting my thoughts down somewhere#seriously though i am itching to read the next johannes cabal but i gotta pace myself#i don't want to burn through those like i did murderbot lol
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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic
Read from the beginning on Tumblr || Also on AO3
Chapter 55: Assorted statements of the Magnus Institute archival staff and sundry associated, prior to their departure for Great Yarmouth.
[CLICK]
PAST ARCHIVIST
Statement of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Regarding the upcoming…operation. Fourth April, 2017. Recorded direct from subject. Statement begins.
I-I wanted to get some thoughts down before…well, everything. We all should, actually. I’ll—I suppose I’ll mention it to them.
(sigh) God, I hate that I can’t just record my thoughts these days. I have to make it a statement anymore.
It looks like we’re all set. We hammered out the last of our plans last night, went over it to make sure we have everything timed as precisely as we can. Myself, Daisy, Basira, Tim…we’re all going to be heading off to this House of Wax. Sneak in as best we can. Daisy will set the charges while the rest of us run interference, then we’ll set them off once the ritual begins. All the research, both ours and Gertrude’s, shows that this is our only chance. Anything we do before the ritual can be easily repaired. But once it’s underway, if we stop it, it will be centuries before the Stranger can try again.
Of course, we know damn well it won’t succeed. If we let it play out, it will collapse on its own. The trouble is, we don’t know what that collapse will look like. Would that be anything more than a simple delay, as far as they’re concerned? Would the Stranger simply try again, in a year, two years, five years? Even if we destroy Nikola Orsinov—“the Dancer,” Gertrude called her—surely she can be rebuilt easily enough. And all the other players…no. It’s too great a risk to simply let it fold in on itself. The Stranger has been collecting skins for ten years. We owe it to them to put what’s left of them to rest.
Daisy’s made it clear that she thinks her best chance is to go in alone, and honestly, I struggle to disagree. But I have to go. Not because Elias is making me, or because I feel compelled to, but…(sigh) Tim. I can justify this operation all I like, but the truth of the matter is that we’re largely doing it for Tim. This…this ritual is the reason his brother died. The Circus, the Stranger, it stole his brother’s skin.
God. I’m the only one of us without…without a dog in this fight, I suppose? No, that’s not the right way of phrasing it. But Danny is undoubtedly going to be part of the Dance, however much we want to believe otherwise. And Gertrude…of course Orsinov is going to, how did she put it with me, “wear her to dance the world new.” Tim’s brother, Martin’s grandmother…
I’m, I’m almost tempted to look up my grandmother’s grave, or my father’s, and find out if they’ve been disturbed. I have to assume it’s been too many years, but I have no idea how long they’ve been collecting these skins, so what if—no. No, that’s not—it wouldn’t work like that. They only dug up Gertrude because they wanted her power. Everyone else, it appears, they took…alive. I don’t know enough about taxidermy to know how long a thing can be dead before its skin can’t be preserved, and frankly I don’t want to.
It’s enough to know what I know. Enough to be doing what I’m doing.
It has to be.
[CLICK]
———
[CLICK]
SASHA
Statement of Sasha James, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, regarding what I did not study Classics well enough to understand why it has been termed Operation Janus. Recorded by subject, fourth April, 2017.
I know why I’m staying back. I get it. It wasn’t the original plan, but I get why Jon gave in to it. He’s right, the more people go, the more dangerous it gets. It doesn’t take eight people to push a button. And with my uncle being back, I don’t—I owe it to him to stick around. Staying back here is going to be safer. Probably.
Still…I have to admit I’m a little jealous that I don’t get to go.
I’m curious. That’s the problem. Curious and excited in ways I shouldn’t be. The description of the last attempt at the Unknowing fascinates me, and I want to see the ways this one will be different. I want to see if I can stand in the face of the Stranger and come out on top. And…well, the Stranger is our antithesis, after all. We know and it conceals. It’s one of the few secrets I can’t just pluck from the air, and that excites me and infuriates me in equal measures.
I want to know.
(short laugh) God, that’s probably the other reason everyone got immediately on board with the whole “stay behind, Sasha” thing. They know I’m the most likely to be a…rogue element. They know that as much as I want this to work and want everyone to come home safe, I’d be the most likely to go poking around in places I shouldn’t, sneaking around trying to ferret out secrets, tape recorder in hand and eyes wide open. The chances of me doing something—incredibly stupid and getting caught in the middle of the Unknowing is high.
I would, too. I’d be the one that would screw everything up for everyone. Not on purpose. I know how much this means to Tim…and because it means a lot to Tim, it means a lot to Jon and Martin, too. We’ve put a lot of work into this and I don’t want to blow it.
But I—I know myself. If I were to go, there’d be that niggling little voice in the back of my head telling me that it doesn’t matter, that what we do won’t change the course of the world. That this ritual is doomed to fail anyway, so who cares if they can’t blow it up because I’m up there trying to watch it?
The trouble is that I wouldn’t tell them I was going. I’d just…slip off. Find a good vantage point to watch it all from. They’d never know I was up there and Tim would press that button and…
Anyway, I’m needed here. They’re right about that. This part of the plan needs all the people it can get. The more, the merrier, all that. And there are enough parts of it that I don’t know about—or don’t know the purpose of—that it’s built up my curiosity. It’s going to be pretty interesting, and I’ll get to be there to see it. I hope. And it’s not like I can’t get all the details out of the others easily enough afterwards.
It’s fine. It’ll be fine.
[CLICK]
———
[CLICK]
BASIRA
Statement of Basira Hussain, fourth April, 2017, at the request of Jonathan Sims.
I don’t have any idea why I’m doing this. I mean, I’m not talking about the actual…mission. I’m not talking about what we’ll be doing come Thursday. I know why I’m doing that. I don’t know why I’m doing this, except that Jon asked me to. Asked us all to, really. And Sasha passed me off the recorder, so…here I am.
I don’t want to be part of this. I never did. I never made a secret of the fact that I wanted nothing more to do with all this…paranormal and supernatural stuff. When I was done with the police, I was done with Section Thirty-One and all that entailed. And then I let myself get dragged back into it like I’d never left. I know what we’re likely to be up against and I’m doing it anyway.
Maybe that’s part of the reason why. I can’t let them go into this alone.
Let’s be honest. I’m not helping out because I want to save the world. Not even because I think this thing is all that dangerous. I’ve helped out up to this point because of Sasha. I’m going because of Daisy.
I’ll admit, I’m…torn. I want to be there for Daisy. She was always there for me. She’s…dependable. Solid. You know where you stand when you’re with her. I know the others don’t trust her all the way, but really, she’s always been a good partner to me. Maybe her methods weren’t always the greatest, but she knew what she was doing and why she was doing it. It’s easier to see the way straight with her. You go in, you blow things to hell, you get out. You stop the monsters. You fix the problems. Simple.
