#this is just the beginning of this series
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it's always been you | s.jy
pairing: sim jake x reader
summary: jake is your best friend of over a decade, and you lose your mind when he gets asked out on a date.
warnings: university setting, roommate! jake, childhood best friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, unprotected sex, hardom! jake, sub! reader, degredation, possessiveness, spanking, fingering, overstimulation, vaginal sex, cream pie, implied breeding kink, angst, misunderstanding, fluff.
note: this was originally meant to be a jungwon fic but i though jake fit the vibes more. also the ending is based off a rom-com, and if you have watched it you will definitely be able to tell what it is. also, some of the scenes are based off the addicted series by kristie and becca richie.
wc: 4.0k
This was your fault, really. You knew you had no right to be mad that Jake was seeing other girls. He didn’t have any obligation always to be there to look after you like he used to.
The walls at your shared apartment were thin, and it’s not like it was all that large, so you could clearly hear him and his date laughing and eating the dinner he made them.
If you remembered correctly, she asked him out a week ago after his Physics lecture. Jake told you he noticed her staring at him since the beginning of the semester, chuckling to himself. You pretended to laugh alongside him, trying your best to hide your panic at the thought of him accepting a proposal from her. Sarah, you think her name was. Or Sanah? You groaned and rubbed your forehead.
He always made meals for you, and as much as you knew you were being ridiculous, it made you feel like he didn’t care about you anymore now that he was so preoccupied with another girl. Your mind started to spiral into what the future could be once he got serious about his relationship with her. He’d probably stop spending time with you, move out of your apartment, or make you find another place to stay at.
You and Jake have been best friends for over twelve years, and all you have ever known is him. You practically lived at each other’s houses growing up, and didn’t hesitate to move in together and attend the same university. He was your shoulder to cry on when a boy broke your heart, when your grandfather passed away, and you failed an important exam. He was always there. You had no idea how you would cope without him.
You slammed your pillow onto your face and screamed. God, you were being so ridiculously dramatic. You had to grow up and accept that Jake does not belong to you.
You dressed into your casual errand clothes and quietly walked out of your bedroom. You definitely needed some air to think, and you couldn’t handle hearing one more giggle coming from Jake’s new girlfriend’s mouth. You knew he wasn’t that funny, so why on earth was she laughing so much?
You were crouching down slightly and tip-toeing through the main hall of your apartment, hoping to leave without the two lovebirds noticing you. You were just at the entrance putting on your running shoes when you heard, “Hi! Y/N, right?” You turned around to face the girl that has been haunting your thoughts for the past few days. She was fucking gorgeous, with a warm and kind smile. God, you hated how insecure you began to feel.
“Hello! Uhm…,” Your voice was shaky, and you couldn’t find it in you to look at her eyes. You noticed Jake behind her in the kitchen, washing their dishes. He looked slightly concerned at your state but didn’t say anything.
“Sanah! My name is Sanah. Jake has told me a lot about you. I heard you guys grew up in the same town. That’s so cool! Most of my friends from back in town went overseas for uni so it’s been quite hard to make friends here,” Sanah sighed. You hated how nice she was. You wish she would just glare at you and make catty comments so it would be easier to hate her, but no, Jake had to choose the most perfect girl in the entire fucking university.
“So where are you off to, Y/N?” Sanah asked.
“Oh…I-I’m just going out to…to get some groceries. We’re running low on a few things,” you stumbled on your words like an idiot.
“I stocked up on everything yesterday, don’t worry about it,” Jake said from the kitchen, drying his hands on a towel.
“We-well, uhm…I’ll just go get some snacks then,” your hands were already on the door knob.
“It’s okay, I bought your favourite. The strawberry muffins, right? They’re in the pantry.”
You gulped, and your eyes were looking around for a way to escape. Jake started walking up towards you and Sanah, but you couldn’t be around this any longer. Your hands were shaking, and you opened the door abruptly, “Uh, yeah. Well, I-I just…I’ll get going, bye.”
You walked out of the apartment and down towards the elevator at the end of the hallway. You sighed with relief but you were also sweating from stress. You hated how you acted back there, like a complete bitch. You put your face into your hands, thinking of how Sanah probably hates your guts now and Jake is going to refuse to talk to you for days for utterly embarrassing him.
You finally walked into the elevator, but just as the doors were about to close, a strong arm stopped it, followed by Jake stepping into the space. His hair was a mess, likely due to him running the length of the hallway to get here. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he was looking at you with a completely still face. He faced away from you to press the close button.
“Jake?!” You gasped, “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to check on you,” Jake murmured.
“I’m okay, I’m fine. What the fuck? Go back. Did you seriously just leave Sanah alone?”
“I told her to go home,” he casually put his hands in his pocket, like he wasn’t being completely absurd. Your eyes widened in shock.
“You’re not serious.”
“Deadly,” he smirked.
“Jake, this isn’t a joke. Why would you do that? I’m just going out to get some food—”
“That’s bullshit. I mean, you’ve been acting so weird for the last week. You didn’t talk to me for the entire day, and then you act like that around a girl I bring home? You barely looked me in the eyes for the past few days. I know you, Y/N, you looked devastated. I had to put an end to it,” His eyes were pleading for you to explain it. Explain why you were acting like a madwoman, because you knew all he wanted to do was fix it.
“It’s nothing.”
“I know it’s not nothing! Talk to me, Y/N,” He reached out to hold your hands. They were rough and calloused, but so damn warm, and it made you never want to let go. “You always tell me how you feel, so why are you hiding now? I feel like I’m losing my mind. I can’t handle this distance between us, so tell me. I’m begging you.”
“I…,” you began. And there it was, you were going to tell him the one thing you promised to never do.
You wouldn’t be heartbroken if Jake didn’t reciprocate your feelings, even if you would be slightly hurt. No, your nightmares were instead filled with thoughts of him leaving you. Of him getting uncomfortable, and disgusted at the thought of you having feelings for him. You were afraid of losing your soulmate because you were stupid enough to fall in love with him.
“You..?” Jake raised his eyebrows in curiosity and concern.
“I was jealous, okay? There, I said it. I was so fucking jealous because I’m in love with you, Jake, and have been for the past two years,” your eyes began tearing up ever so slightly, “and I know you don’t feel the same way, it’s okay. I wanted to be okay with it, but I don’t think I can handle seeing you with another girl. I know I’m being stupid, but I’ll find a way to deal with this, okay? I don’t know if you even want to keep being friends with me, I just—,” Your stammering was halted by Jake’s lips slamming on yours.
Your back was suddenly pressed against the mirror at the back of the elevator, and you felt Jake grab your waist with one hand and hold your face with his other. It wasn’t soft like you always imagined your first kiss with Jake to be. It was rough, fast, and hard. You felt his tongue plunge into your mouth, and you couldn’t breathe.
You were gripping his shoulders, nails clawing at the fabric of his shirt. You tried your best not to make any noise, knowing how mortifying it would be, but when he pressed his thigh against your core, a soft moan managed to escape your lips. You could feel yourself getting wet just from the kiss, and you felt yourself becoming lightheaded. The moan seemed to have gotten Jake going because he began grinding his thighs harder on you.
He began to slow down, intertwining his hands with yours. He slowly let go of your lips, not before he nipped your bottom lip, and pressed his forehead against yours, letting out a sigh.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that, baby,” Jake whispered.
You two stared at each other for a few moments, with you not knowing what to say. Your mind was running laps, and you were afraid the next thing that came out of your mouth would make no sense, so instead you were just breathing, loudly and quickly.
“I can’t believe you would even think I didn’t love you back. I mean, how could you be so stupid?” Jake asked, “You say you’ve been in love with me for two years, but try eight. You have been the love of my life for eight fucking years. I loved you before I even knew what it meant. What you felt today, I felt for eight years watching you get chased around by guys who were never good enough for someone as perfect as you.”
You were fully crying now, and his hands went up to your cheeks to rub the tears off them. “It’s okay baby, you’re okay,” He said before placing a firm kiss on your forehead, “I’ll never let anything hurt you. It’s always been you, okay? You’re mine now,” he began gently rubbing your back.
Throughout all this, his thighs were still pressed up against your cunt, “Jake, can we go back home?” You asked, looking up at him with shiny doe eyes that made him weak in the knees. You were desperate to get back to your apartment so you could finally calm down and properly talk to him.
Jake grinned, knowing from your blushing face and your nervousness that you were horny beyond your own comprehension. He pushed his leg up to tease you even further, surprising you and eliciting a whimper from your lips, much too loud for your liking.
“I’ll take you home, don’t you worry your sweet head. It’s a real shame we didn’t say anything earlier. You don’t know the things I would’ve done to hear you make those noises when I was younger,” he whispered into your ear, making you grip harder onto him, afraid that if you were to let go of him you’d collapse onto the floor.
The elevator door opened to reveal your neighbour. Jake quickly let go of you, still holding onto your waist to help steady you. He acted as if nothing had just transpired, and beamed his charming smile towards the elderly lady standing in front of you, “Good evening, Mrs. Kim!”
You were lying on Jake’s bed, his lips sucking on your neck and your legs wrapped around his waist. Your mind has been so hazy that you can’t even remember how you got here. Thanks to Jake, your jeans have been discarded on the floor, leaving you only in your panties and your thin white shirt.
You tapped Jake on the shoulder, “Jakey,” you said breathily, “are you going to make love to me?”
Jake’s corner of his lips raised to form a devilish smirk, “As much as I’d love that, baby, I really should punish you for the way you’ve been acting. You should’ve known better, I hate being ignored. Would you say you’ve been acting like a good girl recently?”
“No…I-I guess no-not,” you drawled, body shaking.
“I don’t plan on going soft on you tonight, sweetheart. You know what a safe word is, right?” He asked, making you nervously nod. If he had to ask you about a safe word, you knew your mind and body would be broken by the end of the night. It made you weirdly excited. “If at any point it becomes too much for you, you can either tap me three times or say Red, you got that?”
You nodded again, making Jake spank the side of your thigh, followed by a yelp from you.
“Words, baby. I need you to use them, or is your mind already not working properly after barely kissing?” His voice was husky.
“Yes, Jake. I understand,” you managed to spit out.
He immediately went on to strip you of your shirt and your bra, leaving you with only your dark lace panties. He turned you around on your stomach and laid your hips over his lap, leaving your ass on display for him. He took a handful of your ass and began to kiss you up and down your spine, asking you, “Pick a number, baby.”
“Twenty-three?”
You yelped when you felt his hand roughly come in contact with your ass, leaving a stinging sensation behind, while also dampening your panties further, even though they were already soaking. Before you could even catch your breath, he spanked you again, harsher than before.
“Twenty-one to go, baby,” he said, and even though you couldn’t see him, you were sure he was grinning ear to ear.
He was surprisingly quick with carrying out his punishment. At this point, he was getting more and more desperate to get his dick inside you, and although he enjoyed punishing you, he knew he’d have plenty of more opportunities in the future to carry them out slower.
Your ass was bright red, and you were wondering how on earth you were going to be able to sit down tomorrow, or for the few days after that. You hissed when you felt his warm hands come down to rub your abused skin.
You began to mewl as he pressed started rubbing his thumb on your clit, feeling the friction of the laced fabric of your panties, making you roll back your eyes in pleasure. “God, did you get this turned on by me punishing you? I mean,what’s the point in doing it if you enjoy it so much?” He asked, “I wouldn’t have expected you to be such a whore that gets this wet after being spanked. I would tie you up and punish you further, but you’d like that wouldn’t you?” He began rubbing harder, and eventually moving your panties to the side, sliding in his ring and middle fingers.
You mewled at the sensation of his fingers stretching you open. You wanted so desperately to turn around so you could see his beautiful face while he was ruining your body. You were becoming so desperate that you began thrusting back onto his fingers.
“Fuck, look at you, you desperate cock slut. I think you’re all ready to take my cock.”
“Please, fuck me. Please,” you begged, making him take his fingers out of you, much to your protest. Your insides were clenching at nothing as you were desperate for something to fill you again, preferably his cock. He turned you around so you were finally facing him, back resting on his plush mattress.
He ripped your panties off, throwing them to the floor, followed by taking stripping himself off his clothes, but before you could even take a look at it, he plunged his cock deep inside you. It was huge. Like really huge. Your back arched off the bed, as Jake slowly started moving in and out of your cunt, your moans becoming louder and louder.
“You’re so good at taking my cock already, yeah. Just like that baby,” he was gripping your hips harshly, which was definitely going to leave a bruise for tomorrow, “Your cunt was made for me, princess.”
“P-Please don’t stop, J-Jake,” you whined, unable to keep a steady voice as his cock kept hitting all the right places inside you.
“I have no plan of doing that anytime soon,” Jake was getting rougher by the moment, speeding up his thrusts, and your mind began fogging up, not being able to handle the mixture of pleasure and pain.
"I'm go-gonna...I'm gonna cum," you managed to cry out, weakly placing a hand on his chest. However, he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above you.
"Go ahead baby, cum for me," his voice was breathy. He once again began rubbing your clit with his thumb, giving you the final push before your toes curled in as an orgasm washed over you, making you roll your eyes back. Jake felt like he could've cum just by the sight of your body during your release. You looked like a goddess, your body on full display, shining with the sweat of your exhaustion. Your eyes were sultry, squinting slightly, and your body was shaking.
He didn't stop, however, chasing his own release now that he knew he managed to satisfy you. You began sobbing underneath him, "S-sensitive. Baby, p-please...p-please slow down," your eyes were shiny and pleading.
"Not a chance," Jake groaned. Your tits were bouncing as he kept thrusting harder and harder, and you were babbling incoherently as your mind slowly stopped working. A white ring formed around the base of his cock due to your release, making him even harder, if that were possible.
"I'm going to cum inside you, okay?"
Your eyes lit up at that, and a small smile formed on your lips, much to Jake's amusement. "P-Please, Jake. Please come inside me."
You suddenly felt his seed spill inside you. It felt heavenly and warm, and you never wanted to let go, even with how sensitive your cunt became. The feeling of his seed inside you, filling you to the brim, caused you to orgasm once more, alongside him riding out his own.
"Fuck, did you cum again?" Jake asked, feeling your cunt clenching around him again, and you nodded softly, your body beyond exhaustion. You weren't sure if you could move at this point.
He stayed inside you but leaned down to press a kiss against your forehead and rub your hair. "You're already glowing, you know?" You blushed at him saying that. He chuckled at you, "Oh, so you get shy on me now? You were begging me to cum inside your cunt barely two minutes ago and now you're getting all shy?" He teased.
You giggle at him. "I'm sorry, I'm just really tired," you whispered, "Hopefully my stamina will be better next time."
You were startled by Jake's sudden burst of laughter and were confused as he began brushing the hair out of your face and kissing your forehead.
"Is something wrong, Jake?" You asked.
His grin was still wide, "Nothing is wrong, princess. I just can't believe you think I'm done with you."
You woke up to the feeling of strong arms wrapped around your torso firmly, and Jake’s breath fanning the back of your neck. A little bit of sunlight was peaking through the curtains of his bedroom and you could hear the sound of traffic coming from the outside.
You placed a kiss on Jake’s hand, groaning as he pulled you closer to him, your body jolting in pain at every slight movement. “Jake, I’m sore, be careful,” you said with a raspy voice. You definitely damaged your vocal cords after yesterday’s activities.
You could hear Jake chuckle being muffled into your skin, as he was peppering kisses all over the back of your head, neck, and chest, “I guess that was my fault, sorry.”
God, his low morning voice was so attractive. If you had more energy in you, you would have pounced on him now and started bouncing on his cock the way you wish you could’ve yesterday. You needed to have a conversation with him about letting you be on top next time.
He was rubbing your hips now, trying to soothe the bruises and the marks left all over your body. “I don’t think I even have any clothes that can cover up all these hickeys,” you sighed disappointedly.
“You could just walk around like that, no? Show everyone how I made you mine last night, and how you’re off limits now.”
“Jake, it’s been a day and you’re already getting this possessive?”
“Can’t help it. My girlfriend is the most perfect being in this world. I’ve had to fend off guys from you since we were kids, and I don’t plan on stopping,” he mumbled into your shoulder blade.
“Girlfriend?” You asked slowly and timidly.
“What, would you rather be my wife? I wouldn’t mind that either. We could have a wedding on a beach like you’ve always wanted. We could move into a big house in the suburbs, and settle down. I could get you pregnant with my kids,” you felt his erection stiffen as he said that, and continued, “Five minimum, I’m thinking,” he chuckled.
You slapped his arm and groaned, “Jake! It’s way too early for that, you know that,” you couldn’t help but smile to yourself though.
Jake laughed at your whiny voice, “Okay, okay. I guess girlfriend will work, for now.”
“Yeah, I like that, boyfriend,” you giggled, finally turning around to face him.
He pecked your lips before saying, “You know, I actually have a story to tell you.”
You nodded in response, giving him the go-ahead.
“Yesterday wasn’t our first kiss,” he said with a reminiscent smile on his face.
You raised your eyebrows, having absolutely no idea what he was talking about, “What do you mean?”
He began brushing your hair out of your face before continuing, “On your eighteenth birthday, you remember how I took you out to the club because you could legally drink then?”