At the same time, I—I feel like I ought to be here. To help Sasha. She keeps telling me she’ll be fine, that it would be a lot more suspicious if I stayed than if I go, since I don’t work at the Institute. There’s no reason for me to be hanging around here. I know she’ll have Melanie and…I know she’ll be okay. Logically, I know that. But still…
I don’t trust Elias. I mean, shocker, nobody trusts Elias. Just thought it might be useful for someone to know that it’s not just people who work here who don’t trust him. I’ve met him all of twice and I felt like I had to go take an immediate shower every time. But I feel like Sasha’s—the part of the plan Sasha is helping with has a lot more potential to go wrong. It relies too much on Elias Bouchard acting the way they’re predicting, and I don’t know about that. I think there’s going to be trouble.
Then again, I don’t know that it’s the kind of trouble I can help with, or if I need to be there to make sure Daisy doesn’t get in a sticky spot.
(deep breath) God, just make a decision, Basira.
I think I have to go. I think…they’re not going to have the kind of help Daisy might need if I don’t go. Sasha will—she’ll be okay. She’s got backup here. It’s going to be fine.
It’s fine.
[CLICK]
———
[CLICK]
MELANIE
Melanie King, fifth of April, 2017, 8:21am.
All right, Jon, let’s make this clear: I’m still not doing this for you. I’m doing it because Martin asked me to.
Everyone’s leaving tomorrow. Everyone except those of us who are sticking around to deal with Elias. Um, I’m not sure what time everyone’s leaving. They’re going to let us know before they do and we’re all going to meet up at the Institute if we’re not already here, but I think there’s a lot of “if we don’t say when we’re leaving exactly, it’s harder for people to track us down” going on. Even though apparently Rosie booked them into a B&B, so it’s not like they can’t be traced.
I mean. I know what they’re doing is mostly superfluous. They’re not—it’s not going to make a difference if the Unknowing gets pushed back, ‘cause it won’t work. They can blow what’s left up after and it’ll still be fine. But I’m kind of worried that they’ll get caught ahead of time and…I don’t know how this stupid Dance is actually supposed to work.
My dad gave me this book of Hans Christian Andersen’s stories when I was a kid. Fake leather binding, gorgeous artwork. It had a picture of Kay asleep in the Snow Queen’s sleigh on the front and full-color plates in it. My favorite story was “The Red Shoes”. I don’t know why I liked that one so much, but I used to ask my dad to read it to me, over and over, and he always did the same voices and everything. Every time someone mentions the Dancer, or the Dance, I hear his voice, pretending to be the angel in the churchyard.
“Dance you shall,” said he, “dance in your red shoes till you are pale and cold, till your skin shrivels up and you are a skeleton! Dance you shall, from door to door, and where proud and wicked children live you shall knock, so that they may hear you and fear you! Dance you shall, dance—!”
It didn’t end happily, that story. Or it did, depending on how you look at it. She repented and got forgiven in the end, but then died immediately. Dad always said Andersen had to end it that way because he knew if she didn’t die right away, she’d fall right back into her old ways. I don’t know if that’s the parallel I’m thinking of with this…creepy puppet person or if I’m just thinking about it because of the dancing bit.
I think it helps that I got all that stuff about India off my chest already. I didn’t—there are universes where I didn’t talk about it and I was just so angry all the time. I��m always angry, let’s be honest. That hasn’t changed. But I didn’t let it…fester. There’s some things festering, sure, but not all of it, and I’m really glad of that, I think.
I can do this. We can do this. And (heh) I like this plan a lot. Don’t know much about it, but I know how it’s going to end, and I am completely on board with that.
Oh, and Martin—if you’re listening to this…you’ve got a deal. After everything is over, I’ll get Jon Prime to get that bullet out. I promise.
[CLICK]
———
[CLICK]
TIM
Jon, Martin, if you’re listening to this before we leave…don’t. Please just don’t. You can listen to this later. After. Not now. I can’t say this if I know you’re going to listen to it before. And whatever else you are, whatever put these recorders here, I—if you tell them, I will find some way of making your existence miserable for all time. Don’t test me. I’ll manage it somehow.
I…I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to…you know what, no. It works when the others do it, so…what the hell.
Statement of Timothy Stoker, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, London, involving conclusions and endings. Given directly, fifth August, 2017. Statement begins.
I know I’m not coming back from this. I realized that a couple weeks ago. It’s been…not as hard as it should be, actually, to sit with them and smile and joke and be…me. I should feel worse about it. I should regret it more, mourn more for what I’m not getting, you know? There should have been more hesitancy. More melancholy.
It should’ve been harder for me to hide it from them.
But…it’s not. It’s like Jon’s dad said in his statement. Regretting the life you won’t get just means you waste the life you do. So even knowing I won’t live past…tomorrow, I’ve been making memories. For them if not for me. Charlie especially, he doesn’t need to…he’s lost enough in his life. Better for him not to dwell on it. But for all of them, I don’t want their memories of these last few days to be…tainted with knowing I’m going to die. Or with knowing that I knew I was going to die.
I—I need to do this. It’s not like it used to be. It used to be all revenge. Even a year ago, I would have gone full red rum on this museum and started hacking up waxworks to punish them for what they, it, did to Danny. It’s not the same now. I don’t have that burning hatred, that thirst for revenge…plus, you know, it might be kind of hard to swing an axe with one hand in a cast, so that’s out. Don’t get me wrong, I want to pay them back for skinning my brother. I want to pay them back for threatening Martin and torturing Jon. For what they did in that—that other universe to Sasha, to Jon Prime, and, well, maybe a little to me. I do want revenge for all of that.
It’s just that now it’s—I can get revenge just by watching it collapse. Don’t have to blow it all up for that. The best revenge might be seeing the look on Nikola Orsinov’s plastic face when she discovers that she hasn’t danced the world new after all. That it’s still the same old world and she hasn’t won a damn thing. Might be worth it for that.
But it won’t be. I have to—if we just let it collapse, they might still be able to try again. Who knows who else might be hurt, might be killed, because the Stranger has so much power just…swirling around? Whereas if we blow it up, we can disrupt all of that. We can keep anyone else from finding their brother’s skin pulled off like a tablecloth, or from being chased by a monster pretending to wear someone else’s skin, or from spending two weeks tied to a chair and being basted like a turkey. I can’t let the Stranger go near them again. I can’t let them be hurt.
So. Plastic explosives it is.
And I’m not—I know it’s not as easy as we want it to be. I talked to Daisy. I know what the range on that detonator is. Even if I know when the ritual starts, I won’t be able to clear the building completely before pushing the trigger or I’ll be too far away from the charges and they won’t blow. The only way to be sure they all go off is to still be underneath the building, right in the middle of everything. I might be able to run for it and get out in time, but it’d be touch and go. Daisy’s opinion is that I’ll have a better chance of survival if I stay put and hope the building collapses in such a way that I survive, but I don’t need freaky Eye powers to know she doesn’t think my chances are good either way.
Even before knowing that, though, I didn’t think I was going to live through this. And I’m—(small laugh) I’m not okay with that. I’m not! But I’ve come to terms with it, I guess. I don’t want to die, but if I have to…you know. As long as Jon and Martin are safe, it’s worth it.
(deep breath) That…that actually did help. Got it all out without stumbling over myself. So…thanks for that, I guess.
Oh, uh…Jon, Martin, there’s a file in the bottom drawer in the living room. It’s all my insurance paperwork. I, uh, I had my policy updated a couple weeks ago. It’s not much, but…it should at least help with the house payments. You know.
I know it’s not—if it’s not enough, it should at least be something.
And…I’m sorry.
[CLICK]
———
[CLICK]
PAST MARTIN
(small sigh) Statement of Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant at the Magnus Institute, regarding his final thoughts. Recorded direct from subject, fifth of August, 2017.
It’s almost the end of the day. We’ve already closed down everything, buttoned everything up. We’re just waiting for—Elias—to come down and confirm the arrangements like he threatened, and then we’ll leave. I think. I don’t think we’re planning to stay here overnight. Actually, I know we aren’t, because Jon just shoved the recorder and the tape everyone’s been putting their final thoughts on into my hands and pointed me at the War Room and asked me to please just get mine on here already.
I’m scared. I don’t think that’s a big secret. This might be it. This might be…when it’s all said and done, this tape might actually be everyone’s last words. Well, not everyone’s, but…well, maybe. We all pretend to think the people who are staying behind are going to be safer than the ones who go, but that’s not necessarily accurate. I mean, the first face of the plan is the one about Great Yarmouth and the House of Wax and blowing up the Stranger, which, you know, explosives and the Stranger. We know that’s going to be dangerous. But the other face is the one that’s going to be…
It’s going to be just as dangerous, I think. Maybe more. Because it’s about taking down Elias Bouchard.
It’s about taking down Jonah Magnus.
We don’t know all the details. Jon Prime has a plan, he seems pretty confident it’ll work, but he’s not telling us all the specifics. I don’t know if it’s because we can’t accidentally reveal what we don’t know or because he’s trying to protect us. Either way, he hasn’t told us any more beyond what it is he needs us to do. After that, he just said, “Leave it to me.”
I—I trust him. I do. I believe he has a plan, I believe that it’ll work. I’m sure everything is going to work out there. But if it goes wrong…
Something’s going to go wrong. I’m almost sure of it. It’s, it’s, my luck cannot be this good. There’s no way we come out of this all right. Something’s going to go wrong and, and we’re not going to succeed, or someone’s going to get badly hurt, or—
I can’t lose them now. I can’t.
God there’s—there’s so much I want to say. So much I should say. Jon, Tim, if you’re listening to this and—I-I’m sorry. I want to say it, but…but at the same time, I refuse to have the first time I tell you be on tape. It’s going to be in person or not at all. (heh) Maybe I’ll get the nerve up to say something tonight, but I doubt it. Don’t want to make you guys uncomfortable, just in case…just in case it’s just me that feels this way.
B-but, but you’re both smart. You can probably guess what I’m not saying. So if you’re listening to this, and I’m not…there, and I didn’t say anything before…yeah. I do. Both of you. Really and truly, from the bottom of my heart.
(sigh) I just need them to be safe. I can handle anything as long as they’re safe.
Wh—okay, okay, Elias is coming. I need to go.
Right, this is it. Here we go.
Good luck to all of us. I think we’re going to need it.
[CLICK]
———
[CLICK]
ARCHIVIST
Right, I know you don’t expect me to say anything here, but…I’m having trouble settling down, and I’m hoping getting my thoughts out will help with that. So.
Statement of Jonathan Sims Prime, the Archivist, regarding…round two. Recorded direct from subject, fifth April, 2017…barely. Statement begins.
I am ready. I know I am ready. I will never be more ready. All our plans are laid, and this will be the best opportunity I have, we have, to carry them out. I also know this may be my only chance.
(sigh) That’s not quite true. It may be—it will be my only chance to take out Elias Bouchard, not Jonah Magnus. I don’t need the Eye’s power to know that. If he knows I’m here, if he knows I’m planning to destroy him, he’ll run. He’ll find someone he deems worthy to be his successor and take their place. Elias Bouchard’s body will be found…somewhere, and there will be another running around with Jonah Magnus’ eyes, someone I won’t recognize. He’ll find somewhere else to build up as the Eye’s new pedestal, find a new Archivist, someone to be a new linchpin for his plan. And the whole thing will start again.
There’s—there is a part of me that thinks, well, that won’t be so bad. As long as all of the others survive…as long as I haven’t failed them…it’s not the worst thing in the world. Certainly Jonah won’t try with anyone at the Institute again. It could take years for him to build up enough strength to attempt his ritual, to—to find a willing vessel, or at least a pliant one. Certainly I could try to hunt him down. With Tim’s ability to See marks, and with everyone else’s ability to Know and get answers—
No. No, I can’t think like this. I-I have to stay positive. We have a plan. It’s a good plan. It’s going to work.
If I’m honest, I am far more worried about the team heading to Great Yarmouth than I am about the ones staying here. I know I can protect the ones here. Jonah will threaten, he’ll torture, but he won’t risk trying to actually physically harm them or, God forbid, kill them. Not until they’re closer to where we’re going to spring the trap, and at that point, I’ll be there. No, Jonah isn’t the danger, not right now. Not…today, I guess. The danger is in the Unknowing.
I know what they face. I know what the risks are. I—God, sometimes I still think I can hear that music, see those…horrible dancers. I would have said it was the worst experience of my life, until…later. Until I had to face the possibility of losing Martin before I told him how I felt. But even so…it was terrifying, and dangerous, and so much more than we had ever expected.
And it cost us Tim.
I cannot, will not, pay that cost again. I didn’t—I wasn’t in a good place then, and I didn’t realize how much he might have meant to me, but…we were friends, once, even if we weren’t as close as he and Sasha were. And it hurt me dreadfully to lose him. It was worse on Martin—God, poor Martin. He so very nearly lost us both, left alone with two people who never fully trusted him, who bonded with each other and excluded him, even when he was still trying to be a part of things…
That cannot happen. They have to be all right. All of them. They’ll—it’s going to be fine. I know what to warn them about. I know what they have to be aware of. They have all the tools they need. They will go in, set the charges, get out, detonate them, and collapse for a good night’s sleep. They’ll all be home tomorrow. It’s going to be fine.
This time tomorrow, it will all be over. Much of the Stranger’s power will be dissolved, the Unknowing a pile of rubble. Jonah Magnus will be gone for good. The world will be safe.
The team will be safe.
They have to be. I can’t let myself believe anything less.
[CLICK]
———
[CLICK]
MARTIN
(haltingly) Statement of Martin Blackwood Prime, on the morning of his friends’ departure, again. Taken direct from subject, sixth April, 2017.
…
God. I—I didn’t realize that actually meant anything when I said it. Even back then. Even just me, just with the little I was doing…I guess I did actually manage to get enough of the Eye’s attention that it, it did a little, anyway. Not enough that I could get a coherent statement out of anyone else, o-or maybe it was by the time they left, but…it was enough.