You nodded. You apparently had so much vodka that night that you ended up in the toilet with a stressed-out Jake holding back your hair as you emptied out the contents of your stomach for fifteen minutes.
“You don’t remember much from that night, so I had to explain to you most of what happened, but I kept out one key detail. After you had your,” he looked around as he was wondering for a number, “sixth shot of vodka, I believe, you pulled me up to the dance floor and kissed me, right before you fainted and fell on your ass in front of everyone.”
“You’re joking!” You screeched.
“It happened! I remember it like the back of my hand. I mean I planned on getting drunk with you but after seeing how fucked up you got I couldn’t get myself to drink more than a beer, so I remember it all,” he laughed to himself. He thought of how his eighteen-year-old self would be so proud to know that you were finally his.
“God, that’s humiliating. Why didn’t you say anything?” You pressed your face against his chest, trying to hide away from him in shame.
“I didn’t want you to react like this. I know you're embarrassed but, I couldn't think about anything other than that kiss for the next few weeks. A part of me was relieved you didn't remember it, but a part of me wishes you did. Maybe we wouldn't have gotten into that mess yesterday if we just realized our feelings earlier," he pondered.
You leaned up to kiss his cheek, "Don't think about that, okay? Let's not focus on the past because right now, all that matters to me is that you are here and in my arms. And I'm never letting you go, Jake," your eyes went sparkly in the way that always caused Jake to become weak.
"Fuck, I love you so much," he whispered, placing a kiss on your lips once more.
#jake enhypen#sim jaeyun#jake smut#jake x reader#enhypen#enhypen x reader#enhypen fic#enhypen smut#enhypen angst
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The Little Things (Hyunjin Ver.)
The small things he does every day that make you feel oh, so special.
Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin
Jisung | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin
| Slow Dances |
Hyunjin is an absolute beautiful dancer. And he really loves dancing a lot, too. That's why there are some nights where he's just in the mood to slow dance with you. Sometimes it's in the kitchen, other times it's in the living room. But he'll always put on a ballad or a slow song and then guide you to an open area in the house so you both can dance.
It's not really even slow dancing. It's Hyunjin swaying with you while holding your waist, your arms around his neck. The two of you sometimes talk and laugh with each other while you both sway back and forth. Sometimes, Hyunjin is gently humming or singing the song playing, and you smile and listen. And sometimes, you two get close and just sway, Hyunjin resting his head on yours while you rest your head right underneath his chin.
If you actually know how to do some slow dances, you and Hyunjin will put on the correct music and perform the dance with each other. If you don't know, then Hyunjin would take time to teach you. Either way, getting to share something he loves doing with you in the evening or during sunset is something he really enjoys.
| Taking Pictures |
Hyunjin is a very photogenic person, we know this. He also thinks you're a very photographic person. Even if you don't think so. This man loves you and your beauty, and just can't help but snap pictures of you almost every day. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he has a photo album in his phone's gallery of just you (or pictures of him with you in them).
I'm not even kidding when I say that Hyunjin would snap photos of you doing literally anything. It could be a picture of you walking in front of him during a date, you holding his hand, you cooking, you cuddled up against him, you sleeping on his shoulder, you just sitting on the couch watching TV. And half of the time, you don't even know he's taking them.
He also likes to switch his wallpapers on his lock and home screen of the most recent favorites. And that's when you usually catch the pictures your lover has taken of you. "Hyunnie, when did you take this picture?" "Huh? Oh, that? I...don't know what you're talking about." "Hyunjin, I swear to god--"
| Plays with Your Hair/Hands |
I have this very sneaky suspicion that Hyunjin is someone who, when you're laying against him, will immediately start playing around with your hands or hair, depending on how you two are situated. Whether it's something he does to relax or because he's stressed or something, only God knows.
If you're laying with your back against his chest, let's say while watching a TV series or a movie, Hyunjin takes your hands in his, and begins to play around with them. He'd probably gently massage your hands, fold your hands in his for a minute and admire how your hands look together, gently feel your hands to memorize every knuckle, feel, wrinkle, everything.
If your head is on his chest, then he's playing with your hair. Hyunjin would absolutely be obsessed about how your hair feels. It's so soft, and it's so smooth. He'll run his hands through it, try and do braids (while failing because he doesn't know what he's doing; he'll ask a stylist how to do it later), twist it, gently gather it into a ponytail only to let it fall, the list goes on and on. But he just can't help himself.
| Hello/Goodbye Forehead Kisses |
I don't really think Hyunjin is the type of person to just throw himself on you and smother you in kisses and tell you he loves you before work or that he missed you after. I think he'd gently cup your cheek and guide you to him, gently placing a kiss onto your forehead. He'd say something simple, too. Something like, "I missed you, hun," or, "I'll see you later, okay?"
Hyunjin will usually do this every single day, though. Sure, he might not be a huge sucker for coddling and babying you with everything in him, but he does want to show you he loves you every day. Of course, everything changes when he has to leave for a tour or a business trip.
He will hold you so close, placing more than one kiss to your forehead before he leaves. He'll say the sweetest things to you, too, kissing your lips before he leaves. During the tour, I swear he'll text you every morning with "Morning, beautiful 😘💋Hope you have a good day". And when he gets back, he'll hold you close again while resting his lips against your head, mumbling about how much he missed you.
| Draws/Paints with You |
Okay, this isn't an unknown fact, but Hyunjin ADORES painting and drawing and anything and everything artistic. So obviously, he'd want to share that love with you. He would 100% teach you how to do watercolor flowers and draw landscapes. And if you do art in your own free time, then he'd probably have you teach him a thing or two, too.
I feel like you two would paint and draw on a day off or something. You'd be listening to music while doing so, maybe Stray Kids songs, or whatever you felt like listening to. There'd probably be some small talk, and some compliments on each piece of artwork the two of you would be doing.
I also think that you two would do silly art challenges you saw online or on TikTok. Using only three colors, switching sketchbooks every five minutes, stuff like that. Sure, the things you both create look goofy and you both end up laughing at the artwork you made, but it's definitely you guys' favorite way to spend time together.
Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️
#skz#stray kids#stray kids imagine#skz imagines#skz hyunjin#hyunjin#hyunjin skz#stray kids hyunjin#hyunjin stray kids#hwang hyunjin#hwang hyunjin x reader#hwang hyunjin stray kids#hwang hyunjin skz#stray kids hwang hyunjin#skz hwang hyunjin#hyunjin x reader#hyunjin x you#hyunjin x male reader#hyunjin x female reader#hwang hyunjin x you
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One thing I haven't seen talked about is Crystal's character arc, and specifically the way the timing of it interacts with Charles' arc. They stumble over each other in the worst possible way en route to their respective character growth, and from a narrative perspective, it's absolutely genius.
I'm going to preface all this by saying: none of this is a criticism of Crystal. Part of what makes her such a dynamic, refreshing character is that you don't get to see women in fiction written the way she's been written. You don't get to see women with her flaws that aren't throw-away mean girls or villains. You especially don't get to see women with her traits who learn and grow and become better people. So yeah, I'm going to talk about Crystal's character flaws. No, this isn't Crystal hate. We love our girl in this house. Okay? Okay. Let's start.
Crystal's character arc, at its heart, is all about her learning to be a better person because she has good influences that love and support her for the first time.
When the show starts, Crystal is not a nice person. She's abrasive in a way that's specifically designed to push people away. She's used to getting her own way, and it shows. She's used to having no meaningful connections with anyone, and it shows. She's breathtakingly selfish, in the very literal sense of the definition. She is focused on her self. Her problems are front and center to her; everything is about what she needs, and what she wants, and how she's struggling.
Jenny calls her out very early on. In episode one, Crystal is complaining about the boys, and Jenny, for all her cynicism, strikes right at the heart of the problem. She tells Crystal, "Everybody is always thinking about themselves, all the time." People only care about their own problems. And she says, correctly, that that's what Crystal is doing, too.
This moment is a revelation for Crystal. For the first time, she considers what her behavior looks like from another person's perspective. As she says, she gets mad at herself over it, and that awareness allows her to do something selfless for the first time in the series. She takes a step back and insists that instead of focusing on her problems, they go to help a little girl. It's a big moment for her.
But importantly, she's not done growing as a character here. She's only just getting started.
On my first watch through, I didn't realize how often, over the next few episodes, Crystal redirects things to her problems during conversation, but it's quite a lot. She's still focused on herself – selfish, in that most literal definition of the word. The issues most important to her are her issues. She's starting to learn to think about other people, but she's not there yet. The process is still underway.
Which brings us to Charles.
Charles' arc is a different sort of self-reflection. He's terrified that he's a bad person the way his father was and the way the boys that killed him were.
During the course of the show, he gets systematically stripped of his confidence and made to feel helpless, and just like Crystal needs outside influences to help her reach a more stable place, Charles does, too. He desperately needs reassurance that he isn't everything he's afraid he is.
But my goodness, the timing in their arcs is such a trainwreck when you put them together, and it is brilliant.
Let's start with the Devlin House.
Crystal has some amazing character growth here. She displays genuine concern about Charles, makes an attempt at comforting him, and learns to work with Edwin even though she still doesn't particularly like him at this point.
Charles, meanwhile, is beginning to fall apart. He's just had the worst night of his afterlife. He's been viscerally reminded of how helpless he is. He couldn't stop the Devlins from being killed over and over, just like he couldn't stop his own father's abuse. He messed up his attempted rescue so badly that he was completely out of commission until the case was finished. He managed to help not one single thing. He made no impact at all. He couldn't help those girls any more than he was able to help himself, while he was still alive.
So they get back to the butcher shop, and what do we see? Monty immediately coopts Edwin. Niko doesn't know what's happened because she wasn't there and Charles has been all fake smiles with her. And Crystal goes off with Niko, leaving Charles to flounder on his own in the wake of everything. She's still learning how to support other people. She isn't there yet, and it's extremely on display in this moment.
Then we get the lighthouse episode, and they both get put through the wringer here. Crystal gets her hopes and expectations jerked around by the Night Nurse in the very worst way, and Charles gets hit with a whole pile full of trauma. All that helplessness wells to the forefront again. Combined with being forced to relive some of his worst memories and the desperation to keep Edwin safe from hell, Charles lets himself act on his anger for once.
And what does he get in the aftermath? Horror.
Everyone who cares about him is horrified by what he's done. Edwin goes so far as to call it extreme. They don't know the half of it, of course; they haven't seen what the Night Nurse just put him through. But in this moment Charles is at his absolute lowest, and all he sees is confirmation that he's exactly as terrible as he thinks he is.
That's why Charles shrugs off Edwin's attempt at comfort, here. When he needed to be able to do something to protect Edwin and also himself – when he needed to believe that he could be better than what his father always was – all he sees is the confirmation from the people he cares about most that when push came to shove, he really is a bad guy.
Then comes the aftermath. And this moment is such a brilliant, awful clash of both of their character arcs. It is so delightfully messy.
Because Charles starts to open up to Crystal here. He starts to lay himself bare, the way he ends up doing with Edwin in episode 5. He's on the verge of admitting something that he's been worried about for literal decades. He tells her, "I've been angry for such a long time."
And what does Crystal do? She's still in the midst of her own character growth. She's still struggling to support other people. She's still learning how to. In a lot of ways, though she's made progress already, she's still that selfish girl that Jenny called out in the very first episode.
And she shows it here it with the absolute worst possible timing. No sooner has Charles started to talk about what's bothering him than she cuts in with her own problems. She's tired of riddles and spirits and demons and not knowing who she is. And the look on Charles' face. The moment when he visibly sets aside his own problems, because Crystal doesn't need any more disasters on her plate? It's heartbreaking. You can actually track the subtle change in his expression there. The actor does a phenomenal job.
And then comes the kiss. And what spurs it? Crystal saying she needs something real.
This moment isn't about light-hearted attraction, the way the earlier flirting is. It's Charles setting aside what he needs – comfort and reassurance and a moment to talk through the things that have been tearing him apart – to give her what she says she wants. He can't even feel it. And Crystal isn't far enough along in her character growth here to realize how selfish she's being. Like Jenny said way back in episode one, she's only thinking about herself.
And then comes the absolute unmitigated disaster of episode 5.
Straight out the gate, Charles leans in for a kiss. From his perspective, they have something together; there's affection there. Charles "I think I'd miss kissing" Rowland, who has been starved for meaningful physical contact for thirty years, is not in a hurry to give this up.
But Crystal is fresh out of a nightmare where she conflates Charles with her abusive ex. She withdraws; she calls what they had a distraction. She cuts it off almost as soon as it's started, so focused on her own worries here that she misses how damn fake Charles' smile is, to cover up that he's coming to pieces.
To be clear, she's absolutely not in the wrong here. It is 1000% her prerogative not to jump into a relationship again while she's still struggling to work through what happened with David. But the arc of her narrative is still early enough that she does it all without so much as the awareness that her focus on her own issues has hurt Charles terribly.
And then the episode really kicks off, and both of them are in shambles in very different ways.
Crystal is projecting her issues with David onto Charles. She has a lot of history, and David seems as though he's exactly the right sort of toxic to leave lasting a lasting impact. But Charles hasn't done anything to deserve her assumptions, and he takes the brunt of her temper here and throughout the episode.
Charles is desperately projecting onto the dead jocks. He very badly wants them to be good guys, because he sees himself in them and he needs himself to be a good guy. He snipes back at Crystal for the very first time in this episode, and he does it in the worst way possible, accidentally prodding her where it will do the most damage.
They're both hurting. They both say some truly painful things to one another.
She does not need to hear that she has unsorted hangups about David still plaguing her while she's unable to move past them. He desperately does not need anyone to tell him that he has rage issues while he's still struggling to think of himself as a decent person.
They apologize, in the end. They start to move past it.
But it's telling that Charles doesn't try to open up to Crystal again. He goes to Edwin instead, even though Edwin is the one who called his actions regarding the Night Nurse extreme. He gets the reassurance he needs so badly; he gets the connection he was looking for with Crystal from Edwin, instead. (I have a lot of thoughts on why Charles initially tries to open up to Crystal so quickly, but it is very much an aside, and this is already extremely long, so it will have to wait for another write-up.)
But the important thing here is, Edwin is the one to offer Charles what he needs to overcome the self-doubt eating him alive. Edwin provides the physical affection Charles was seeking in the form of that long-overdue hug. Edwin is the one who's able to reaffirm for him that he's not just a good guy, he's the best person Edwin knows.
And for all intents and purposes, Charles' major character arc ends here.
Charles has a few last little moments to go on the path to rebuilding his own self-image, after this, but for the most part his concerns have been resolved. He saves Crystal in episode 6 and Edwin in episode 7, proving to himself that he's able to make a difference in the face of overwhelming odds. He's not helpless, no matter what the Night Nurse told him; he can be a force for good in the world. By the end of the series, his crisis of self-doubt seems to have been largely overcome.
But it's the conversation with Edwin at the end of episode 5 that really allows him to work through his most pressing issues. Edwin is there to help support him when he stumbles. Edwin provides him the comfort he was looking for while Crystal was too worried about her own problems to notice how badly he needed the help.
Crystal, meanwhile, still has a ways to go after episode 5. The last three episodes are where she does her most important character growth.
In episode 6, she learns some hard lessons about keeping secrets and letting people help and appreciate you even when you can't offer them anything in return. And Charles, importantly, is there for her every step of the way. He consistently offers her physical and emotional support. He models for her, in a very real way, what it looks like to have someone prop you up when you need the help.
And in turn, Crystal steps in to save the boys. She's the big damn hero at the end of this episode.
The breakthrough continues into episode 7. She's so intent on helping to get Edwin out of hell that she literally goes to face her own demons, not for herself for once – not for her own purposes or needs or wants – but because she wants to help someone else.
And episode 8, at long last, brings her to the culmination of her character arc.
Crystal is at her absolute lowest here. Her family, the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally, didn't even realize she was gone. Her precious memories, that she's spent the entire series trying to regain, have showed her that she's not the person she hoped she would be. She's overwhelmed enough that she means to flee, to cut herself off from her new friends entirely.
Then the boys get kidnapped. And just like that, she makes up her mind.
For the first time since the start of the series, she sets aside her most important issues in order to let what other people need take precedence. She disregards all of her own personal concerns and focuses instead on others. She's finally stepped out of those selfish impulses that Jenny calls her out on, all the way back in the first episode. She's finally learned how to support other people when they need it.
Crystal has finally figured out how to be there for others, despite having troubles of her own.
It's a lovely arc, and it's beautifully done.
Charles' is just as touching.
And god damn, but it was a brilliant narrative choice to have their character arcs line up in exactly the wrong way.