I can’t feel it now. Not even a little bit. There’s—there’s nothing. I’m cut off from the Eye well and proper, which, I mean, that’s what we wanted, but…
Well. Except for the parts I let it have back.
So that’s why I’m awake doing this. I had the nightmare again. I’ve—I’ve had it a lot, especially lately. Reliving that gallery of horrors, the one I passed through on my trip back in time. I didn’t at first, and I think we both thought—we all thought—that I still had enough of a connection to the Eye not to satisfy it with my fear. But that’s not the case. I think it was just at first that Past Jon wasn’t strong enough to dream about me, and the others definitely weren’t, and the Eye didn’t quite know what to do with Jon. Then, um, then he took the doctor’s statement, and I-I think that woke the Eye up.
It’s only been since Christmas that I—that Jon and I, really—have been having that nightmare. Wasn’t until tonight that I figured it out. See, Jon and I sleep during the day most of the time, and then we’re up most of the night. So I’m the only one Jon can usually relive, because the other live statements he took this time around—he’s normally awake while they’re sleeping and vice versa. But then there’s me.
I still wouldn’t have figured it out, actually, except that I saw the others in my dream tonight, too. Past Jon and Tim and Sasha and Past Me, they were—they were all there, all watching. First time I’ve been asleep while they were. No idea how long they’ve been dreaming, but here we are.
Anyway, yeah. Woke up from that, Jon’s still asleep, so I slipped up here to add my voice to this tape. I’m assuming this is the right one, since it was, you know, sitting out invitingly and all. If I’m ruining another statement, um, sorry.
Okay. Anyway.
It doesn’t feel as hard, staying behind this time. If I’m being honest, a big part of why I hated staying back was because I didn’t want to let Jon go without me. I wasn’t…I hadn’t admitted how I felt. I mean, it’s not like nobody knew about my crush—I think just about everyone in the Institute except Jon knew about that—but I-I don’t think even Elias knew it was more than that. And I hadn’t said anything to Jon. I kept telling myself there’d be another chance, there’d be time later, but—even back then, I didn’t believe it. I didn’t believe the universe would let me be happy.
Now I know I was wrong.
I had to work for it. I had to fight for it. But I got that second chance. I am loved, and I am in love. (heh) I’m engaged, and it’s the first time I’ve really thought about the future in…years. Maybe the universe doesn’t want to let me be happy, but I am happy, so—so suck it, Cosmic Entities.
But yeah. I’m staying here…obviously, I wouldn’t be any use at the Unknowing, and I have a pretty crucial part to play in Jon’s plan. But more importantly, Jon—my Jon—will be here, too. I can—I know he’ll be all right. I know I’ll be here for him if anything goes wrong.
He tried to find a way around me being involved. Wanted me to, I don’t know, stay in our room, stay out of it, stay safe. I wouldn’t let him. Not anymore. Not again. Even if there’s not a lot I can do…I can at least do something to help him. And even if I couldn’t, I’d at least be there for him. He’s not doing this alone. We do this together, or not at all. That’s the deal.
That’s always been the deal.
All right, that’s…I think those are all my thoughts on the matter. Going to go back down and curl up with Jon for a little while longer, at least until it’s time to get things moving. It might be our last chance. But then again, every time we get to do this might be our last chance. You never know what’s coming. So if you treat every moment you get to spend with the one you love as though it’s the last one you’ll spend together…well, it makes every moment special. A-and it, it kind of makes the next moment better, because it’s a moment you didn’t know you’d have.
Yeah, okay, I’m done being sappy and maudlin for now. Gonna go lie down.
Good luck, you lot. I know you can do it.
Oh, wait, one more thing. Jon, Tim, Martin…if you three haven’t said out loud that you’re in love with each other? For fuck’s sake, do it now. Whatever happens today, you don’t want to come out the other side wishing you hadn’t left something unsaid.
And it’s a lot easier to survive if you know someone who loves you is counting on it.
[CLICK]
#ollie writes fanfic#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#tma#the magnus archives#jonmartin#jonmartim#explosive violence#death and dying#slight suicidal ideation#the formatting's better on AO3
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Hey ho everyone. A new, very short, but hopefully funny story, this time for @highwarlockemrysrage. I didn’t forget your idea and but yeah - it took me sooooo long. Sorry :/
Thanks like always for the beta reading, @shin-arei.
Enjoy!
Jonathan stared lost in his half-full whiskey glass, poured the remaining alcohol down his dry throat after a brief swirl. It was the third Friday evening of the month. This meant an almost 'secret' meeting of some villains, who gathered together near the Iceberg Lounge in a rather poorly frequented bar and wildly discussed future evil plans. The Master of Fear smiled a little, felt the slight sting deep in his throat. These gatherings were now the real highlights of a busy week, especially when the well selected company could talk or argue with one another undisturbed. The one and only Edward Nygma, Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley, Jervis Tetch and Harvey Dent in particular were part of the small group beside Jonathan. Every now and then Victor Fries also honoured the talkative group, but the serene cryologist was stupidly stuck in Arkham again for more than two months. In fact, given their questionable positions in Gotham, that wasn't really surprising for anyone. Someone was always wanted by the police and was either in a psychiatric ward or in the normal prison in Black Gate. So for better or worse they had to do their little talk without Mr. Freeze today. Before Jonathan could worry about his now good friend in Arkham, Edward thundered his glass on the rancid table without a warning. The Riddler wiped his mouth and mumbled in a voice that had grown rough from the high amount of alcohol: "And you really think that you will succeed with this - let's call it careful - 'plan' to finally overthrow Batman, Harvey? No offence, but the idea is so absurd and ridiculous that I don't even want to think about helping you with it. That would be a waste of my precious resources and especially time. Many of you probably don't care what Gotham thinks of you, but I have a good reputation to lose!” This outburst was followed by an amused giggle from the botanist. The redhead stirred the alcohol-free cocktail with a wooden stick and replied almost cynically: “What reputation do you mean, Eddy? Maybe with your beloved delivery service? We all know that you order three pizzas a day and that you insist to get the third delivery of food for free because you are such a loyal customer. I would almost laugh if it wasn't so sad. You are so close to be absolutely pathetic."