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laios and shuro's relationship is so important to me it's not funny anymore... the fact shuro kept believing in laios during the latter part of the manga, then searched for him after laios became a monster and defeated the winged lion- although it was unclear what exactly had become of him- is haunting me because of how it contrasts with him choosing to give up on saving falin after he saw her as a chimera. like, laios was so sure that their fight in chapter 38 was the end of their friendship while in reality it was the beginning of it in shuro's eyes. laios kept agonizing over losing the one friend he cared for the most but it's because he didn't understand the significance of that little thing he kept carrying with him in every step until the very end of the series: the bell.
shuro gave him that bell as a token of his trust in him and his love: "we grew apart and i'm no longer fit for the position by your side, but no matter how far you go, i'll be there for you when you need me". their conflict over how to deal with falin forced them to go in different directions, but despite accepting leaving falin behind, shuro couldn't bring himself to abandon laios as well. and it's no coincidence that the bell shuro gave him was the proof that laios was still alive after all that happened, or that it's what pushed mithrun and kabru to go deeper into the dungeon instead of returning to the surface (which quite literally changed the entire chain of events afterwards).
yes, shuro decided to stop pursuing falin and report her condition to the governor so she could be stopped, even at the cost of her life. he gave up on her. but the same man also defied the canaries and fought for laios without knowing how messed up things had gotten because he chose to believe in laios above all else. and that, in my opinion, solidified just how important laios became to him- more than falin's, more than his own life, it's laios's he didn't give up on.
at the very end, when he met laios again after the latter defeated the winged lion, he gave him a hug filled with the pure, unrestrained joy of seeing his first and best friend on the island alive and well. hell, i mean, it's easy to forget that shuro didn't really have anyone close to him too- and laios might very well be the first person he was this disgustingly direct and truthful with since he was a child. and when he goes back home, there won't be anyone else like laios there; his home is still the same. it's him that changed. and later on when he will recall all those years he spent on the island, he will realize how surprising it is that all the crazy stuff he witnessed don't hold a candle to the impact those few people he befriended there had on him.
of course, laios didn't realize it until then- shuro's reaction was indeed the one that surprised him the most- but at that moment he could absolutely feel how foolish he was to be so sure he will be hated and rejected after everything they went through. it's so important that it was shuro who greeted him so affectionately, after we saw laios brooding over their fight so much: it's shuro's acceptance that he was longing for the most.
with all that being said, the one last thing that drives me crazy is that the bell laios was given to use when he needed assistance most was still with him even after turning back into his human form. that tiny item he was shown to be quite careless with and yet never let go of until he wanted to be completely alone, thinking he should run away from everyone he loved; but it was too late, his friend already heard his cry for help.
and they all answered.
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campfire chronicles (camp counselorry)
in which harry and y/n are counselors at a sleepaway camp and he hates her from the very second he meets her. or, a classic enemies to lovers summer romance.
word count: 9.2k
content warnings: harry's a dick at first, minor mentions of childhood trauma and divorce, small panic attack scene, tiny mention of drowning, not proofread bc im lazy
so basically I started writing this a bit ago and planned for it to be a full series but then things got ... complicated and I haven't really had much motivation to write for harry. there won't be a part two to this but I think I wrapped it up pretty okay so there isn't a cliffhanger or anything!
I'm not sure if this will be the last fic I write on here but if it is, consider it a parting gift! thank you for all the support and love and I hope you enjoy!
masterlist
Harry Styles is the bane of Y/N’s existence.
…Okay, so maybe she’s being just a tad bit dramatic. But she has good reasoning for it — she swears! All she wanted to do was make some money this summer by working at Happy Campers, a sleepaway camp that was looking for counselors to work from early June to mid-August.
She’d initially seen the flier as she shlepped her canvases and painting supplies from the sculpture studio to the art building on the other side of campus (why it was designed that way, she’ll never know — she thinks whichever builder or contractor did it had some sort of vendetta against art students). In a big, bold black font casted against a bright, borderline neon yellow background (seriously, it kind of hurt her eyes, actually), were the answers to her summer plans: COUNSELORS NEEDED FOR HAPPY CAMPERS SLEEPAWAY CAMP! EXPERIENCE WITH KIDS IS A MUST. $15/HOUR FROM JUNE TO AUGUST.
And yeah, maybe the only “experience” she had with children was babysitting her neighbor’s daughter when she was in high school, but that was apparently enough for Happy Campers. Because within two days of her interviewing with the owner, a sweet, older woman named Linda who’s been running the place for the past 30 years, she received word that she’d been hired.
From the end of the semester to the beginning of camp, she had about three weeks to learn everything she could about being a solid counselor. She assumed the basics — no cursing, keep an eye on them at all times, try her best not to lose her cool if one of them was particularly bratty — but did some research on the rest.
She wasn’t sure what age group she’d be assigned to, but Linda told her she’d find that information out at training — a three day-long educational overhaul where the counselors were the only ones at camp, learning about everything from lifeguarding to CPR to mental health awareness.
Happy Campers was located only about an hour and a half from her college apartment so it made more sense for her to depart from there instead of her hometown. On the drive up in her shitty Honda Accord (a navy 2008 model she affectionately named Edith), she tried her best to calm her nerves. She thought it was silly for her to be so anxious over surrounding herself with kids all summer, and a small part of her hoped she would get assigned to an older group — 5th or 6th grades would be ideal since they were sufficient enough not to be too clingy.
As the small university city slowly melted away, tall buildings and chain restaurants were replaced by sturdy oak trees and an abundance of greenery. When her drive had officially shimmied down to just 20 minutes left, she rolled down her window and lowered her music, allowing herself to inhale the fresh air. Even at her 45 mile per hour speed (5 below the speed limit, just in case some ticket-happy police cars were hiding out somewhere), she found a spark of hope in the clean, crispy air that infiltrated the interior of her car.
Maybe this summer was exactly what she needed.
Perhaps the warm, summer air got to Y/N’s head a bit too much.
The second she pulls into the faculty lot at Happy Campers, she’s inundated with people everywhere. Some are hugging excitedly, greeting one another after what she assumes has been a year away, while others are pulling their hefty duffles from their trunks and throwing them in heaps on the ground. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she tries to find a parking space to pull into, her eyes twinkling some as she spots one. She flicks her right blinker on, prepared to make the turn when an older, much shitter car than hers pulls through.
Her jaw immediately drops. Was this a joke? Some kind of first-time counselor hazing thing? Instantly, she rolls her window down and tries to get the driver’s attention, but from what she can see, he’s already busied himself with getting his things together and getting out of his car.
“Hey! Excuse me!” she calls out, waving her hands at him. When he slams his door shut and ambles in the direction of his trunk, a backpack slung on his right shoulder, she yells out louder this time, grabbing the attention of innocent bystanders. This time, she catches his attention and he furrows his eyebrows, shuffling over to Y/N’s car.
“Yeah?” he asks, almost as if he hasn’t even realized that he completely cut her off.
“That was my spot,” she says, pointing to where his car now resides. If she had to guess, it’s from the early 2000s — 2004 at best, she thinks. “And you took it.”
The curly haired brunette quickly turns to look at his car before whipping back around, “Was it reserved for you?”
“No, but I had my signal on and I was about to turn in—”
“Then it wasn’t your spot.” he replies, tightening his grasp around his backpack.
“I had my signal on—”
“Yes, I heard you the first time.” he huffs, his tone bored. Y/N’s eyebrows raise at his blase demeanor. “There’s another parking lot. You’ll be fine.”
Before she has a chance to fight back, he turns on his heel to head back to his car. She watches angrily as he pulls his suitcase out with minimal effort despite the fact that it looks like it’s stuffed to the brim. When he notices her still looking at him, he shoots her an angry glare, as if to say, can I help you?
Y/N breathes out angrily through her nose as she rolls her window back up. What a dick!
Harry tries his best not to be an asshole.
Really, he does! He thinks he does a decent job of walking around campus and attending his classes without being a complete and utter grump (although his friends do tease him about the scowl that manages to wiggle its way onto his face sometimes). He’s gotten better at participating in lecture-wide discussions without accidentally calling the previous person a stupid prick (the guy who received that one actually deserved it, after he claimed that feminism was a liberal farce in one of his gender studies classes).
However… the one thing that triggers that crabby, ill-tempered part of him more than anything else in the world is Happy Campers.
It’s not because he hates the place or anything of the sort. His parents didn’t send him away when he was 7, making him spend his summers in nature year after year while he yearned for the bustling city he’d been born in. It was actually the complete opposite. He’d had to beg his mum the first year he saw the posting for it in the halls of his elementary school, immediately thrilled by the promises on the yellow paper: Boating! Swimming! Archery! Campfires! Harry couldn’t think of a better way to spend the next two and a half months of his life!
At first, his parents assumed he’d let it go after a day or two. He’d never spent a weekend away from them, let alone an entire summer. And while his mum wasn’t proud of it, she knew her son lived in the shadow of his older sister. More likely than not, she’d just end up enrolling them both in the same soccer day camp like she did last summer, and the one before that.
Much to their surprise, though, Harry wouldn’t let up about Happy Campers. Every morning when he woke up, he asked if they had made a decision yet. When he got home from school that afternoon, he brought up the exciting activities they offered, listing off fun facts he’d Googled in the computer room about the benefits of being in nature. So when May finally tottled around and Harry was still talking about this magical sleepaway camp, they realized they had no choice but to get him a spot.
His first summer there was more fun than he ever could have imagined. He met kids his age from all over the country, spent his days learning new skills and swimming in the lake, and ended the evening with spooky stories and s’mores around a fire. Soon, a pattern began: His parents would all but drag him home at the end of the summer, he’d go to school for the year, and then begin counting down the days until the next session began. For years, Happy Campers was the only place Harry wanted to be.
When he eventually aged out of being a camper, Linda approached him about coming back as a counselor next year. He was 14 at the time and completely ecstatic — really, he couldn’t have said yes quicker, especially since things at home were getting tougher.
His parents were in the middle of an ugly separation, his sister was older and wanting nothing to do with him, and everything about school was confusing. From social status to crushes and grades, he wanted nothing more than to hide away at Happy Campers for as long as humanly possible. For each of his teenage years, he returned as a counselor, eager to forget about his home life and go back to the only things that made sense to him: Swimming in the lake, spending lengthy, sweaty days in the sun, and making sure these kids had unforgettable summers.
When he was at camp, nothing else mattered. He escaped from breakups, family fights, bad grades, and hard life decisions, using the site as a crutch to get through to the other side.
So it’s possible that he’s a bit… protective of his final year at Happy Campers.
After this summer, he’ll only have one semester left as a student in his university’s political science department. From there, he already has a job lined up at a politician’s office in their communication sector. But it also means that he’ll be working full-time, ergo… no more Happy Campers.
This place is his second home. He knows it’ll be difficult saying goodbye to it, but dammit if he’s not determined to have an incredible last few months as a counselor — yeah, maybe he’s a bit careless when it comes to acknowledging the newbies, who seem helpless, clueless, and all-around confused. But he’s not there for them. He’s here for himself, and the kids.
So, fuck the weak little new girl who couldn’t even snag her own parking spot in the faculty lot. She’ll probably be heading home before the first month anyway.
“Hello counselors, and welcome to Happy Campers!”
Harry has to admit that even in her old age, Linda still has the same jolly, feel-good attitude she did the first summer he attended.
And while he loves her — truly, he does, and he even called her up when he found out this year would be his last — he can’t help but slowly start to zone out as she launches into her annual speech about being a welcoming, safe, and (you guessed it) happy counselor.
Harry’s been certified and trained for just about every safety precaution imaginable.
Campfire safety tips? Yup.
Sun and heat protection? Obviously. (And he knows what to do in the event of sunburns — because there’s always a few — and, in the rare case, sun poisoning.)
Fire safety? Duh.
Lifeguarding? He’s been trained since he was 15 and does weekly laps at his school’s indoor pool.
Emergency procedures, food service, behavior management techniques, appropriate camper and staff behavior, and Happy Camper-specific regulations for supervision? God, he could recite them in all his sleep.
He can feel the mood of the room gradually begin to slump as Linda continues droning on about the importance of memorizing the handbook. Really, all anyone cares about right now is receiving their camper assignments. It’s the one mystery Linda tries to keep until the first day of training. Supposedly, placements are done at random, but Harry’s received his favorite group every year: 5th grade boys. They’re competent enough to take care of themselves (that means they know how to shower, go to the bathroom, and change their clothes without Harry’s assistance), but they’re a ton of fun, too. It’s the perfect age so he knows it’s a given that Linda assigned him to the same age as usual, especially since it’s his last time.
The room noticeably perks up when Linda announces that she’ll be unveiling assignments before they break for lunch. He can feel the nerves radiating off of most of the counselors — he would be anxious, too, if he didn’t know who he was spending his summer with. He can’t think of a worse fate than being lumped in with a newbie or getting one of the younger groups — ugh. Last summer, Pauli, one of his counselor friends, got 3rd grade boys, which ended up being a mess of homesickness and actual sickness from lack of self-control at ice cream sundae night.
Harry’s sitting in his uncomfortable fold-up chair, arms folded over his eat your honey tee-shirt as he waits for Linda to finish up so he can demolish a lackluster sandwich in the mess hall. He pinches his bottom lip between his fingers, then jiggles his leg, then crosses his ankles. He’s bored, and tired, and hungry, and—
“2nd grade boys, Harry Styles,” Linda booms over the microphone, “2nd grade girls, Y/N Y/L/N.”
What?
This has to be a prank. Linda’s a lighthearted woman and, yeah, maybe he’s hardly seen her joke around about camp-related activities in the 16 years he’s known her, but maybe she decided to start now.
Right?
But then she claps her hands and announces that their lunch break has officially begun, and Harry’s up and out of his chair faster than you can even say second grade. Long, hurried strides take him in the direction of his boss, his eye borderline twitching at the thought of dealing with little kids instead of his usual fifth graders.
“Linda!” he calls out, attempting to grab her attention over the hasty sounds of everyone leaving the room.
“Oh, hi Harry!” she grins, turning to face him, “Lovely to see you again. Are you excited for the summer?”
“Um, yeah,” he rushes out as he lifts a hand to tug at the roots of his hair. “Quick question though, why am I paired with—”
“Y/N!” The shrill call of Linda’s voice cuts Harry off and he grits his teeth. He glances to his side to see the girl from the parking lot — the one who all but bit his head off for taking a free parking spot. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and redirects his attention to the older woman standing in front of them.
“Linda, I really need to talk to you—”
“Harry, this is Y/N, your fellow counselor for the second graders,” Linda grins as she slings an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. The girl blinks, her eyes narrowing as she recognizes Harry. It’s clear that she remembers him too, so she straightens her posture some and ignores him. “Y/N is new to our counseling program but I think you two will get along great!”
“That’s great, Linda, but I really just need a second with you—”
“I do, too,” Y/N pipes up from beside him and it makes Harry’s jaw clench even tighter. “I think I mentioned in our interview that I’m not the most comfortable with younger kids—”
“Yeah, and I always have 5th grade boys, so I’m not really sure what’s—”
Linda claps her hands loudly, bringing both of their complaints to an immediate stop. When they both part their lips, jaws slightly ajar, she smiles gently.
“Harry, I know this probably isn’t what you were expecting, but it’s your last year and I figured it would be good to change things up,” she says. He goes to reply, but she places an open palm up, wordlessly signaling to let her finish talking. “And Y/N, I know you requested an older group. But Harry’s one of our most experienced counselors, so I know it won’t be too much of an issue if you were paired up together.”
They both stand there silently.
“Unfortunately, assignments are final. If you have an issue with it, you’re welcome to leave. There is a lengthy waitlist of people who weren’t hired.”
When neither of them respond, both slightly surprised by Linda’s sudden strike of authority, she grins.
“Good, then! I’m looking forward to seeing you two work together this summer,” she pats each of them on the shoulder, sending them an enthusiastic smile. “Now hurry up and get to the mess hall for lunch! We have an afternoon packed with trainings!”
The sound of Linda’s Teva sandals scurrying away is the only thing that permeates the awkward silence between the two. A moment later, when Y/N has finally somewhat awoken from her brief rendezvous with the five stages of grief, she mutters the same thing that’s on Harry’s mind: “Fuck me.”
The first two days of training are hopelessly boring.
Y/N spends every second of her day in some sort of seminar, educational meeting, or training. When she’s not listening (or pretending to, anyway — she thinks she’ll be able to manage a decent job at “conflict resolution” between seven year olds), she’s doing hands-on certifications. She has to prove that she knows how to do CPR, the Heimleich, administer EPIPENS, allergy shots, and asthma pumps, and, maybe worst of all, pull a 45-pound mannequin out of the lake. (It’s in case one of the campers accidentally drowns or flounders in the water, but she hates the fact that the dummy they’re using looks like it’s likely from the 1980s, far too worn out to be using in 2024.)
Every night, Y/N hits the paper thin mattress in her cabin like she hasn’t slept in years. She barely has enough energy to shower and brush her hair before her eyelids are fluttering closed. She hasn’t even met her roommate yet, and the only reason why she knows she has one is because all of her things are neatly organized in the main room and bathroom.
On day three of counseling training (and the day before camp officially begins), Linda announces that they’re to spend the next few hours getting to know their co-counselor and planning activities for their groups. The girls and boys aren’t expected to do everything together but there’s a certain level of socialization expected, especially on rainy days when regular outdoor routines are washed out.
Y/N’s torn — she’s glad she doesn’t have to be on her feet all day, going between laborious certifications to boring meetings, but she definitely doesn’t want to spend any extra time with Harry. Since learning that they were lumped together for the summer, she’d seen him around, but neither of them made any attempt at conversation. She passed by him in the mess hall every meal, saw him at lifeguard training, and sat two rows behind him at the mental health and wellness seminar, but they ignored one another as if nothing had occurred on the first day.
Truthfully, that was fine and dandy for Y/N. She knows they don’t have to be friends or even acquaintances. Co-existence was the primary goal, but she was unsure if that was possible when he seemed to be a total and right dick.
That morning, after Linda’s daily morning announcements, she instructs all the counselors to find their partner and get to know one another. Y/N nibbles on her bottom lip as she searches the room for him, trying to find the head of brown curls (it was the one identifying factor she remembered about him, besides having a British accent). Of course, he ends up finding her first because she chose today of all days to cover his hair with a navy baseball cap. He’s already scowling at her before she even says anything and she holds in a sigh as he plops down next to her.
“Listen, I don’t really want to spend the entire summer fighting with you—”
“Who said anything about fighting?” Harry asks, wrinkling his nose in her direction. Y/N’s eyebrow involuntarily quirks, clearly confused by his response. “What makes you think I care to even fight with you?”
“...Okay,” Y/N replies slowly, “That’s fine, I’m just saying we should try to coexist for the sake of the kids.”
“Right.” he chuckles humorlessly, lifting his cup of coffee to his mouth. The insulated mug looks helplessly small in his large hand and she flits her eyes back to his face. “You’re new, right?”
She blinks. “Yes.”
“I’ve been coming here since I was in second grade. For years, I was the only person who got to counsel the fifth grade boys but for whatever reason, Linda decided she wanted to stick me with the youngest group. That’s whatever—”
“Well, she said it was because she wanted to shake things up—”
Harry sends a harsh look her way. “I’m not finished,” he says, and Y/N’s mouth clamps shut. “The whole second grade thing would be way more chill if I wasn’t stuck with a new counselor who hasn't spent a day in her life outside of the city, but I’m not. For whatever ungodly reason, Linda assigned us together, and I’m pissed. Alright?”
Despite the frustration and anger building in Y/N’s chest, she swallows it down. Instead she takes a page out of the conflict resolution training they had yesterday (maybe it was useful) and nods her head.
“I understand that, Harry. You’re allowed to be pissed. But you have to understand, I didn’t do anything wrong here.”
He snorts, “You shouldn’t have signed up to be here. That’s what you did wrong.”
Y/N’s eyebrows shoot up to her forehead.
“So because I wanted a summer job, I’m a bad person? Have you ever considered that you’re just being a prissy little bitch because you didn’t get your way?”
“I don’t really give a shit what you think,” Harry replies, shrugging his shoulders, “Because this is my summer. So whether you like it or not, we’re playing by my rules.”
“Yeah, okay,” Y/N guffaws. She stands up from her metal chair, deciding she’s finished with this conversation for now. She won’t allow Harry to demean her life decisions just because he’s unhappy with where he got placed. “It’s fucking summer camp, asshole. Lighten up.”
Y/N spends the remainder of her day brainstorming ways to entertain second graders.
She doesn’t really care if Harry doesn’t want to cooperate, or even coexist with her. If he wants to be immature, fine! If he wants to blame her for all the things that are already going wrong with his summer, fine! She tried her best to negotiate with him and, quite frankly, it’s not on her to settle a grown man’s temper.
At a certain point, when the anger and annoyance and frustration has cooled down some, she finds it a little relaxing. She sits by the lake and allows herself to dig her toes in the cool sand. Yesterday, she’d spent the better part of her afternoon absolutely baking beneath the bright sun, listening to one of the higher-ups talk about swimming safety. Today was far more peaceful, even with the little worms of anxiety slowly beginning to wiggle their way into her brain. As she jotted down a list of activity ideas for their kids, she tried not to get too nervous about their arrival tomorrow.
She doesn’t have too much time to worry, though, since when she makes her way back to her cabin that evening, she finally meets her bunkmate, a sweet girl named Zara. It’s her third summer returning as a counselor so she’s far more acquainted with everything than Y/N is, and she pledges to help her out as much as she can. It relaxes her nerves even more as she climbs into the tiny shower to wash off the sun and sweat from her body before she heads to bed for the night. At home, she’s always been the type to stay up far too late, but between the hazy sunrays and jampacked days, she’s been finding herself way more tired than usual.
When Y/N finishes her shower with her hair brushed, moisturizer applied, and pajamas on (which was really more of a pair of sleep shorts and a ratty tee-shirt from her high school’s club volleyball team), Zara flashes her an excited grin.
“Harry came by,” she says before Y/N’s even made it to her bed, “He was looking for you.”
Y/N tries not to roll her eyes at the mention of his name. She didn’t want to say anything mean in case they were camp buddies, or whatever the fuck it was called, but she had to admit, she’d think just a bit lower of Zara if she was friends with Harry.
“We’re both working with the second graders this year. He’s pissed so we didn’t do any planning today.” she replies, running a hand through her damp hair as she sits on the edge of the flimsy mattress.
“God, you’re so lucky. He’s so hot, isn’t he?”
She resists the urge to gag, “I mean, maybe he would be if he hadn’t been a total dick to me earlier.”
“I’d ignore that if it meant I got to look at him all day,” Zara giggles, grabbing a folded up piece of paper from the edge of her neatly made bed, “Anyway, he dropped this off for you. Chances are it’s a steamy love note?”
“Slim to none.” Y/N mutters as she accepts the paper from her roommate. She nestles beneath the scratchy covers and flips it open, her eyes immediately meeting a sheet full of messy handwriting.
-DIY paper kites
-painting
-indoor scavenger hunt
-talent show
-charades
-friendship bracelet making
-tie dye
-rock painting
Sorry for being shitty today. I’ll try to be better. No promises.
-H
She waits until Zara’s snoring softly before she folds the paper back up and stuffs it into the spine of her journal, right where she wrote down her list of activity ideas.
On the first official day of camp, Y/N quickly learns a few things.
One: Second grade girls aren’t as scary as she had anticipated. They’re actually quite sweet, if not a bit nervous and apprehensive. Y/N understands that — in fact, she’s felt the same way since arriving at camp a few days ago, so she finds herself bonding with the small group of girls more than she thought she would.
Two: Even if Harry says he’ll try better, he’s probably lying.
Now, she hadn’t expected him to do a complete 360 and show up to her cabin at 6 a.m. with an apology coffee and muffin. But it would have been nice if he did as much as acknowledge her existence, especially in front of the kids!
That morning, Y/N even wakes up with slightly high hopes as she spends her first few hours of consciousness helping her campers get acclimated to their new lifestyle. But that afternoon, when the girls and boys groups get together for quick introductions and bonding, Harry doesn’t even care to introduce her. Instead, he stands there, effortlessly capturing the attention of every last one of their kids, and just… skips over Y/N!
He skips over her!
Y/N has to clear her throat and step forward, forcing a friendly grin onto her face like she isn’t prepared to rip Harry a new one as soon as they bring their group to dinner.
“And I’m Y/N! My second grade girls know I’ll be taking care of them this summer, but I’ll be around to help Harry with the boys, too,” she says.
“Right, yeah—”
“I can’t wait to get to know each of you this summer,” Y/N continues on. Truthfully, she hadn’t planned to proceed with some type of spiel, but she’s in the mood to be spiteful. How couldn’t she, when Harry refuses to even recognize the fact that she’s just as important? “My door is always open and I’m so excited to have a wonderful few months with you.”
The kids have zoned out by now with their blank, moony gazes. Swallowing awkwardly, she takes a step back as Harry sends her a dirty look.
“You done, then?” he mutters.
Blinking, Y/N nods curtly.
“Great,” he mumbles, “Well, I think it’s been a long day for everyone, so why don’t we head to the mess hall for dinner? Tonight, we have a camp-wide bonfire and s’mores on the agenda so don’t eat too much!”
Thankfully, the kids didn’t notice the tension between Harry and Y/N, and excitedly get up from their spots on the ground to follow them to their next meal. Already, Y/N notices that the boys are attached to Harry, asking him a million questions about anything and everything. She hears thrilled chatter from tiny, high-pitched voices as she silently walks next to her own campers.
“Harry, why do you talk funny?” (He briefly explains that he was born in London, which he refers to as a far away place in a country called the United Kingdom.)
“How old are you?” (He’s 22, just a year older than Y/N.)
“Do you have any sisters? I have one at home and she’s so annoying!” (He has one and she’s in London.)
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
For some reason, that one makes Y/N listen just a little bit harder. She’s not sure why — maybe it’s because he’s been so persistently rude to her that she simply can’t imagine any girl willingly committing herself to him. She’s not stupid enough to deny the fact that Harry is attractive in the most conventional way, with his broad shoulders, curly hair, and ridiculously tattooed body, but she didn’t think that was enough of a justification to put up with his bullshit.
Harry chuckles at the question that comes from a boy with blonde hair and squinty eyes, hidden behind a thick pair of glasses.
“No,” he answers, shaking his head as he pulls open the door for the mess hall, “No girlfriend for me. Besides, why would I need one when I have all of you to keep me entertained for the summer?”
Y/N swallows tightly at that.
The first full week of camp is exhausting.
Every day, Y/N has an alarm set for 7 a.m. She showers, brushes her teeth, and does something with her hair so it’s not sticking to her sweaty neck all day. She pulls one of her four camp tee-shirts on (they all have huge, blocky lettering on the back that reads COUNSELOR), a pair of shorts, and the only pair of comfortable sneakers she owns. (She doesn’t know how Harry walks around in his dirty white Vans day in and day out. She owns a pair herself and they have minimal support, so it further annoys her that he gets to wear cute shoes while she’s stuck in a pair of running shoes.)
From there, she’ll usually have a short and sweet conversation with Zara, who’s just as tired from taking care of her fourth grade girls. After that, she ambles across the campsite over to her group to make sure they’re all awake and getting ready for breakfast. They usually all are, with the exception of Livvy, who is particularly awful at waking up in the morning. She always has a grumpy look on her face as Y/N leads them to the mess hall for their first meal and, for some reason, it always makes her laugh to herself.
Y/N accompanies the girls while they eat, making sure to get some sustenance in her stomach as well. She typically opts for some fruit and a bagel or toast, accompanied by the shitty watery coffee from the machine in the corner. After breakfast, Y/N plucks the schedule from the bulletin board outside the mess hall (Linda writes out a new one every day, ensuring that every group is able to try out different activities). Mornings are usually a variation of sports, then lunch, and then more relaxed activities, like ceramics or jewelry making. The second graders always have swimming at 3 p.m., which would maybe be a nice way to decompress after a hot, muggy day in the sun, if not for having to be around Harry.
She’s figured out that there’s two variations of Harry: On good days, he’ll ignore her. He’ll grab a chair, stick it in the sand, and scroll on his phone until the 5 p.m. dinner bell rings. On bad days (which usually means one of his campers gave him a hard time), he’ll torture her. He’ll critique every aspect of her approach to interacting with the kids and tell her what she’s doing wrong. (Tuesday, for instance, was a bad day. Apparently, Franklin had a total freak out about not wanting to play soccer that morning and decided to be Harry’s worst nightmare all day long, screeching about how much he hated camp. As a result, Harry showed up to swimming and spent an entire hour critizing Y/N: “You need to bring more snacks with you during the day. What if one of them gets woozy during sports? And you better carry at least three bottles of sunscreen or I swear to god, I’ll report you to Linda. That would be a stupid rookie move.”)
The whole thing is giving her emotional whiplash and is just as exhausting as being a counselor to kids all day. If Linda hadn’t had such a poor response to the two of them wanting to switch at the beginning of training, she would already be in her office and pleading her case. So when Friday rolls around and she can just tell that Harry’s had a bad day based on the dim sunglasses covering his eyes, she decides she’s not going to put up with it anymore — not for a single second longer.
She’s unsurprised when, as she’s keeping an eye on her girls playing Mermaids in the shallow end of the lake (a quintessential summer swimming game, she thinks), Harry plops down in his usual chair with a scowl on his face. Her eye roll is hidden behind her own pair of shades, and she attempts to ignore the anger radiating off of him as she digs her toes in the sand. Again — this whole situation has the potential to be relaxing. All she’s missing is… well, Harry leaving.
“Livvy told Ethan that you come into their bunk every morning to wake her up,” he says, lifting his metal reusable water bottle to his mouth, “You really shouldn’t do that. She needs to learn how to get up on her own.”
“Mind your business, Harry.” she replies, short and curt. She inhales through her nose as a breeze passes through the manmade beach.
“That is my business.”
“It’s really not,” Y/N snaps, whipping around to face him. She tears her sunglasses off her face so he can see the red hot anger burning in her eyes. “And I’m so sick of you being rude to me every single day. I’m not a punching bag, Harry, I’m a human being. If you don’t like your situation, fine, but that’s not my problem. So keep your shit to yourself for the rest of the summer, alright?”
She scuttles up from her spot, grabbing her sneakers and towel before marching halfway across the beach to where the girls are playing. Fury is still raging through her as she plops down at the shoreline with a harsh exhale. She allows the rolling tide to wash over her feet and tries to focus on the cold water instead of the insufferable man still sitting there dumbly.
“Y/N?”
Her head rises when she hears the small voice of one her campers. It comes from Alison, a sweet, kind girl with unruly ginger locks and a smattering of freckles over her face.
“No! Don’t ask her, she’ll tell on us.” Lucy urges from beside her, a frustrated pout on her lips.
“She said we could always come to her,” Alison whispers loudly. Y/N’s heartbeat increases just a tad, worried that something’s gone wrong right under her nose. “Y/N, I have a question, and I was wondering if you could answer it.”
Y/N clears her throat, “Well, I promise I won’t tell anyone about it as long as it’s nothing too serious… you guys know I have to, like, report if an adult’s being inappropriate or something, though, right?”
“Yeah. Stranger danger,” Claire nods matter-of-factly, “My mom gave me a talk before I came here. No letting people touch you an’ stuff.”
“That’s right,” Y/N agrees with a small smile. “Is it anything like that, Alison?”
She shakes her head.
“Okay, so yeah. It can be our little secret then.”
Despite the persistent frown on Lucy’s face, Alison nods.
“Okay… well, we were wondering… is it true that when a boy is mean to you, it’s ‘cos he likes you?”
Y/N purses her lips. “Um… I mean, some people say that. I don’t necessarily know if it’s true, though.”
“Has it happened to you?” Claire asks hopefully.
“Has a boy been mean to me because he likes me?”
The three girls nod enthusiastically.
She thinks back for a moment — she’s only been in one real relationship before, followed by a series of flings with lackluster people that haven’t always been the best. She doesn’t think they were mean to her because they were attracted to her, though. It was probably because she failed to have a backbone in their situationships.
“No,” she finally answers with a shake of her head, “No, and if someone likes you, they’ll care about showing it. They’ll do nice things and compliment you and… and they won’t make you wonder all the time.”
Each girl looks just as confused and lost as Y/N feels.
“...And we shouldn’t be worrying about boys this summer anyway,” she quickly tacks on, attempting to save the conversation, “Girls rule. Right?”
When grins break out on their faces, she’s thankful that second graders aren’t as emotionally aware as adults.
For the next two weeks, things go as smoothly as expected.
Y/N is relieved that, for once, Harry heeds her advice. They barely speak with the exception of deciding on an activity to do with the kids, and even then it’s as short and succinct as humanly possible:
“Friendship bracelet making?”
“Sure.”
In their brief moments of downtime, Y/N sticks to hanging around Zara and her friends Sarah and Mitch. They’re all very nice — she and Zara have a lot in common, and Sarah and Mitch have been working as counselors for the past two summers. They’re both friendly with Harry, and Y/N is shocked (but not entirely surprised) to find out that he isn’t a total dick with everyone, just with her. Sarah’s somewhat puzzled upon finding out that he’s been giving her a hard time in just about everything, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth when Y/N explains how they ended up at this point.
“He’s fairly protective of this place,” Sarah replies. Her tone is soft and soothing so it’s incredibly difficult to argue with her on any line of defense against him, even if she’s not intentionally doing so. “He shouldn’t be so mean to you, but I think this is his safe haven. Mitch said that he’s been going through some stuff and… well, I’m sorry you don’t get to experience the nice version of him.”
So am I, Y/N thinks to herself.
It’s what she’s ruminating on as she sits in the bleachers, watching her girls play soccer. (Well, half of them are playing soccer. The other half are in a circle, making lanyard keychains, and giggling about Henry Moore, a boy in the fifth grade group that apparently every girl has a crush on. It makes Y/N’s heart warm and her chest concave slightly; to watch girlhood in its purest form with the hopes that no one ever hurts them.)
She wonders when things got this way. When fun, gleeful crushes that made her feel like a shaken can of soda, fizzy and lightheaded, faded away and were replaced with mean guys who had no reason to despise her. She swallows the lump in her throat that formed without her permission and digs her sneakered heel into the gravel below the bleachers.
When she hears the familiar sound of rambunctious boys approaching, she quickly tucks her sunglasses behind her ears, wary of the watery eyes behind them. She sees Harry, basketball in hand, in his usual camp garb — athletic shorts and some variation of a borderline inappropriate graphic tee-shirt; this one has the words I like to watch scrawled across the chest. Y/N rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. She’s sure Linda would hand his ass to him if she saw him wearing that. Really, she wishes she would.
The groups intermingle effortlessly. That was one thing she was thankful for — that most of their campers got along and it was easy to take a break when they ended their days doing whatever activity together. The soccer game proceeds, now bigger with formed teams, while a few of the other boys join the lanyard circle. Wordlessly, Harry climbs up on the bleachers Y/N’s currently perched on, taking a seat two benches above her.