The addressee snorted angrily and cracked his fingers threateningly. Ivy had hit an open nerve in the quick-tempered nerd again. Before he could answer, however, Jervis came before him, who replied quietly: “Please don't listen to Mr. Nygma. He loves to talk about things that he doesn't really understand. I think your idea is brilliant, Mr. Dent, and it is absolutely realistic to implement. If I can help you in any way, I will be happy to offer you my humble services. For a reasonable fee, of course.” Two-Face smiled crookedly, the burned half of his face didn't react properly at that moment, as usual. The former attorney poured himself another whiskey into his glass and smelled the alcohol. He sipped the drink, then played with his silver coin in his hand. Harvey mumbled softly: “We'll find something you can help me out with, Jervis. And you don't have to worry about the right payment. One hand washes the other after all. I will keep my promise.” The next moment his face twisted into a horrible grimace. His second personality hissed angrily: “And for you, Nygma, we still have a cosy, warm place left in the crematorium. You slimy piece of gay shit!” “Well well!”, the clearly drunk harlequin suddenly rebuked her friend with an exaggerated smile,“we are a decent community here and we shouldn't mess with each other with dirty words. You two obviously disagree, and that's fine too. No reason to argue now. Besides, we don't discriminate against minorities, Harv." The Riddler crossed his arms in anger over his chest, chewing on his lower lip visibly ill-tuned. Contrary to his wish to finally make room for his anger, the tinkerer remained silent on the harsh insults. This was probably due to the simple fact that the former lawyer always appeared heavily armed to the meetings and could do without a bullet or two from the revolver in order to do his own kind of persuasion. Scarecrow sighed cautiously and spoke calmly: "I don't understand any more why we have to discuss Edward's sexual orientation almost every time we meet." The Riddler growled throatily and spat back to the former psychiatrist louder than planned: "Oh and right now we don't have to talk about yours or what? For your small information, John: we've been a goddamn couple for eight months! Besides, I can already guess what to expect in the bedroom tonight if you keep drinking like this. Fuck, you are really unbearable when you have reached a certain alcohol level. Irresponsible drunk bastard. "
Harvey suddenly smirked. Apparently this time both sides had decided unanimously that the nerd's exaggerated reaction contributed to the general amusement of society. Pamela rolled her eyes and replied dryly: "At least he doesn't start crying like you do with the second glass of whiskey, Eddy." The addressee opened his mouth to say something, but he seemed to have no words. It was all the more fitting that the frightened bartender put a new bottle of whiskey on the table. Harley was now lying with his head on her forearms, muttering unintelligible words. The alcohol had done its work for the lively woman. For a moment silence fell between the villains until the Mad Hatter asked softly: "We are still no closer to the initial question, ladies and gentlemen." The Master of Fear wrinkled his nose. Like every week, they puzzled over the true identity of the Dark Knight. The wildest ideas had already emerged, especially when enough hard liquor had flowed. Last month, Harley had actually tried to suspect Selina Kyle and was not dissuaded all evening before her suggestion. Pamela's justified objections were also successfully ignored by the young woman. Catwoman could simply hide her ample breasts under her armour and speak in a deeper voice. The fact that the two heroes were often seen together did not seem to have been a counter-argument for her stupid theory. Jonathan burped cautiously and stared tipsy at the coaster on the table. Tonight the usual suspects had all been discussed at length. As always, Bruce Wayne was a must. Nevertheless, another person seemed to want to push himself into the centre that night, who was always pushed aside so far. As if to confirm another ludicrous idea, the inventor grumbled sceptically: “That won't do anything in this group anyway, Jervis. Half of those present are no longer entirely in their consolation when we seriously talk about whether the ugly clown face could be the Bat. How the hell do you come up with such a mental shitstorm?" The former lawyer groaned loudly at this statement and replied in a scratchy voice: "Can you actually do anything other than just complain, Nygma? You're really getting on our nerves, smart ass." Edward breathed jerkily. He appeared to be about to explode.
To everyone surprise, Harley suddenly lifted her head and slurred confidently: “Puddin is definitely not Batsy. Never! In! The! Fucking! Life! I swear on everything I love and like!” That was probably all that the blonde-haired woman could contribute to the conversation. As confirmation, her head jerked back onto her forearms. Pamela put an arm gently around her drunken girlfriend and hesitantly added: “If anyone knows anything about the Clown, it must be this crazy woman here. I think we can remove Joker from the list of suspects with a clear conscience. For good this time.” The Mad Hatter straightened his top hat a little and took a sip of the bitter black tea. An unproductive silence fell between those present. As usual, this was broken by Edward again: “Well, we're back to the beginning, aren't we? We're going round and round successfully, gentlemen.” That night, too, they probably wouldn't get a step closer to the riddle called Batman. Some things probably never changed.
#DC#Batman#Jonathan Crane#Scarecrow#edward nygma#Riddler#Poison Ivy#pamela lillian isley#Two-Face#Harvey Dent#Jervis Tetch#Mad Hatter#Harleen Quinzel#Harley Quinn#Drunk folks#For highwarlockemrysrage
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Rebirth of A Samurai (Final Part)
Summary: This fic is a what if scenario to SMT4 Apocalypse. I would go into more detail, but I don’t want to spoil too much of what this fic entails. If this fic gains traction I may continue the story on from this one-shot. Warning: This is a long one.
This may be the last I write for awhile with college right around the corner. I won’t stop completely, but it will become a lot slower.
He only heard it when he got like this. When he became blind to anything else, but rage.
“A man who forgets kindness is no worse than a demon.”, he suddenly remembered Jonathan’s words as a feeling crept up inside him.
A part of him was also yelling at him to stop and realize what he’s doing. Flynn blinked trying to regain his sense of self which became blotted out by rage when Nanashi taunted him about Isabeau’s death. No. No. No matter what Nanashi had done this was far too cruel. He had to stop, he had to give him a chance to explain himself. The angered voice practically roared at him thinking that. But, he ignored his angered voice he remembered where exactly losing himself has gotten him. If he had a clearer head then his mother would still be alive. No he wasn’t going to listen anymore!
Vishnu-Flynn stopped his assault, greatly confusing and relieving Dadga. Flynn felt all the blood coating his skin like back then and he felt just as disgusted as he was then if not worse. He lowered his blades as he looked down at Nanashi’s mangled form which regrow itself. His blood ran cold after finally stopping and seeing what exactly he’d been doing. What was wrong with him?! No matter how angry he was, this was just...unacceptable.
Ryou rejoiced in seeing for once he reached Flynn. His feelings didn’t often reach Flynn because of how buried he was, but he finally got through to him.
Flynn waited for Nanashi to prepare himself before he pointed his blade at him. It wasn’t to attack him again, it was just to make sure he didn’t try anything. He could see the fear in Nanashi’s eyes as he looked up at him. He felt like looking away in shame, but he kept his gaze locked on Nanashi.
Nanashi was completely perplexed as to why Flynn stopped, but he wasn’t complaining. He was glad to finally take a breath. Though, he didn’t exactly need to breathe it calmed his nerves, something he desperately needed after that. He couldn’t help but tremble. He didn't want to look like a scared kid but...How was he supposed to keep cool after that massacre?! Vishnu-Flynn cast a massive shadow over hit feeble form. His gold and red eyes gazed into his soul. He shouldn’t have killed the others at least not before facing him. He needed their help, in his overconfidence he bit off far more than he could chew. His heart nearly jumped out of his mending chest when Vishnu-Flynn pointed his blade at him. He couldn’t hide his trembling now, his fear that Vishnu-Flynn wouldn’t stop trying to kill him till in stuck.
“Why did you do it? Why did you betray everyone?”, Vishnu-Flynn asked, he sounded hurt.
“I-I!”, Nanashi stuttered, still not completely together mentally believing if he said the wrong thing the former samurai would continue his assault.