It’s their usual routine of silence and she can probably predict what he’s doing. Right now, he’s probably shifted his black sunglasses from the bridge of his nose up to his wavy brown hair and squinting at his phone. He has a pink phone case, and the device always manages to look stupidly small in his hand while he uses his oversized thumb to scroll through whatever social media app has his attention.
Y/N holds in a sigh, leaning her head to the side and pressing her ear against her shoulder. She allows her eyes to flutter shut for a few brief moments, inhaling through her nose and listening to the kids’ high-pitched chatter. It’s only when she feels the presence of someone beside her that she opens her eyes, eyebrows thick with worry when she sees Micky, one of Harry’s campers, standing in front of them.
“What’s up, Mick?” Harry asks from above her. She resists the urge to scowl — she could have handled it without him, and she hopes that whatever he needs, it’s a ridiculous request that he’ll have to handle and—
“I miss my mom.”
Y/N’s eyes widen when Micky’s eyes suddenly flood with tears. Quickly, she pushes her sunglasses back into her hair, her lips instantly parting into a sympathetic frown.
“Micky,” she coos, her heart melting at the sight in front of her, “It’s okay. It’s okay to miss your mom, I know how you feel.”
He’s a mess of tears and snot, his little hand reaching up to knuckle at his bloodshot eyes. Y/N looks up at Harry, who seems just as worried and equally lost. He shuffles down to the same bench Y/N sits at so he’s eye level with him and presses a gentle hand to his shoulder.
“C’mon, you gotta breathe, Mick,” he encourages, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. He only continues in his tearful fit, not listening to a word either one of the counselors say. Helpless, Harry turns to Y/N, his eyes encompassing all the nerves running through each of them.
“Mick, you have to listen to Harry,” Y/N says, reaching out to grab his hand. She squeezes it in an effort to gain his attention. “Breathe, sweetheart. Look at Harry. He’s gonna help you breathe, okay?”
Thankfully, Micky’s eyes bat open. Harry’s taking slow, deep inhales and exhales and he does the same, though his are shuttered with weepy quivers.
“You’re doing so good,” Y/N smiles, giving his hand another squeeze. “There you go, just keep following Harry.”
Eventually, his tears stop some and his breathing regulates itself. Harry guides him onto the bench, wiggling his smaller form between his and Y/N’s.
“It’s totally normal to miss your mum,” Harry says, leaning his elbows back. “But think about all the awesome times you’ve had here so far. You’ve been absolutely killing it at Four Square and you’re a master at ceramics. She’s gonna be so pumped when she sees that cup you made.”
“I’ve never been away from her for this long.” Micky peeps out in a small voice. Y/N swallows, her heart cracking just a tiny bit more.
“Micky, you wanna know a secret?” she asks. Harry and Micky both turn to her and she holds in a snort at the former’s intrigued facial expression. “This is the longest I’ve been away from my parents, too.”
“Really?”
“Mhm,” she nods, “And I miss them so much. But I’m having a really good summer here. Are you?”
Micky thinks for a moment. A second later, he nods.
“What’s been your favorite part?”
“I really like swimming,” he replies. Y/N grins. “But I like you and Harry more. You guys are my favorite.”
Her eyebrows raise involuntarily and Harry coughs into his hand.
“You’re just like my big sister and her boyfriend,” he continues. Y/N’s eyes dart over to Harry, who looks like he wants to run for the hills. “They’re always really nice to me. And sometimes they fight and that makes my sister grumpy. But they always come back together. And even if they’re mad at each other, they never stop being nice to me.”
“Well, that sounds really nice, Mick—”
“And one time, he was dropping my sister off at home and I looked outside my window ‘cos I had a present for him but the windows in his car were all foggy and I don’t really know why but—”
“Harry, didn’t Linda say that there were orange popsicles at the nurse’s cabin today?” Y/N asks through a squeaky voice. He blinks and nods quickly, excitedly wagging his finger at her in agreement.
“Yes! She did!” he exclaims, popping up from his seat, “Micky, do you want an orange popsicle? Maybe Y/N can take you?”
“Oh yeah, those are my favorite!”
Y/N is eager and happy to escape this terribly awkward moment.
Y/N doesn’t see Harry for the rest of the afternoon.
That’s fine with her, since she thinks she’s still blushing from Micky’s little Peeping Tom recollection. She brought him to the dining hall after he ate his popsicle and gave his mom a call and, by then, he was back to normal, excited to eat dinner alongside his fellow campers. Y/N picked at a lackluster meal of beef tacos, though she was happy to listen to Zara, Sarah, and Mitch chatter on about… well, whatever it was they were talking about.
After dinner, there’s a bonfire, and then it’s lights out. She’s exhausted by the time she gets her girls back to their cabin, ensuring that they’re all tucked in for a restful night. She closes their door with a depleted sigh, listening for the quiet click of the hinge before she jogs down the stairs and starts her walk back to her own dwelling.
Only, she nearly jumps five feet in the air when Harry’s standing there.
“Fucking Christ!” she whispers as her heart slams against her ribcage, “Is there a reason you’re standing there like a fucking creep? Or are you taking a page out of Micky’s weird little sneaky book?”
Harry snorts at that before shaking his head. “Sorry. I just put the boys to bed and I saw you were leaving. I wasn’t being creepy, I promise.”
“That’s something a creep would say.”
“I realize that,” he replies, digging his hands into the pockets of his athletic shorts, “But I mean it. I’m nowhere near as creepy as Micky.”
“Shut up,” she mutters, trying to wipe the smile off her face from his joke. “He didn’t know any better.”
“I know. I’m just kidding.”
They stand there across from one another for another beat or two before he juts his thumb in the direction of the counselor cabins.
“Can I walk you back to yours?”
Y/N swallows. And for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, she says, “okay.”
At first, it’s silent. The only sound is the gravel crunching beneath their shoes as Y/N tucks her arms over her chest, goosebumps forming over her skin from the night chill. Finally, Harry ventures a glance at her.
“I want to apologize,” he says, and at first, Y/N thinks she’s hallucinating. “I’ve been really awful to you and… I shouldn’t have been.”
A snarky response sneaks past her lips before she has a chance to take it back: “Did you just realize that?”
“No,” Harry admits. She’s surprised he doesn’t reply with something equally as sarcastic. “I realized it a few weeks ago, when you yelled at me at the lake. I didn’t realize how shitty I was being to you but… then Sarah talked to me and asked why I was being this way with you, and I didn’t even have a good answer for her because you’ve been so good with the kids and you clearly do care about them and giving them a good summer. And I just felt like such a fucking idiot.”
Y/N hums non-committedly.
“And then today with Micky, it just reminded me a lot of myself when I used to come here as a camper. This was my safe place for many, many years. There’s a small part of me that thinks it still is. I used to have panic attacks midway through the summer when I would think about life back home and the bullshit I was escaping.”
She swallows. A pit forms at the bottom of her stomach when she thinks about a young Harry having the same reaction as Micky did today.
“And I don’t know, I just thought about… how if I had you as a counselor, I would feel really comfortable and happy,” he continues, “And… minus the weird shit Micky said, I was happy to hear that he likes us together.”
Her throat dries a bit at that but she forces herself to swallow as he looks at her for a response.
“Thank you,” she finally mumbles out. They’re stopped at the side of her cabin now, and she desperately hopes that Zara is fast asleep and can’t hear an inkling of their conversation. “I appreciate that. I wish we hadn’t… y’know, gotten off on such a rocky start, but… you are really good with the kids. And I think that we do work well together, even if we’re barely speaking to one another.”
He smirks at that before shaking his head, his gaze falling to the grassy plane beneath them.
“It was all very immature of me and for that, I really am so sorry, Y/N.”
“It’s okay,” she murmurs, leaning back against the wood siding of the lodge, “Water under the bridge, yeah?”
Harry looks back up, his eyes finding hers. With his teeth nibbling on his bottom lip, he nods.
“Water under the bridge,” he agrees.
And she can’t figure out why, but the second their gaze locks, her world slows just a bit. Her chest stalls, her breathing hitches in her throat, and… has Harry always looked this good?
“Y/N,” he rasps out lowly. Her eyes flutter down to his neck, where his throat bobs beneath a swallow. Quickly, she blinks, her eyelashes flittering when she looks back up at his face.
“Hm?” she asks softly.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he mumbles, inching towards her slowly.
“Like what?”
He breathes out a quiet laugh. “Like you wanna kiss me.”
She shrugs and he reaches out, gentle and tentative, his fingertips finding her chin. She allows his touch as he strokes over her skin, careful not to make any sudden movements as if she’ll scare him away somehow.
“Do you wanna kiss me?” he presses, his palm cupping her cheek. His hand is warm and her face is cool, and it feels so, so good.
“Do you wanna kiss me?” she repeats, eager to turn the question around.
He smirks. Lopsided and playful.
“Asked you first.”
“You’re acting like the kids we’re responsible for,” she murmurs, nuzzling tenderly into his hold. “By the way, did you hear Henry Moore kissed Crystal Baker? The girls are devastated.”
Harry chuckles, low and sweet, before shaking his head. Butterflies swarm her stomach at the crinkles that form at his eyes and she bites her lip.
“Sounds like we’ll have to have a feelings circle tomorrow,” he says. “But right now, you’re the only thing I care about.”
Y/N hums, eyelashes fluttering at his breath ghosts over her lips. She doesn’t know when he got this close, but she also doesn’t know how she existed without having him near all this time. His other hand finds her hip, giving it a small squeeze. The fabric of her tee-shirt bunches in his grip and she resists the need to shudder.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his towering form feeling as though it’s all-encompassing now. She thinks that if it were up to her, she would allow him to lay all his weight on her.
Her brain is foggy and fizzy now, but she’s conscious enough to nod, a short affirmation, before he ducks forward to connect their lips. His lips are soft and plushy and she’s happy to kiss him back, especially since he tastes like the raspberry popsicle he ate at the bonfire. She shivers when he moves his hands up to the siding of the cabin, caging her in so she’s completely pinned against him. She’s neither particularly submissive nor dominant in the bedroom — a qualified switch is what Zara called her — but she’s eager to have her hands on him, one palm flush against his chest while the other presses against his cheek. The stubble of his facial hair scratches against her skin but she doesn’t care.
The kiss ends far too quickly for her, but when they part, noses nudging against one another, they’re both breathless with swollen lips. It makes Harry chuckle softly and he ducks down once more for a peck.
“Think you’re a bit insatiable,” he mumbles. “Pretty sure you would’ve kept going for hours if I didn’t stop you.”
“Probably.”
He laughs, quiet and soft, at her unashamed response. “That’s fine. Good, actually. I think I could live with that.”
“‘M sure you could.” she replies, a smirk edging at her lips.
“You’re not gonna go running off into the night now, are you?”
This time, she laughs, shaking her head.
“No. I’ll be here in the morning, bright and early.”
He smiles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Henry Moore feelings circle at 9 am sharp?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
When Harry sends her off to her cabin with a pat on the bum and a kiss to the cheek, she has to bite her lip from grinning too hard.
#writing#harry styles#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles writing#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles oneshot#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#harry styles smut#one direction#harry styles fic rec#fine line#harry's house#hs4#harry styles album#harry's house album#harry styles fan fiction#harry styles fan fic
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The Eye of the Hurricane [24] - Journals
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️
Summary: Couples can have different opinions on many things.
Word Count: 2400
Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex, there's a fur coat line. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.
Series Masterlist
Alright.
Keeping a sex journal while you weren’t currently having sex was going to be challenging but you couldn’t let it stop you.
It was homework, and there was a reason why you had been such a perfect student back at school.
You sipped your coffee before putting it back on the kitchen island, then grabbed the paper bag to turn it over, the contents spilling onto the island, making you let out a happy noise. Stationery shopping always made you feel excited, gathering different notebooks and papers and pens, so you were beginning to feel like you were going to ace this already.
Alpine jumped on the island to inspect the pens, then smacked one off the counter with her paw.
“Alpine!” you said. “Don’t.”
“Charm I’m—” Bucky lifted his head when he reached the bottom of the stairs, then frowned, making his way to the kitchen island. “What are those?”
“Stuff for the sex journals,” you said as you opened a notebook, then closed it and tossed it at him. He caught it mid-air and looked down at it.
“This looks better than the notepad I have.”
You made a face as you lifted Alpine off the counter, then put her on the floor.
“It’s a journal,” you told him. “She didn’t say a notepad.”
“Can I borrow a pen?”
“No!” you said quickly, grabbing the multiple pens on the island. “Get your own, these are mine.”
“There are like one hundred pens here and you’re telling me—wait a second, did you get glitter pens?”
“Yeah,” you said and Bucky approached the counter, tilting his head.
“Are those stickers?”
“Mm hm,” you said as you started sorting them through color and Bucky blinked a couple of times.
“Why do you have stickers?”
“As a rating system,” you said. “I mean the journal will be detailed and whatever but I think using stars stickers for it will be useful.”
“You’ll give our sex life star ratings?” he asked as he took one of the tiny sticker sheets into his hand and you nodded your head.
“Yeah. It’s important to be organized while keeping a journal, and it’ll make it easier to read. This is how I used to study for exams as well.”
“Teacher’s pet,” he teased you and you arched a brow.
“You just lost a star.”
His eyes widened. “Wait what? No I want—I want five stars!”
“Then fucking act like it.”
Bucky licked his lips.
“So how are we going to do this?” he motioned at the journal. “Make stuff up?”
“No, we’ll just have sex because it’s a part of couple’s therapy.”
His head shot up. “I take back everything bad I said about therapy—”
“Of course we’re going to make stuff up!” you snapped, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat. “I’m not fucking you for some sort of homework, this is a business deal.”
He opened his mouth to retort but his phone started buzzing, making him look down at the screen before rejecting the call.
“So I copy off of yours?”
“I’m not going to do your homework for you,” you said. “We’ll do it together, tonight. Try to find your favorite fantasy today, it’ll make things easier.”
“It’ll make one thing harder.”
You let out a groan, rolling your eyes at him but that didn’t stop the smirk pulling at his lips. His phone started buzzing again and he made a face, then put it back into his pocket.
“Want to grab lunch in the afternoon?”
“No I’m meeting Becca,” you said, your whole attention back on the sheets of stickers again as you separated them and he stepped to press a kiss on top of your head.
“Tell Becca I said hi,” he said and you hummed as he walked out of the apartment. You could feel your cheeks burning but you frowned at yourself and Alpine jumped back on the counter, meowing at you.
“Your father is just…” you trailed off and held one of the pens so that she could smack it. “Something tells me he used to be a bad student.”
*
“So yeah, my boss has been kicking my ass,” Leila said before taking a sip of her coffee and you tilted your head, stealing a look at Becca.
“And you’re letting that happen?”
“I told you!” Becca said, motioning at you and Leila let out a laugh.
“Unbelievable, both of you.”
“It’s a problem and the solution is very clear,” you said and Becca nodded.
“Exactly!”
“We’re not intimidating my boss.”
“It’s not intimidating,” Becca said. “Just…you know, a gently nudge to not push you so hard.”
“I offered Ethan the same thing,” you said. “He refused.”
“I wonder why,” Leila said and Becca heaved a sigh.
“What’s he been up to?”
“He’s very busy.”
“Still in love with you?”
“He’s not in love with me, we’re friends,” you told them and sipped your drink. “Besides, don’t get off the subject. Leila—”
“The new client is a hard ass, that’s why my boss is being uncharacteristically pushy,” she said. “It’s fine, really. How about you, how’s everything with Bucky?”
“Oh our therapist gave us this homework,” you said. “Sex journals.”
Becca shot you a puzzled look but couldn’t say anything with Leila right there so you only shook your head slightly as Leila let out a laugh.
“Do you want me to cover your ears, Bec?”
“Yeah!” she said after a beat. “Yeah no I don’t um—I don’t want to know anything about my brother’s sex life, I’ll just pretend you guys only hold hands in bed.”
“Aw sweetheart…” Leila said, patting her hand and you gave her a grin, then bit into your muffin.
“Listen, it’s just—” you started, then got distracted when you saw Ryan walk into the café. He made his way straight to the counter, clearly not having seen you or the girls, then gave his order to the barista before stepping sideways so that he could wait.
“I’ll be right back,” you told Becca and Leila, then stood up from your chair to approach him.
“Fancy seeing you here,” you said, making him turn around and he immediately straightened his back even more as if you were his commander.
“Ma’am.”
“How are you?” you asked and he gave you a faint, hesitant smile.
“I’m alright ma’am, how about you?”
“I’m good,” you said. “I haven’t had the chance to talk to you since that night at the club. Thank you, again.”
“I didn’t do anything ma’am,” he said. “I’m glad you disarmed him before he could hurt you or Mr. Barnes.”
You nodded your head.
“You know how amateurs are,” you said with a wave of your hand and he swallowed, his eyes darting over your face.
“And um…” he cleared his throat. “Are you alright, ma’am?”
“It wasn’t the first time I kicked someone’s ass—”
“No I mean,” he paused for a moment. “After the dinner?”
Ah.
The dinner your father had named Ian his heir.