He met Vishnu-Flynn’s gaze which was a lot less cruel and enraged now. He could see in his eyes he wanted to forgive him, to understand why he did this. The gaze brought up a distant memory from within him of a kind man with sympathy even for demons, Ryou. It helped him relax a bit and made him feel he wasn’t about to be killed on the spot for saying the wrong thing.
“I-I thought it was the only way...To free humanity from YHVH forever…”, Nanashi admitted.
“You think that was worth betraying everyone? Why don’t you just kill YHVH?”, Vishnu-Flynn questioned.
“Because he’ll come back and he’ll keep coming back as long as people long for gods. In our new world there will be no gods, people will stand on their own two feet, not relying on others or praying for help like weaklings. The others would have gotten in our way since we were going to destroy this universe before creating ours.”, Dadga said, revealing himself.
Dadga was taken aback when he heard Vishnu-Flynn wheeze and completely break into laughter. Dadga’s eye twitched he was laughing at him. He could feel a bit of condescension in his laughter.
“You’re a hypocrite like Lucifer and Merkabah. You claim you want people to stand on their own and not rely on others when you’re relying on someone yourself. A vulnerable fifteen year old boy is the one you chose to have do your bidding, Dadga. You're pathetic.”, Vishnu-Flynn said in a scathing and venomous tone.
“You tore apart that fifteen year old boy yourself! Oh great Tokyo Liberator your just as much as a fucking monster as Shesha.”, Dadga shot back.
“Way to change the subject...I guess that’s an admission. I won’t deny what I did, you're right I am a monster. To the point when I fight I sometimes completely lose myself like just now. But, I would never dream of betraying good loyal people like you did. If things had continued as they had I may have ended up killing Jonathan and Walter myself, but that’s because they had lost themselves and were going to ruin the world. But, if they hadn’t changed if they stayed themselves like Isabeau I would have never even thought about killing them. You on the other hand betrayed your own allies so you could create your stupid universe. Well, I don’t care what silly justification you give to justify for committing genocide on a entire people no universe,...I don’t care who you are. If you intend to sacrifice innocent lives for your plans I’ll wipe you from this Earth.”, Vishnu-Flynn said, staring into Dadga’s eyes with a fiery resolve.
Dadga grew nervous knowing he was serious about killing him. He could tell about looking into his eyes he had the eyes of a godslayer and a killer. That’s what he truly was. That’s what godslayers were and that’s why every faction wanted him for themselves. They wanted his monstrous power on their side so they could topple their enemies. He knew he was stuck. He had an idea before to make him pause, but he realized it might end up making things worse for them. His godslayer was a shivering wreck right now. He clicked his tongue. He’s going to have to cut his losses right now and hope Krishina doesn’t regain control over Flynn to bring about his salvation then try again. Dadga was ambitious, but he wasn’t stupid he knew right now neither he nor his ‘godslayer’ couldn’t defeat Flynn and he was almost out of power. So he ran. Before Vishnu-Flynn realized what he was doing he disappeared leaving behind Nanashi. Considering him a failure Dadga withdrew his powers from the boy, deciding that he’d start again.
Vishnu-Flynn’s attention snapped to Nanashi’s when his body clattered on the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The form Vishnu-Flynn melted away leaving Flynn who ran to the dying Nanashi.
“Nanashi!”, he called out bending down over him.
“Why the fuck..do you sound so concerned..you fucking moron?!”, Nanashi questioned, genuinely confused as to why Flynn was showing him any sympathy.
Ryou, he’s back. Even now after all the shit he’s been through he still chose forgiveness. Damn. His current self right he is fucking moron. He always told Ryou that he didn’t have to feel sympathy for everyone. That he didn’t have to always apologize. Some people are just shit that’s just how it was. Yet, that idiot never once listened to him and continued to be stupid even when it tore him apart. After seeing Flynn’s rampage he realized that it was probably for the best Ryou never listened to him. Even after that rampage, Ryou's compassion once again entered his incarnation's eyes.
“Because you were used just like I was by Krishna. I think he sat back because he wanted me to kill you for him. Besides nothing’s wrong about having some by your side while you die. Everyone deserves that.”, Flynn replied, making Nanashi scoff.
He winced as he felt all feeling starting to leave his body. His vital organs were shutting down.
“That’s why...I called you a moron...You're hopelessly sappy...like Asahi...ah...I wonder if even she’ll be glad I’m dead...After everything I done…”, Nanashi muttered, weakly.
Flynn shook his head no at Nanashi’s words.
“I don’t think so. I didn’t know her for long, but I don’t think she’d hate you that much. I think even if they're mad at you now, one day everyone will forgive you.”, Flynn replied.
“Ahh...Bullshit…”, Nanashi muttered, he couldn’t help but chuckle at Flynn’s naive comment.
Flynn held Nanashi’s hand as it grew continuously weaker. He felt like Nanashi was trying to say more, but he lost the strength to speak. The younger boy’s hand shivered weakly and he stared into Nanashi’s natural brown eyes. Something about them felt vaguely familiar to Flynn, but he couldn’t remember where. Nanashi closed them knowing soon he would never open them again. Soon, he could no longer feel his grip and his hand slid down lifeless. Flynn closed his eyes, before he used to pray for those who passed, but after meeting real angels he couldn’t do that in good conscience. If left him not knowing what to do when someone died, the only thing he could do now was tell the others of his death. With a heavy heart he reclaimed Masakado’s katana.
Flynn got up leaving the room noticing Krishna was still worryingly silent. He froze when he saw the dead bodies of Isabeau and the others. He was shocked to see Nozomi; he didn’t know she joined Nanashi. Besides that he didn’t know many of the others who had been with Nanashi besides Asahi. He bent to looking to Isabeau’s crumpled form.
“I’m sorry...I was too late.”, Flynn apologized quietly to the fallen.
After that he went to Fujiwara and Skins who were glad to see him free, but confused that the others weren’t there with him.
“Krishna took control of me and made me kill them. I was too late to break free, most of the Divine Powers are dead and Krishna is still out there somewhere.”, Flynn lied.
“That’s…”, Fujiwara muttered.
“I’m sorry I failed everyone. I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago after that...I don’t know what I’ll do.”, Flynn said softly, before walking past them.
“Wait Flynn!”, Skins called, out but Flynn looked away and kept walked.
He went before the boulder in the 4th district crosswalk in Ginza.
“Masakado. I need your help to rebuild the world.”, Flynn said as he unsheathed the katana.
However, neither the sword nor the rock reacted.
“What?”, Flynn questioned.
Did Masakado give up on him? Does he no longer believe in him after he failed everyone?
“Tokyo no longer needs me.”, Masakado said from within the boulder.
“I need you! I’m lost! I don’t know what to do now!”, Flynn thought with bits of panic.
“Masakado?”, Flynn said.
“You no longer need my protection. You wish to remove the dome and restore Tokyo to its rightful form, no? That is no longer necessary.”, Masakado explained.