Considering how happy Ian was about it and how Ryan was his right arm, you would have thought he would be very happy, perhaps just asking you to pretend to be polite but nothing in his eyes signaled insincerity. You pulled your brows together in confusion and he licked his lips.
“My apologies, it wasn’t my place—”
“No no,” you stopped him before he could finish his sentence and offered him a small smile. “No I was just surprised, that’s all. No one from my dad’s side asked me if I was alright after that dinner, so…”
He nodded his head, looking down at his boots and you took a deep breath.
“I’m fine,” you said. “And I really appreciate you asking that, it’s very nice of you. Thank you.”
His head shot up when the barista called out his name and put the coffee on the counter, and he grabbed it.
“Anyway, I shouldn’t keep you long,” you said with a smile. “Have a nice day, Ryan.”
“You too ma’am,” he said gruffly and walked out of the café while you returned to the table, Leila and Becca both watching you.
“He looks like freaking Hercules,” Leila commented and Becca let out a laugh.
“I’ll never understand why he is working for Ian.”
“Me neither,” you said with a sigh. “Anyway, what were we talking about?”
*
By the time Bucky got home, it was past dinner time.
“I’m so sorry, this fucking meeting—” he said as he walked into the apartment, making you look over your shoulder from the couch. “Isn’t it weird we can’t kill people over zoom meetings?”
“I’m sure technology will get there some day,” you pointed out, sipping your wine. “I ordered sushi, it’s on the counter.”
“Awesome,” he said, getting rid of his jacket to throw it over the chair and you tried not to stare at his white button up fitting perfectly to his muscular body, then licked your lips. He pulled a chair to sit by the kitchen island and reached out to grab your journal.
“Did you write anything?”
“Nah, I was waiting for you,” you said and muted the TV, then grabbed your wine glass to make your way to him. You sat down as well, then pulled the sticker sheets and pens to yourself from the other side of the counter, taking the journal from him as well. He took chopsticks into his hand and dug into the sushi while you opened the journal, then fixed your hair.
“So?”
“Hm?”
“What is your sexual fantasy?”
Bucky chewed his bite before swallowing it, then pointed at you with the chopsticks.
“You know, when I imagined you asking me this question you weren’t wearing anything and my mouth was busy with something else.”
You tried to ignore the way your stomach did a pleasant flip, then narrowed your eyes at him.
“Bucky.”
“Why don’t you tell me your fantasies first?”
“I’m not going to tell you anything.”
“Why not?” he asked. “Aside from the obvious medieval knight thing—”
“That’s not my fantasy—you know what?” you said, grabbing your phone. “I’ll just google it and then we can decide.”
“…You’ll google sexual fantasies?” he asked with a grin on his lips. “You actually need to google it? Aw, have I ever told you how adorable you are?”
“Bucky, I’m warning you.”
“Missionary doesn’t count as a fantasy so I’m guessing yours isn’t gonna be there.”
“First of all, there’s nothing wrong with missionary, don’t blame me if you have too many issues to be able to look your partner in the eye while fucking them—”
“Whatever you say, pillow princess.”
“And I’m giving you three stars, how about that?”
He pulled his brows together, swallowing his bite in a hurry. “No!”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely not, we don’t know if we can trust the therapist or if she’s working for someone else.”
“I feel like if she was working for someone else, we’d have other problems than her thinking you’re not good in bed.”
“That’d be the biggest problem for me,” he said, his voice completely serious. “I can deal with people trying to kill me, but they can’t think my wife gives me three stars.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Unbelievable,” you said. “Fine, I’ll give five stars to the fantasy thing but I’ll write I faked it the second time we had sex this week.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’m not giving you five stars all the time Bucky, she’s going to know we’re lying.”
“No, none of my girlfriends have ever faked that shit, my wife sure as fuck won’t.”
You blinked a couple of times before tilting your head, a small smile pulling at your lips.
“Aw, I forget how naïve men can be about this,” you said. “Have I ever told you how adorable you are?”
He narrowed his eyes. “None of my girlfriends—”
“That’s what you think.”
“No, I know they didn’t.”
You pursed your lips, trying to keep your expression straight. “Really? And how do you know that?”
“One can tell.”
“Not really.”
“I’m not talking about porn screams all the time,” he insisted. “You can just…feel it.”
You raised your brows, smirking at him and he frowned slightly.
“Bullshit,” he said after a beat. “You can’t fake that.”
You dragged the tip of your tongue over your teeth, now grinning wide but before he could say anything else, someone knocked on the door, making both of you turn your heads. Bucky checked his wristwatch, his frown getting deeper and he pulled his gun out of his waistband, then made his way to the door with you following him. He looked through the peephole, then put his gun back into his waistband and opened it to reveal one of his bodyguards that you had met back at the club; Hannah.
“Hi Hannah!” you said, waving at her and she smiled at you.
“Mrs. Barnes,” she greeted you and turned to Bucky. “Mr. Barnes, I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour but we figured you’d want to know. There has been an attack to the Wilson territory.”
Your jaw dropped and you covered your mouth while Bucky’s shoulders tensed up.
“Sarah—?” you started, your heart beating painfully against your chest but thankfully Hannah cut you off.
“Everyone in the Wilson family is alright ma’am,” she said, making you let out a relieved breath. “It wasn’t an attack to any of their houses, just the territory.”
Bucky’s voice was stern when he spoke: “Where?”
“One of the bars,” Hannah said. “A couple of his men got hurt, so did some civilians.”
“HYDRA,” you murmured, your jaw clenching. “Fuck.”
“Is Paul around?”
“Yes sir, he’s downstairs.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there,” Bucky said and closed the door, then turned to you but you had already turned around to make your way to the coffee table to get your gun.
“Charm, you should stay here,” Bucky said, making you look over your shoulder. “It could be dangerous.”
You arched a brow, then grabbed the fur coat on the rack to throw it over the mini silk dress you were wearing.
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” you asked him as you pushed the gun into your handbag, then walked past him. “Let’s go.”
Bucky threw his head back and grabbed one of the car keys off the key hook, then followed you out of the apartment.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#mob!bucky barnes#mob!bucky#mob!bucky x reader#mob! bucky#mafia!bucky barnes x reader#mafia!bucky barnes#mafia!bucky#mafia bucky barnes#mafia bucky x reader#mob bucky barnes x reader#mob bucky barnes#mob bucky x reader#mob bucky#mob boss!bucky#mob boss bucky barnes#mob au#mob!au#bucky barnes x you
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I was wondering if you could do dad drew based of this video https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6Z8HtbA6MA/?igsh=MXdsc2hwdzFxd2c3Ng== idk if you still take requests tho but I hope you do cause I love your dad drew series 🫶🏼🫶🏼💗💗
Baby Whisperer
Pairing: Dad!Drew Starkey x Reader
Warnings: Feel Inadequate As A Father
Pronouns: She/Her
Word Count: 0.6K
A/N: I saw this reel before you requested it and it was so cute! Thank you for requesting it!
Masterlist
Sometimes it’s like babies speak a different language. This became even more clear to Drew when his baby girl began to speak. Drew remembers the first time he was able to understand Joy’s babble clearly. Her first word. Dada. However, since the milestone, not all words were coherent to the actor.
Drew lies on the stomach on the floor in front of Joy. She sits upright with a pillow behind her to provide comfort. Her pudgy hands grip the blocks and she brings them to the box with different shape holes at the top. She plops the toy into the correct hole. “Yay,” Drew cheers, clapping in celebration. The unexcited reaction from the toddler tells the father it is time to move on from the activity. He sits up and brings her onto his lap. She stares up at him, wondering why he stopped their game. “Hmm, you are bored. Aren’t you?” he questions. “What do you want to do?” Silence falls over them. The look in her eyes shows the gears are turning in her mind. “Pack!” she exclaims with elation. Drew’s brows meet at a point, “Pack? What do you want to pack, Baby?”
She repeats her words, “Pack!” “Do you want a backpack?” he tries. The confusion on her father’s face begins to frustrate her. “Pack. Pack,” she whines. Her tiny fist kneads at his shirt.
The high-pitched cries of her daughter summons Y/N to the living room. “Hey, what’s wrong?” she inquires. Her footsteps carry her in front of her little family and she rests her hand at the bottom of her dad’s back. Her husband looks at her with matching distraught to their daughter. “She’s trying to tell me something and I can’t understand her.” Y/N nods, “Go on, Baby.” Joy calms her tears. “Pack.” Her voice is small, fearful her mother isn’t going to understand her. “Pack.” It takes the mother a second to process the information. “Ohhh, Snack Pack. You want pudding, Baby?”
Relief flashes over the girl's face and she nods vigorously. “Pack! Pack!” Both parents look at each other with understanding. “Okay, Baby. Let’s go get you some pudding,” Drew announces, dancing his way into the kitchen with his baby girl in his arms.
The couple gets their daughter settled with her snack. She sits in her high chair and her father is in front of her, spoon-feeding her the dessert. The silicone tip of the rounded utensil follows the cover of the baby’s bottom lip to scoop the excess pudding into her mouth. As she chews the food, Drew puts the spoon down and smooths back her growing hair. “It’s so cute how satisfied she is with the pudding.” Y/N smiles at them, “It is. I think it might be her new favourite snack. I mean, did you see how angry she was getting when we couldn’t understand her.” Drew frowns, “Not we. When I couldn’t understand her. You swooped in and were a baby translator.”
“What’s wrong, Drew?”
“I’m her father. I’m supposed to be able to help her and I didn’t even know what she was saying. I failed her.”
Pain pangs through her heart and she places her palm on top of his hand. “You didn’t fail her. You may not understand her verbal expressions yet, but I know you can read her non-verbal ones just like one of your scripts.”
“What do you mean?”
“I could hear you guys from the other room, Drew. You guys were playing with the blocks and then you randomly asked her if she was bored. She didn’t cry or express it verbally. I know you saw that she wasn’t excited anymore so you switched tracks. A father who failed their daughter wouldn’t have noticed her boredom.”
Her words don’t fall on unlistening ears and he flips his hands so they hold onto each other. He gives her a small smile, leaning in for a kiss. “Thank you. I think you might be a Drew Whisperer too.”
Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld
#drew#daddy drew#drew starkey#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey fanfiction#drew starkey imagine#drew starkey fic#dad!drew#dad!drew starkey
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10 Things I Love About Triage
I am extraordinarily late to this party but I am here to scream about Triage, a show which I started on a whim after a stray comment from @incandescentflower and subsequently finished in two sittings. This drama has been on my list forever (I didn't watch it live because the distribution was wacky) and then it just kept getting overlooked as I fought to keep up with the deluge of Thai BL coming at us at all times. But I am very glad I finally hunted it down and made the time and I would like to tell you why!
Hello Again, Dr. Sammon
I am on record as a Sammon fan. She is one of the best writers working in Thai BL and she has a knack for mystery and suspense. Her narratives are always really well constructed with tight plotting and smart character work, and Triage is no exception. This story feels confident, steady, and complete in a way few Thai BLs do.
The time travel rules are blessedly consistent
Part of what makes the story sing is it's a time travel plot that actually gets the particulars right. In a time loop, the details are everything, and this show understands that. The series of events are consistent, the rules of the time travel mechanics are clearly explained, and when our protagonists learn something new, it always lines up with something we'd gotten hints about before or gives us new context for old information. There are no loose threads in this show.
My boy Tin is going through it
Tin is a fantastic protagonist. He starts the show disillusioned with his work and hilariously grumpy about this time loop situation--he is a busy ER doctor and he does not have time for this--but as he starts to piece together how the loop works he gets more methodical in his approach, and eventually becomes emotionally invested in his mission to save Tol. Tin felt really well-calibrated in that he was smart and he tried all the things you would be shouting at the screen for him to try, but he's still a human being with flaws and insecurities and so he makes mistakes, learns, and has to try again. The show really successfully put us in the frustration with him.
Tol makes for an interesting damsel
Because he's kind of an asshole! Tol is rude and disrespectful when he first meets Tin, he hangs around with some truly awful bullies, he treats Rit like garbage, and he's all around an arrogant dick. Until he isn't. I like the choice to make the focus of our mission such a difficult character, not only because it makes Tin's challenge that much harder, but also because it invites us to consider the reasons why someone might be behaving the way he is and whether they can be redeemed.
This show has everything: action, romance, and agony
It's truly an emotional rollercoaster all the way through, and you can't relax for a moment. The pacing is relentless through most of the show, and even as a bond develops between Tin and Tol and they begin a tentative romance, danger is lurking around every corner. As soon as these boys started making out in episode 9 I knew something awful was coming for me and IT SURE DID.
Jinta, the ultimate frenemy
On that note let's talk about Jinta, my nemesis!! Jinta is some kind of unspecified deity/whimsical god and the one who appears to be responsible for putting Tin and Tol in this loop. Is he trying to help them? Is he trying to torture them? I definitely think it's both! He seems to delight in showing up to taunt Tin as he struggles to figure out how to get through to Tol, and when it's Tol's turn on the merry-go-round he sends him to the darkest timeline for his high stakes final attempt to save Tin just because he can. I love/hate you, sir!
Sing and Gap and the darkest timeline
Speaking of which, can we talk about how appropriate it is that Sing and Gap are a couple only in the darkest timeline? I don't know if people were shipping this for real during the live watch, but I definitely was not and so I started cackling when we got to the worst possible timeline and Sing was suddenly calling Gap his boyfriend. Sammon, you are hilarious and I salute you.
Fantastic side characters
Let's talk about the sides I did love. First of all, aside from his weird aggressive flirting/not flirting thing with Gap, I actually did like Sing's friendship with Tin a lot. I also loved the hospital gang who were around to alternately tease and help Tin, most especially Toy and Fang. Toy is a sweetheart and a gossip who never misses a trick, and Fang is an actual badass who first cracked the case with that evil doctor and saved Tin's life. They are fabulous. Rit was also an excellent character with a lot of complexity and he added some much needed depth to the school storyline (does anyone else think he was basically the proto-DFF Non?). And while Mai and Heart were not my favorite people, I did appreciate that the show gave them a sympathetic portrayal instead of making them evil villains (we had the organ harvesters for that).
That beautiful clocktower
I must give a shoutout to this gorgeous clocktower featured in several important scenes. I got so excited every time it showed up. Fun fact: in the first clocktower scene I was like oh hey I recognize that from gifs, but it can't be that scene because it's too early for a kis--TIN WHAT ARE YOU DOING! (I was right, it was too early for a kiss and Tol was Big Mad but bless you for going for it anyway, Tin).
The romance is balanced and rootable
And on that note, let me give a shoutout to the romance part of this story for actually feeling balanced. This is not an epic swoony love affair, but more a story of two people putting in the time to understand and empathize with each other. Sometimes in these kind of time loop stories the romance can end up feeling very one-sided because one character is holding all the knowledge and all the cards. But in this show we have the neat trick of Tol taking over the loop to try to save Tin in the final arc, which means he got to go through a similar process of getting to know the darkest version of his lover and figuring out how to get through to him. I was delighted by all the events of the long loop playing out again, but this time with Tin being the obstinate one. Tol got a taste of his own medicine and it left me feeling like they were both equally invested in this relationship.
TL;DR: If you haven't watched this yet, you really should! It's a fast binge and a great time with some Thai BL favorites. It's unfortunately still not available for international streaming, but it's very easy to find grey now and it's worth the effort. Go forth!
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now and then | b.b.
pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc
summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.
series masterlist
xi. eleven: every word you say
the sunlight did not reach her face. there was no sunlight in sight at all, aside from the most external door that shows a little hint of the visible spectrum. she stirred awake on the hard floor she slept, if she had any at all. she slowly sat up, finding the colonel on the adjacent cell, staring into nothingness.
they have yet to acknowledge each other's presence, trapped in their own battles inside. it was a surreal thing—to feel that it was both the end and the beginning. they have long let go of any hopes in receiving a lighter sentence, and that act is what made it possible for them to breathe despite the stifling feeling.
they have found freedom. losing all hope was freedom.
hence, the young silva raised her gaze to the ragged man across. his rank is not apparent on his current state, stripped off of dignity and proper legacy. she pulled him to the deepest ocean floor a man has never explored to.
"i am so sorry, raphael." raine broke the silence, feeling utterly apologetic for bringing the man with her in this fate.
"there is no need." he replied, closing his eyes as he leaned on the wall.
there really was no need. although his tone may have sounded frustrated, it was not directed to the girl. coming to think of it, he believes he would have done the same. he actually did, when he admitted to the suspicions just so she could be saved. the young silva, however, was hardheaded. a small chuckle left his lips as he looked at her in thought.
"you know, your father would be proud."
"oh, silence." raine rolled her eyes in jest, "i have not slept well with how much my eyes poured last night. do not make me cry again."
"but it is true."
"i know," she turned to him with weak eyes, "he asked me one time, if he was being too forceful in making me the viscountess or also the fact that he taught me things that a proper lady would not have preferred."
she laughed at the memory of her father teaching her how to hold a dagger at four, and her mother in utter worry as she caught them both.
"he was afraid he turned me into something he wanted instead of being someone I want to be."
the lady chuckled before continuing, "i told him I do not see myself embroidering at all. he laughed like crazy."
raphael weakly laughed at the story. by the mention of the girl's teaching experiences, a memory resurfaced in his mind as well.
"did you know that your father used to say you shoot like—i apologise for the term we use in the military amongst men—a virgin?"
despite being above average compared to the general public, her shooting really did not pass her father's standards. she could shoot, yes, but it would not have been enough for war. armand concluded that it was enough at the very least for self-defense.
raphael lifted one end of his lips, "i bet he would say otherwise now."
"that is because now i am not." she said with indifference, missing the way the man sat up from his leaning, turning to her fully.
"...wait, what—you mean...?" he asked curiously, his will returning to his voice in spite of their current situation.
raine looked at him and she found it interesting how curious he was at the topic. she let out a short giggle before slowly nodding. his mouth noticeably went ajar at that as he pried more.
"the bridgerton son?" she nodded once again, raphael leaning back down in surprise, shaking his head in disbelief, "your father is going to kill you."
"no need. the crown is doing it for him."
both laughed in chorus—how they could still jest in a situation like this is lost. perhaps, it was there saving grace. little joys do really count.
"i cannot fathom what you could possibly find so amusing in a place like this."
the queen's voice announced her arrival, her face grimacing in disgust at the place. the two greeted her with respect, standing from their position. she looked around, as if assessing their surroundings before settling her eyes to the girl.
her majesty sighed resignedly, "why ever did you have to shoot him?"
"he talked too much."
"that he did." she had no problem agreeing with that statement at all. the lord had been bothering her as well before about royal familial matters.
she clasped her hands, forming the words to say, "i have spoken to have a private execution for you both. it was granted. this is the least i could do, considering everyone has voted for a beheading instead of hanging."
raine nodded thankfully at that. she did not care much. either way, they would be dead. she inquired further, "the soldiers?"
"all free from the charges."
the two released a breath of relief. that was one of their main goals—for the rest of the troop to be able to go home and spend the following years with their families.
"thank you, aunt lottie. that is all i ask." she smiled warmly to the older woman.
"it will be in an hour." the queen noted, pertaining to the execution.
it must already be five in the afternoon already. the young silva did not know how time flew by so fast. she neared the girl, pushing a hand through the bars of her cell. raine held her hand as she continued.
"make death proud to take us."
raphael and raine's ears perked at that, their brows crossing as the queen took back her hand slowly, "how do you know of it?"
charlotte offered them a smile before she turned away, "your father had been a good company."
after the queen, major gilbert and the viscount bridgerton also stopped to visit them. the former relayed the gratefulness of the soldiers by the news of their freedom, while the latter updated her on how the queen is working on for a proper investigation against the said involved people in the treason with the help of the papers that was left to him. they did not take long, of course. the prison had that effect. it was very suffocating.
yet, her breath came back at the sight of the man in front of her.
"what are you doing here?" she said in concern, her lips quivering as she scrambled on her feet.
benedict reached to her, cupping her face with a tearful smile, "i told you. i will always be here."
she shut her eyes in shame of her current state, "you should not see me like this."
he chuckled with tears in his eyes, "like painfully beautiful?"
"like dying." she corrected in all honesty as he went silent, his heavy breathing speaking for himself.
his lips formed a thin line, features traced with painstaking gaze, "you are so unfair."
"i know," she admitted, knowing exactly what he meant, "i am so sorry."
he hushed her, his palms still on her cheeks as he soothed—both tracing the tear marks that intensified their emotions.
"forget about me. let go of this grief completely." she bleakly uttered, torment clear on her voice.
benedict immediately responded a multiple series of 'no' with an intense shaking of his head in disagreement. he would do anything to not forget her, both the joy and painful memories. he would cherish everything that she was present in. he would cling onto every word she utters.
"and in case you do forget about me," she continued, cupping his face with the utmost care, "i hope you remember by my touch alone.
he nodded fervently, "i love you."
he leaned his head to hers, their breaths exchanging as if he was used to the taste of pain on a dead friday night.
"i love you too."
they wanted to be together for as long as they could, and if that's not very long, well, then that's just how it is. and so, they held each other for the last time, coming to terms that if this life will be this cruel, he would spend the rest of his life praying that the next will not be.
he wanted to badly stay with her, to stop the time and prolong this moment. but, it seemed like he had angered the gods as a guard knocked his truncheon on the door, calling for him to exit for the fifteen-minute preparation before the execution.
━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━
no later, guards entered the cells, taking both prisoners with no austerity in their touch. it was so strange for them to the point that it was hard to swallow. they have seized and lead criminals of darkest crimes to their end, yet they find themselves wanting to break the two out.
a viscountess and a colonel, both still children in their own way.
they have never thought there comes a day they would dread their work, and the executioner would say the same. because just as they all arrived in the execution stage, the forty-five soldiers, four members of the bridgerton family, and the queen are in attendance. as she caught sight of them, raine offered a brief, forlorn smile. these people are the ones who she is most thankful of.
executions happen at a faster pace than the young silva thought. one moment they were walking, the next they were kneeling. the executioner bowed to the both of them when they arrived, now asking for forgiveness on the duty he must do in a while. loraine granted him that.
he stood back up, announcing clearly, "you have been granted to speak your final words."
she turned to take a look at raphael, the latter nodding as a sign for her to speak for them both. raine casted her head down in thinking of the words she must say for the last time. she looked back at them all, to no one in particular, and dared to raise her eyes to her terrible fate as she began.
"when a crime goes unpunished, the world is unbalanced. when the wrong is unavenged, the heavens look down on us in shame. we too must die for this circle of vengeance to be closed. we will leave this record of our courage so the world will know who we were and what we did."
as she ended, they both tied the cloth firmly to cover their eyes. at the absence of sight, fear started to creep in. she could hear the executioner stepping away from her and to the colonel first. he declared with resolve, a means of comforting the two souls.
"death is proud to take you."
raine exhaled peacefully at that. it was a reply to their previous convictions—a way of reassuring they have done well.
and so, she did not panic, even when the sound of a drop on the floor filled the place.
raphael had been a great friend, soldier, and a person. the silva would not mind having to fight beside him once again.
the room stayed silent, with no other noise but the small whimpers of the audience. however, it was immediately overshadowed by the sound of footsteps, nearing her one step at a time. she guessed this must be it.
loraine's mind became blank. she hurried herself to think of memories—those that she would love to relive. she had a strange belief that it would not be as painful if she was feeling happy. but, it was also strangely hard to be one in the moment. all she could think of was that maybe, dying is the best option for her in this life. there was no home for her anymore.
and when she greets death, she hoped it is gentle. she hoped it is like going home. she believed a great happiness awaited her somewhere.
and for this reason, she remained calm as the axe hit her neck.
the audience found themselves letting go of the prolonged silence, breaking out to their cries. however, one person did not have any tear or voice left in himself anymore as he stared at the trail of blood that was starting to accumulate and flow away from the body.
indeed, a lot can happen in a day.
he was annoyed by her in one, taken by her in one, and loved her in one. he is grieving for her in one, and he will long for her in one.
and so, he was left with nothing but to face reality—realising that a very frightening thought is now shadowing him intimately.
when tomorrow depends to a person, what should one do? when that person is lost, does that mean tomorrow is too?
love was there. it may have not changed anything. it may have not saved anyone. but, it still matters that the love was there.
because, raine did not need to be saved. she needed to be found and appreciated for who exactly she was. her father has taught her that this world was only a preparation for the next, that all they can ask is to leave it having loved and being loved.
and benedict, until the very last moment, made that known to her and everyone else. she was found. she was appreciated. she was loved.
all by him.
taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @myo11 @idek-what-to-put @aysamuka
#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton x oc#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton
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Digital walls, but walls
I encourage you to have a seat and read this little 'essay' I wrote back in 2014 if you really want to understand what I'm doing today. I would be really grateful and I'm sure you'll have a much better understanding of my whole work.
Digital walls, but walls
On the way to space and public art | came across the digital walls. They can be "painted" but they also have the function of limiting, of delimiting, of separating...
A change of paradigm has been happening for some years now with the arrival of the internet, which has completely changed some aspects and concepts that have to do with the world of art and more specifically with urban art or public art. From the beginning, this type of art has been carried out in public places with the aim of being observed by anyone on the street and thus making it free, accessible and free from any premise or institution when it is created. (not considering the "warlike coexistence” with the advertising).
The appearance of the Internet has changed it. A vast majority of the art is seen online on a screen, what questions that the street is the natural canvas of this art discipline. While it is for the one who creates the piece, it is almost never for the one who looks at it. Public spaces are no longer just physical, in the same way that the plastic arts are no longer just plastic.
Due to the access to technology and its cheapness, nowadays it is inconceivable to think of art without considering the whole digital sphere, whether as a tool, a method of creation or of dissemination. But at the same time, all these centuries of art history condition the understanding of art, sometimes acting as a burden in terms of understanding what art is.
The dragging of already preconceived ideas and the weight of the genetic inheritance makes us repeat concepts about what art is and was. In the face of such a rapid change of paradigm, it seems that we find it difficult to understand that this whole new digital world is still the world. Both virtual and augmented reality are also reality, but the fact that it is appreciated through a screen sometimes causes it not to be considered as something artistic or even real. Thinking that way we could say that looking at a piece of art on the Internet does not have its complete experience, since we are not seeing it in the place for which it was devised, and neither are we perceiving it in a direct way, but with a screen as an intermediary. But at the same time, I think about all the content that we consume today with these devices - movies, series, photographs, news, and even art, current and classic - and not because of that we think or say that they are unreal.
At this point, where the analog space merges with the digital space, a new artistic expression is born that is entirely digital, where the final piece is born and ends up in the digital realm. Conceived through digital tools and deposited in the public digital space. These pieces of art suggest skipping the step of "existing" first in the ‘real reality’ to reach directly the virtual reality, which is also reality, and once from there, to have an impact on the analog reality.
It would also be curious to reflect on the parallelism between urban art and digital art, since, being in public places, both are susceptible to being stolen, altered or appropriated by other people for different purposes. And also, on the idea of anonymity, always used by urban artists to be able to work in the street without risk of infringement, and now also used in the digital environment. Either by often using copyrighted content that we find on the web (street 2.0) for an artistic purpose or by the "erosion of sharing” in which at some point someone does not credit the work, but it is still shared. In this case there should be a new word to define those people that everybody knows, but nobody knows who they are. “Famonimous" characters or the concept of "famonimity"; people or artists who are known precisely because they are anonymous.
Since the beginnings of urban art, the idea was to use public space to express oneself freely, but we must bear in mind that public space is nothing more than the remainder of the space divided by the private, the "leftovers" after the developers pass, the worthless places left open to the common people by institutions, etc., etc..... With the change of social, technological and artistic paradigm, urban art has been normalized and is now used as a method of decoration of places in poor condition, as a complement to a public road or simply as a means of open artistic expression as it has always been. Because if the initial objective was to make art accessible, direct and open to everyone, that idea has moved to the internet and, in some ways, the radical idea of urban art would no longer have that sense.
Therefore, if we understand urban or public art as a type of art accessible to everyone, free of charge and without any kind of condition, | believe that digital art fulfils this role today, since it inhabits all public places, whether analog or digital. Urban art needs this digital sphere to be able to expand and be visible. Because nowadays most urban art is seen through screens, not in the place where the piece has been created, which makes all these works more accessible to everyone at any time. And so, the ’paradox of the graffiti artist’ is born, the one who expresses his freedom in the walls that imprison him. These walls generate private spaces and what is outside them is considered public space by the mere fact of being spaces where people pass through. But it does not mean that this public space is open to intervention. Every public space is under the supervision of a privative entity, whether it is a municipality, a company or simply, the property of an individual. Public space does not exist, neither in the ‘real reality’, nor in the virtual one. It is always subject to something superior that manages it.
Within this dilemma, augmented reality becomes another alternative to the path of public art. It gives the possibility of creating art in public spaces, only seen on digital devices, and using the ‘real reality’ as the piece’s canvas. Until recently, photography and/or video were methods of capturing reality. Now, with this change of prism, these disciplines moved from being the purpose itself, to becoming raw material for the creation of other new artistic expressions. In this direction, | want to focus on the gif format. This format is strictly digital, so it gives us the option to edit, to add movement to pieces that, before, condemned to live still. We can spread in on the Internet and make it accessible to everyone at any time. When adding augmented reality, the two concepts intertwine, urban/public art and digital art, what gives rise to new artistic expressions that call into question deep rooted concepts such as museum, art and reality.
There are already many centuries researching, testing and creating the same type of art, whether sculpture, painting.... Except for the birth of new "isms" within these disciplines, it gives the impression that they are exhausted. At this point it would be convenient to think about the idea of unique work, copy, forgery, recreation... Thinking about the evolution of art we must consider that all new progress is born of the technological options that occur in each era. Nowadays, the difference is that progress happens every day, very fast, and it seems that it is difficult (or unwilling) to understand this change because of the speed of it. This cultural and genetic heritage blurs our vision and sometimes prevents us from conceiving new artistic expressions as such, since there are no previous references to support them.
But, at the end of the day, every new artistic expression, in its beginnings, was not art. "Science develops ideas that come from art that is inspired by science.” The world of classical art enjoys an aura of untouchable deity because when we are born it has always been there, but we cannot forget to think for a moment with perspective that all this classical art was created mainly by the entities of power of each era: kings, church, political powers...
This is why today (without underestimating the technique and the work of the artists) these types of classical art enjoy an invulnerability as, in the end, it was created by and for the power itself.
Then, this type of art collides with the urban and/or public art, along with digital art. In the public and digital space those who decide what is "art" are the people.
I am sure that the first Cro-Magnon who used a tuft of horse hairs instead of his own hands to paint was seen as an art/magic/belief apath.
Now we live in a new paradigm shift, but in this case it is not local or national, it is global and immediate.
A. L. Crego, 2014.
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<- part one | part three -> | series masterlist
chapter summary: The week of the bet begins with a bang.
the song: Bodybag by chloe moriondo
also for your listening pleasure: Hungry Like the Wolf by Duran Duran / The Girl is Mine by Michael Jackson & Paul McCartney / I Can't Go For That by Daryl Hall & John Oates
4,024 words | please see masterlist for gen warnings / underage alcohol consumption & mentions / slut shaming from idiot/asshole teens | my blog is 18+
A house on Cornwallis Street - the past
The beat from the drums in the Duran Duran song playing throbbed, the speakers physically pulsing as you passed them. Your heels stuck to the kitchen tiles as you entered the room that had been your sanctuary for the past hour. Once the beer had been moved to the living room and the chip bowls thoroughly destroyed, the sticky vodka bottles and punch that looked like something died in it weren’t visited as frequently as they had been at the start of the night.
So it was there, forearms pressed to the edge of the sink as you lifted a foot and rolled your ankle, then the next, with a soft and maybe too sensual sigh of relief, that Steve Harrington finally caught you alone.
“New shoes?”
You spun, forgetting the teeny tiny sticks beneath your heels didn’t really care for quick movements or aiding in the process of balancing.
He caught your forearm, fingers curled around your wrist as you settled. Like he was reminded he wasn’t supposed to like you, he dropped it, fingers running through the darkening hair he was keeping longer now instead as you lied.
“No.”
Steve squinted at you, taking a sip out of red cup, mumbling into the plastic with a snort, “Sure.”
Your arms crossed, now acutely aware of the fact that the entire outfit you’d been in all night was much more revealing than anything you’d worn around him before. Eyes focused on the denim cut off a little too high on your thighs and the sliver of skin between the top of the mini skirt and your borrowed pink top as you accused, “What are you doing here?”
Steve took a step closer, white Adidas kicking a forgotten red solo cup as he did.
“Funny,” he clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, “Was just about to ask you the same thing.”
As you glanced up, you couldn’t help but notice the dark blue of his polo was starting to get tight around his shoulders and biceps.
Couldn’t help but look at his eyes that were unwavering in their gaze on you. Which all only made your skin hot, made you need to look away and pretend you were looking for something on the counter littered in trash.
“Where else would I be, Harrington?”
Steve was right behind you as he hummed, “Anywhere else. Literally, anywhere but a house party.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You spun with the biting accusation, the little black heels now your arch nemesis as they wobbled beneath unsteady ankles again. Steve caught your waist that time, bodies closer together as you fell back against the counter.
He didn’t let go, his finger resting just above the denim, right against your skin.
“It means,” he swallowed, exhaling a shaky breath as he leaned in and explained, voice taking on a tone that seemed like he was quoting something. Or someone. “That I thought you were better than stale beer and shitty conversation with idiots.”
A flash of an argument with your friend Robin in the hallway ghosted across your memory, making your lips part, but only a small noise escaped them.
The movement and sound had Steve’s eyes glancing down, his adams apple bobbing. It had him squeeze at your hip involuntarily, had you wondering if it was possible for skin to spontaneously catch on fire.
“I love beer,” you finally managed to sputter out while wondering if he always had those two freckles on his cheek and if he did, why could you suddenly not look away from them as they lifted with his smirk.
“Yeah?” He offered his cup out to you, “Have at it, honey.”
Maybe it was the challenge in his eyes. Or that word, honey, that made you do it - made you aware of how close you were to the boy you’d always hated and how he wasn’t the one you came with.
You took the cup and kept eye contact as the rim met your lips, kept it while the bitter liquid washed over your tongue. You kept it still, as you wondered if it was the color of his eyes or the alcohol that had your stomach warm and fizzing with something abnormal.