“W-what are you talking about?!”, Flynn questioned, not knowing why the god suddenly changed his mind.
“It is now possible for Tokyo and Mikado to coexist, just as you tried to with Nanashi. The two peoples can help one another regardless of the dome’s presence. This is something I realized when Shesha cut a hole through the dome. With Krishna sealed within you. I will rest. Shall fate call again, we will meet once more. The two lands now move through time the same, and gaze upon the same moon. I leave Tokyo’s protection to you, Flynn.”, Masakado explained.
“Me?!”, Flynn questioned in shock.
But, he failed Tokyo! His weakness led to more people suffering! Why was Masakado leaving everything to him?! That’s what got them in this situation! Because everyone left EVERYTHING up to him!
“Farewell, Flynn. May the future you build be filled with hope.”, Masakado said, Flynn’s eye twitched as he listened to Masakado.
A column of light bursts from the rocks and climbs into the sky. It fades from view as it stretches beyond the great blue blanket above. Flynn trembled, still gaping in disbelief at Masakado’s words.
“Hoy what the fuck are you saying?! Come back here you bastard!”, Flynn yelled and in a moment of rage kicked the god’s boulder.
Skins and Fujiwara sweat dropped as they walked in on Flynn yelling at Masakado.
“H-hey?!”, Masakado questioned, taken aback.
“Hoy to yourself! The reason we got in this mess is because everyone relied on me! Only me! What I learned from all of this is that an entire people should never saddle their hopes on one person! And what’s with you changing your mind all of the sudden? Me and Isabeau planned to bring the people down here so they can finally reunite with their kin, but you want to keep them divided by the firmament?! You think a stupid hole will truly reunite everyone?! Are you forgetting that Tokyo still has no freaking sun?! Do you want them to live without one forever?! How does leaving things like that make sense? Get off your ass and finish this with me!”, Flynn yelled as he continued to kick the boulder harder this time.
“He’s completely lost it.”, Skins commented, looking stunned at Flynn’s behavior.
“This is exactly why no one respects you gods! You just sit around and do nothing yet expect people to worship you anyway! You’ve done nothing so don’t peace out on me like you did something!”, Flynn yelled.
“It’s even freakier since he looks exactly like Ryou.”, Fujiwara commented.
Now, the mental image of the mild mannered Ryou kicking Masakado and yelling at him like he was a deadbeat husband was in their minds.
“I saved Tokyo from the nukes!”, Masakado yelled back.
“After I dragged your ass out of your sleep and made you do it! Tokyo was going to be blown to bits while you slept like some deadbeat guardian!”, Flynn yelled back.
“R-Ryou?!”, Masakado questioned, wondering how Flynn remembered that when the specific circumstances before he was used by his previous incarnation weren’t explained.
“If you’re not going to actually do something to reunite Tokyo and Mikado I’ll convince them all to come down here, remove the firmament myself and drag YHVH’s sorry ass off his throne!”, Flynn yelled, kicking Masakado for the final time
Masakado was stunned into silence by the outburst, but he remembered Flynn had been captured and likely tortured for days by the Divine Powers leaving him at his wits end especially with many of his allies gone. With Krishna inside him it probably wasn’t best to leave him in that state. He could feel Flynn has become a god far more powerful than even him.
“Y-you’re right.”, Masakado replied nervously.
“You bet I’m right Masakado take your chalice. I’ll give you the okay when everyone has been evacuated from Mikado.”, Flynn replied.
Then Flynn left for Mikado leaving the stunned Skins and Fujiwara behind.
To be continued?
#shin megami tensei#smt4#smt4 apocalypse#smt flynn#isabeau smt#jonathan smt#walter smt#my crappy writing
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heehee- kinda gay rn,,, can u,,, make a male!reader x Jonathan based off the song Beautiful by Thornly or Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol? Oh and if it could be in a modern universe that'd be nice aaa
Orange juice. - Jonathan Joestar.
Here I am, sorry for the laaate reply. Thank you for requesting something, I absolutely love my boy Jonathan and this was so cute to write!! Expect a lot of fluff, hope this meets your expectations. Enjoy!! x
Male reader (it’s more neutral tbf) x Jonathan Joestar
Jojo’s bizzare adventures: Phantom Blood
AU / modern universe
SFW // minor hints to violence & injuries
words count: 2069
recommended song: chasing cars - snow patrol.
Hi! Are you a new reader? Check my masterlist for more content!
Please feel free to reblog or leave a comment :) help me support my art (it’s free!),
© bearing in mind everything I post/write is my intellectual property so please don’t steal/copy and paste and post it as yours.
Being Jonathan Joestar’s neighbour was fun. Since the day you first met, the two of you became inseparable and it was hard to imagine a world where he wasn’t by your side.
It was a peaceful afternoon when you first met him. He was taking his dog out for a walk, marching proudly on the sidewalk of the street you both lived in, holding the leash tightly to prevent his dog from running away. Jonathan wasn’t older than 6 at that time but he surely was a responsible little man, putting a lot of effort in completing his task.
Unluckily for him, however, a cat dared to cut his dog’s way. In matter of second, the poor boy completely lost control over his dog and its leash. The dog started to bark loudly before starting to chase the cat recklessly, causing Jonathan to trip over and skin his knees. You were playing outside, in the front garden of your house and you saw the entire scene. You quickly grabbed your orange juice and ran towards the injured little boy, whose cheeks were flushing red.
“Are you okay?” you asked in your little squeaking voice, kneeling beside him and patting your little hand on his shoulder. Jonathan simply nodded, too busy trying his best not to cry.
You sat next to him on the cold sidewalk floor and offered him your little orange juice.
“Mommy always gives one to me if I get hurt. It helps!” you encouraged him, who whispered a soft thank you before accepting your kind offer and takin a long sip out of the juice carton.
That was the first time you and the blue haired guy met, and you never left his side since that episode.
Years passed and the bond between the two of you grew incredibly strong. The Joestar’s family welcomed you warmly since the very beginning, making you always feel at home.
You and Jonathan spent a lot of time around each other; during the younger days, you either went at Jonathan’s or at your place to have some play dates. Growing up, your play dates slowly turned into study sessions and lazy afternoons spent on the couch, catching up one of the many tv series you started watching together. Over the years, Jonathan undeniably became the most relevant figure in your life. He was the first friend you ever had, and you experienced some of life’s most important first times together.
He taught you how to ride a bike. You helped him remove the first milk tooth he lost.
Little episodes like these were what really made your relationship so particular, the affection between the two of you was stronger than any other feeling you ever experienced. You never really investigated the way you felt towards each other, always justifying the reciprocal need of spending time together with the simple excuse of it being a habit. A part of you however, knew exactly the reason why you felt as if your skin starved every time it missed his touch; it was the same reason why you felt a strange sensation in your stomach every time he’d hold you in his arms while watching a movie or simply looked you in your eyes.
Admitting your feelings towards him wasn’t something you’d ever consider. You feared your confession would have ruined years of friendship – and the bond you two shared was far too unique for you to lose it.
That night, Jonathan had one of his usual boxing matches. You never quite understood how Jonathan, the kindest person of all time, could practice such a violent sport.
Outside the ring, Jonathan had a very docile behaviour; he was always so kind and a very easy going person. His beautiful smile surely was his signature, it was almost impossible to catch him in a bad mood. Inside the ring however, Jonathan seemed to become a different person. The concentration that the fight required always gave him a stoic expression, which was very unusual for him. His typical gentleness seemed to completely fade away when facing his opponents – but that was part of the game; sports such as boxing didn’t have any space for weaknesses or sentimentalities.
It wasn’t usual for you to assist his matches. You hated the vision of the man you loved getting beaten up with the sole intention of entertainment; seeing him all covered in blood was something you always tried to avoid.
“I know you’re rooting for me” he said to you earlier that afternoon. “But it would be nice to have you there, you know?” he continued, while delicately tracing random patterns on your back with his fingertips.
It was impossible for you not to break under his touch, and you ended up agreeing on going to the match. An excited smile formed on Jonathan’s face, who quickly pulled you closer into his arms, wrapping you in his strong, sweet embrace.
“I should say yes more often.” you chuckled, resting your head on his chest and enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around your body.
Once you reached the gym where Jonathan’s match took place, you sat closely enough to the ring. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, unable to not worry about your best friend.
When his tall figure entered the boxe ring, his eyes started scanning every face in the crowd hoping to recognise yours – and when he did, he couldn’t help but smile shyly. He quickly looked back at the arbiter of the match, trying his best to hide his blushing and starting to focus on the match.
The first rounds were okay. Jonathan seemed more than able to handle the fight – it was highly likely for him to win; but he was tired. As time passed, his movements became slower. His shoulders visibly moved up and down as he breathed, emphasising how fatigued his body was. He staggered but tried his best to retrieve some energy, and never gave up until the last minute.
The match ended when a strong, well placed punch hit Jonathan’s face, making him trip down and almost breaking his nose. Jonathan’s face quickly became covered in blood and once the arbiter announced the victory of the opponent, you quickly rushed to the ring, reaching Jonathan’s body.
“Are you okay? Let me see!” you said, leaning over him who tiredly laid on the ground, still unable to catch his breath.
He simply nodded in response, looking at you with only one eye open while a soft smile adorned his lips. You shook your head hinting a weak laugh, while you helped him to get up. His almost powerless body relayed on yours as you walked to the infirmary, his arched figure still a bit taller than you. After receiving the medical treatments he needed, the two of you made your way out of the gym without saying a word. You were still shaken from the sight of Jonathan’s face covered in blood, even if you knew he was fine.
The awkward silence was interrupted by Jonathan clearing his throat once you reached your car.
“Do you want me to drive?” he asked with a concerned look on his face, his navy blue eyes looking for yours.
He knew exactly how you felt. He saw how your eyes were full of fear when you looked at him laying on the ground, he knew how badly that sight scared you. Afterall, he would have felt the same way if you somehow managed to get hurt.
“Let me.” he added, reaching your hands and slowly taking the car’s keys out of your grip. Placing a delicate kiss on your forehead, he entered the car and silently drove towards the neighbourhood you both lived in. He rested his hand on your thigh during the entire trip as if he wanted to reassure you, lifting it up only when he needed to change the car’s gear. When you finally arrived, he parked the car in front of his home.
“I’ve got some orange juice.” he said keeping his hand on the handbrake of the car, letting out a small laugh to lighten the tension between the two of you. You nodded in response and agreeing to his implict invite, causing Jonathan to smile.
Walking behind him, you entered the house. He extended his arm backwards, only to reach and grab your hand as both of you silently walked into the kitchen. You sat on the table as Jonathan handed you a glass of orange juice, cheering with you before taking a sip.
“Sorry.” you finally said, making Jonathan frown. “I just worried too much. It’s not because I underestimate you, I just hate the whole concept of you getting hurt.”
Jonathan cheeks flushed hearing your words, cautiously bringing himself closer to you inserting himself in the space between your legs. Towering you, he reached one of your cheeks and cupped it with his strong hands. He left a small kiss on your nose before embracing you, letting your head rest on his chest.
“I know.”
You sighed shaking your head; you were sure he had no clue about the reason why you felt this way. It wasn’t a matter of overprotectiveness, nor it was as simple as a worrying for a friend. It was love, although this meant everything and nothing at the same time.
Without any type of warning, Jonathan muscular arms picked you up. Your puzzled expression caused him to laugh, as he walked towards his bedroom and gently laid you on his bed. He handed you one of his t-shirts and laid exactly next to you, stretching his right arm over the length of the bed ready to welcome you in his arms.
“What –“ you were just about to start ranting millions questions when you saw Jonathan shaking his head in dissent.
“Would you just lie with me and just forget the world? Please?” he said, looking at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen – he knew you just couldn’t resist his puppy eyes. And he was right, as you agreed silently, leaning your head on his chest and listening to the calming sound of his heartbeat.
“I don’t quite know how to explain what I feel,” he said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above you. “But I’d react the same way if you’d ever got hurt.”
You looked at him, your hands caressing the wounds caused by the earlier boxing match. Your fingertips traced his handsome lineaments: his jaw, the shape of his lips, his nose; you couldn’t help but being mesmerised by his beauty and wonder whether he ever looked at you the same way you were doing just now. If he ever shivered whenever you touched him, if he ever felt his heart pounding in his chest just because of something you said.
“It’s not the same, Jonathan.” you mumbled with a distracted tone.
“I think it is.” the sound of this words echoed inside of your head. What did he mean? Did he know? You tried to speak it felt as if words were just trapped in your throat; you gulped, trying to not let your mind jumping to conclusions.
Jonathan attentive eyes were locked on your face, following every movement of yours in hope to decipher your emotions – did he just say too much? He cleared his throat, not knowing exactly what to do. He was just as embarrassed as you were, and afraid that his feelings would have ruined everything.
You smiled as your cheeks were boiling hot, colouring your cheeks in red. You rested your forehead on his, your eyes intertwined in his. He slowly let his hands sliding along your back, stopping them on your hips as he gently put you on top of him. You’ve never been this close; you could hear his breath on your lips, you could see your reflection in his eyes – and you never looked so beautiful.
“Are you sure?” you asked whispering as your lips formed a soft smile on your face.
He smiled in response, nodding. Before you could say anything or process his response, he leaned towards you and kissed you passionately, wrapping his arms around your body as if he wanted to eliminate any space between the two of you. He wanted you closer; closer than you’ve ever been to him.
“Sure.” He replied once he broke your kiss, unable to stop himself from smiling.
#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure#Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken#JoJo's Bizzare Adventures#jojo x reader#jonathan joestar#jonathan x reader#joestars#requests#requests are open#phantom blood#jojo meme#jojo#jojo's part 1#jojo oneshot#jojo x oc#jojo imagines#jojo fanart#jojo no kimyou na bouken#jojo bizarre adventure#jojo phantom blood
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