“For the record,” you whispered after your fingers swiped at your lips, “I do hate shitty conversation with idiots. I came in here for a drink for my boyfriend.”
Steve blinked, like he hadn’t heard anything you’d said since you took the cup from him and that wonderful pride swelled in your chest with the thought that you’d successfully gotten the ball back to your side of the court.
You cocked your head and blinked innocent eyes up at him, “Brenden Peterson? Junior? I think you’re on the basketball team with him…or well…” you winced, “You’re on the bench of the team he plays for…”
Steve’s hand dropped from your waist as boisterous calls came from the other room, shouting about spin the bottle. Tina’s voice carried over the music that dulled to something quieter, Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney singing about loving the same girl. Your name called in her shrill squeal, asking if you were playing.
“Absolutely!” You yelled, still too close to Steve, “I love spin the bottle!”
You were sure it was the beer on your tongue that made the words slip over it, then out of cherry glossed lips so easily.
Not the way Steve Harrington was looking at you. That had nothing to do with it.
Nothing at all.
Steve finally made a noise, scoffing as you shimmied out from his spot keeping you against the counter, wandering closer to the rowdy boys cheering at your agreeability to the suggested game.
His jaw pulsed as you sipped out of the solo cup and made eye contact with him over the rim. He hated that something deep in his biology or wherever it came from had him suddenly panicked he’d pop a boner when your tongue darted out to catch amber liquid and foam from a pouted bottom lip.
He hated that he followed you into that room.
That he sat across from you in that circle.
He hated what happened next.
You were looking around the room, eyebrows furrowed together as a girl named Carol patted the carpet next to her and told you to sit. Brendan wasn’t in the room and as you looked around the circle, you caught Steve looking right at you with a challenge in his eyes not unsimilar to the one you just had in the kitchen.
So you leaned forward and yelled, “Me first!”
The circle ooh’ed, Steve looked anywhere but your chest as you crawled to the center and your fingers spun the green bottle.
You were settled on your knees, blinking down at the slowing bottle and silently screaming for it to keep spinning, keep spinning, keep…
Carol yelled out an “Oh La La!” and boys snickered as the green bottle finally stopped right between Steve Harrington and Tommy H.
“I-I just spin again, right?” You went to do so, panicking as Tina laughed from somewhere on your right.
“Nope! Gotta kiss both boys!”
“But I-“
“Oh, come on!” Carol moaned, snickering, “It’s just a kiss! Or two!”
You hesitated, hating the way Tommy grinned at you and Steve continued to stare at the carpet.
“Wait,” someone in the circle laughed, “You’ve kissed a guy before, right?”
Another person whispered, “Dude, that’s Brendan’s latest conquest. The one who…in the back of his…”
Your vision got a little blurry, the room suddenly too warm.
“Come on, I don’t bite,” Tommy shrugged, lifting his eyebrows up and smirking. “Unless you want me to.”
Steve’s fingers clenched into fists on his knees, he finally looked up at you and whispered, “You don’t have to-“
His words were cut off as you grabbed Tommy’s collar and pulled him towards you. Lips colliding in a kiss that made the circle cheer, wet lips and tongue and you pulled away with a gasp. Grabbing at Steve who looked shocked but his hand landed on your waist as your noses bumped.
You took a deep breath, your eyelids started to flutter closed when you heard, “What do we have here?”
Brendan stood to the side of the circle, a tilted head of mussed blond hair. He laughed as he gestured to the circle, “Wow, you really will just do whatever guys ask you to, huh?”
Looking around the circle, everyone snickered into drinks or looked at you then Brendan, waiting for more of the show.
“I-“
“You what?” Brendan interrupted, eliciting more laughs and your eyes started to burn, cheeks too hot when Brendan nodded at Steve and scoffed,
“Enjoy my sloppy seconds.”
A tear rolled down your cheek and when Tommy started to laugh, “Oh no, she’s cry-“
Steve elbowed him and whispered your name.
You shoved at him and stood, ready to bolt, when you saw the girl standing just behind Brendan with the purple mark blossoming on her neck.
Your jaw clenched as you took a step, then another, Brendan too focused on laughing at you with his buddies to care until he was doused in beer.
The music stopped, the circle fell silent, and Brendan blinked through foam, swiping at his eyes as he growled, “What the fu-“
“Enjoy continuing to fail freshman level biology, getting kicked off the basketball team, and going absolutely fucking nowhere in your life, Brendan.”
You threw the crumpled red solo cup at his face as you tried to leave the room with some ounce of grace on the stupid heels you couldn’t wait to never see again.
The slam of the front door behind you rattled the framed photos inside as much as the sob in your lungs did to your breath. Your fingers pressed to your lips as you blinked back the hot tears that wanted to pour out of you.
“Hey,” a quiet voice from your left called, “You okay?”
A boy was leaning on his elbows in the grass, curly brown hair that was a little too long catching in the breeze, a lit cigarette dangling between his lips. He looked familiar, like you’d seen him in the back of the band room or somewhere in the first few months at Hawkins High.
He looked you over and shook his head with a grimace, “Yeah, no, that’s not an okay face.”
“I’m fi-fine,” you managed to hiccup out.
“Well, fine,” he groaned like a person much older than the boy he was as he stood, “I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”
A laugh left you, despite the tears still trailing down your cheeks. You swiped at them and told him your actual name.
Eddie nodded and twisted the toe of a black boot into the cigarette now on the ground. “Still nice to meet you, but far less cool and interesting of a name than ‘Fine’ if you ask me.”
“It was nice to meet you too, Eddie,” you waved a little, hugged your arms around yourself and started down the driveway, only stopping to kick off your black heels and leave them in the grass. As you began again, now barefoot, his voice carried on the early autumn breeze.
“Hey, Fine!”
He grinned when you turned, and he held up his hands in surrender as he spoke. “Tell me to fuck off, but whatever just happened inside is not worth your time or energy, but you know what is?”
You sighed, and waved your hand towards him, “I suppose you’re gonna tell me yourself?”
He beamed and held a hand to his chest covered in some sort of skull and snake design, “Well, that probably remains to be seen. I do have a whole presentation on the value of having a Munson for a friend, but, nah, I was gonna say cherry pie.”
That laugh left you again, and Eddie only smiled wider at the sound, a dimple poking out on his cheek.
You looked at him, then the house behind him, then down at the heels in the grass.
“Can we stop and get me new shoes?”
“Can we…?” Eddie looked at you incredulously, “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t think of bringing you to get cherry pie without sneakers on your feet.”
He waved to a van a few cars down the street, bowing, “Your chariot awaits, ma’lady.”
By the time Steve got outside, bruised and bloody knuckles hung limply at his sides as he watched a van round the corner of his street, then disappear.
A house on Cornwallis Street - the present
His fingers press the top of the alarm clock at precisely five fifty-nine am on Monday morning, the red glow of clock telling him he’s up too early yet again.
He doesn’t drive Robin to school anymore, he doesn’t have to be at work till nine thirty, but he’s kind of used to his routine now.
And it’s not like he was sleeping anyways.
His old Hawkins High swim team t-shirt slips over his head as he sighs, hands rubbing and slapping at his cheeks as he thinks about how he hasn’t really slept all weekend. He’s lacing his sneakers up as he thinks about how he definitely didn’t sleep on Friday.
Not after he let you inside, and you smiled at him like that. After he yelled about how this wasn’t a fair bet and how Eddie upped the stakes to three hundred dollars then, the ‘arch nemesis’ clause as he put it.
He holds his ankle in the driveway, pulling his leg up and stretching it, then the other, glaring at the red sign on the front lawn in the hazy morning sun beginning to rise. He starts down the sidewalk, but sees the house on the corner and decides that after an entire weekend of revisiting memory lane, he doesn’t need to physically go down the literal lane of his past mistakes and regrets.
His feet thump on the ground in time with the Duran Duran song playing in his walkman.
Family Video - the present
Daryl Hall and John Oates voices abruptly stop when you slam the stop button on your walkman due to the sight in front of you.
Your feet straddle the baby blue bike, docs pressed to the pavement as you glare at the maroon car idling in the parking lot.
He has his head leaned back against the head rest, eyes closed. His arms are crossed over the green vest while Tears for Fears plays out the open window quietly.
Pulling your headphones down around your neck, you slam your hand on the hood of his car and Steve jumps in his seat, blinking profusely and swiping at his eyes before he glares at you.
“What are you doing here?” You accuse, fingers gripping your handlebars.
Steve rolls his eyes then his window up. He yanks his keys from the ignition, the sudden loss of the vehicles noises making the cicadas and frogs in the pond across the street louder.
He gets out and squints at you as he slams the door.
“Cute helmet.”
You quickly snap it off, cheeks warming as you shove your bike lock into a wheel and glare at him from your new crouched position.
“Again,” you snap the lock closed, “Why are you here?”
Steve sighs, leaning against the storefront’s window. “We open at ten, do we not?”
“We,” you laughed, sticking your key into the front door with the shake of your head, “Don’t do anything. You work in the afternoon all week. With Robin. I’m alone in the mornings until we-“
“Find a replacement for Tracy. Yeah,” Steve bites the inside of his cheek, pointing his finger like he’s just remembered something, “Keith said something about that. But, well, I volunteered for extra shifts, to help out while we’re short staffed for summer.”
You pull the key from the lock and narrow your eyes. “You what?”
Steve smiles at you, freckles on his cheek lifting as he shows off perfect teeth. “What can I say, I’m just a nice guy.”
You actually yell out a, “Ha!” with your head thrown back as you open the front door, not caring to hold it open for him.
“You…you…” you stomp towards the back room as you search for the right words, “Slimy, sneaky…”
“Sexy?” Steve provides, following you.
“No.” You spin with the word, not expecting him to be so close behind you.
He stops just as abruptly as you, face mere centimeters from yours, both of you having the cover of the slow to buzz on overhead lights to steal breaths and find your composure once more.
Steve sighs, walking past you towards the wall where time cards are kept. “Listen, if it’s actually that terrible to work with me, I can call Keith again. But I really would appreciate the extra shifts.”
You hang your helmet on a hook and push your own card into the machine, skepticism evident in your voice as you ask, “You need the extra shifts?”
Steve faces your profile, and you feel his gaze lingering on your cheek as he whispers, “Well, yeah. I’m about to be out three hundred dollars in a week.”
Turning to face him, you finally take in his appearance. The sincere look in his eyes is almost overshadowed by the circles under them, the frown of his pink lips almost forgotten due to the stubble surrounding them that’s not normally there.
Your silence seems to mean something to him though, because the frown becomes a smirk, and his head tilts as he asks, “Or am I not?”
“Not what?”
His smirk becomes a full smile, “Not gonna be out three hundred bucks. See something you like, babe?”
And just like that, it’s gone.
Your eyes roll as your shoulder bumps his on the way to the coffee pot.
“In your dreams, Harrington.”
He watches you press start on the coffee, sitting on top of the break rooms table with crossed arms over a plain blue t-shirt.
“Bet you’d like that.”
You fiddle with the cream you’ve pulled out of the fridge, the clipboard of tasks Keith left for the week. “What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, keeping your tone bored, willing the minutes of this day to go by faster.
Steve’s voice is quieter, and closer to you as he says, “If I dreamt about you.”
Spinning at his words, cream canister in one hand, coffee mug in the other almost colliding with his chest. You blink at him as he continues, “Bet you’d like it even more if I told you what we did in those dreams.”
Your back hits the counter, not realizing Steve took a step closer as he spoke and there was nowhere for you to avoid how good he smelled or how what he was saying was making you sure there was something wrong with your stomach. Nowhere to avoid the eyes that look at you unashamed, and you could swear dare to seem hopeful.
Until he’s grinning, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
And doesn’t he?
Steve taps the counter behind you twice with two of his fingers and hums.
“On second thought, maybe you should take my afternoon shifts. Looks like I’m not the one who’s gonna be needing the extra cash after all.”
He leaves, whistling a song you can’t quite place, but it itches at your skin, demanding to be felt like the burn of his words left on your cheeks.
You shake your head, and fix your coffee. This is not happening. Despite Robin and Eddie vouching for the new and improved Harrington, you will never, ever, believe it.
You will never let him win.
Especially after the first morning shift with him.
When the store opens at ten, there are three cars in the lot already, families stocking up on weekly rentals. Kids are in and out, shouting about candy and horror movie marathons. Steve and you are both behind the counter for most of the shift dealing with returns and large purchases, arms bumping too many times to count. It’s when his hands land on your hips as you threaten to topple over with the stack of tapes you were desperate to get out on the shelves in the lull, that you both notice you’re finally alone again for the first time in four hours.
Steve’s breath hits your neck, making you even warmer with a murmured, “You’re welcome,” when you gasp out a thanks. He drops his hands quickly and squints up at the ceiling, then out the front doors.
The sky has turned darker, gray and gloomy, and you wouldn’t be surprised if a typical summer thunderstorm was rolling in.
Steve leans against the counter, the back of his hand swiping through his hair as the other fiddles with the TV remote. He turns off The Breakfast Club, switching to a cable station. You keep your back to him as he’s surely staring at the news anchor’s chest that most men in Hawkins want to suffocate in, until he mutters, “Knew it.”
“That Lucy Lebrock’s boobs were fake?” You mumble, stacking tapes.
Steve snorts out a laugh and then he gasps, standing up straighter, “Holy shit. Are they really?”
“Honestly, Harrington, look at them.” You spin and gesture to the TV and whisper, “Oh, fuck.”
“I know,” Steve nods, biting the inside of his lip as he glances out the store windows again.
Lucy points to a map showing a massive storm inching closer to Hawkins, red banner announcing a tornado watch for surrounding areas.
Steve and you continue to watch, leaning against the counter next to each other in silence as Lucy tells everyone about tornado safety.
“I cannot believe they’re not real. You’re right. I really am an idiot.” Steve’s whisper finally breaks the silence.
You snort, covering your mouth with your hand, hiding your laugh but your eyes sparkle when he looks at you.
And then a loud clap of thunder booms overhead, like the universe itself is warning you of what’s happening, of the danger just around the corner.
Then the power goes out.
It all happens quickly after that, and yet, each moment lingers, like it’s making sure you’re committing it all to memory.
There’s a moment where you grab Steve’s arm and he grabs your hip.
One where you both jump a part, shouting sorry too loud.
There’s another, that threatens to steal your breath when Steve holds his vest over your head as you squint through rain streaming down your face as you lock the front door, the ‘Sorry we’re closed’ sign swinging behind the glass erratically as you inhale cedar and mint.
Then one, that grabs something inside of your chest and squeezes, when you start towards your bike and Steve slips his fingers between yours and tugs, shouting over the rain, “Don’t be stupid!”
There’s several filled with the splashes of your feet in puddles as he tugs you towards the BMW’s passenger side, unlocking it and racing around the hood himself.
One that’s silent, save for rain pelting the metal roof, and both of your heavy breaths fogging up the glass.
Then the sirens start going off, Steve’s fingers shake as he starts the car, swiping water from his eyes with the other.
“My…my apartment. It’s on the other side of…”
Steve shakes his head, backing out carefully as the wipers work faster than what seems possible, and yet they do nothing to aid in his ability to see out the windshield.
“Honey, you’re crazy if you think I’m taking you anywhere other than my house that has a full basement and an emergency storm kit Robin made me make with her last summer.”
Honey.
The word lingers, swooshed away with the sound of the wipers and the Duran Duran song that scratches the itch that lingered all morning spilling out of the car’s speakers. It disappears with the spin of tires on the wet pavement as they take you to Cornwallis Street.
Tag List - thanks for your endless patience and excitement for this and sorry for the delay in posting today 💛
@ash5monster01 @madaboutjoe @foreverinwanderlust @the-fairy-anon @scarletwitchgf
@curlsincriminology @siriuslysmoking @redbarn1995 @starry--sarah @starksbabie
@taccobelle @angst-lasagna @blckburd @crownofdecit @torntaltos
@sanniegirl1214 @yourmommilf
#superbly subpar's writing#BICFTF#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington series#steve harrington fic#cw alchohol mention#cw alcohol
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Unsportsmanlike
Chapter 1 - Atlanta
━•❖•━
Rating | Mature
Summary | What happens between the four after Tashi's injury.
Pairing | f!Original Character x Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig
Tags | Competition, Love Triangles (Squares?), Jealousy, Plot, Emotional Baggage, Smut, Exes, Unresolved Tension, Complicated Relationships
Word Count | 2.7K
Author's note | SMUT warning! This chapter is pretty much just smut with background plot. I been a nasty girrrl, nasty—is somebody gonna match my freak?
━•❖•━
Part 1 of this series - Sportsmanlike
Unsportsman like on AO3 | Chapter 1 - Atlanta, Chapter 2 - Spring Blooms, Chapter 3, ...
2007
Everything changed after the incident.
Tashi Duncan, once the promising tennis prodigy, now faced a future irreversibly altered by a soul-crushing injury, leaving her dreams behind and her career at a halt. The chain of events set in motion had far-reaching consequences, affecting not only her own life but also the lives of those around her. The lives of the three people so close to Tashi's story would be forever changed, for the better—or for the worst.
Despite the accident not being her fault she could sense Tashi's silent resentment towards her. And although Tashi never outright accused her, she could sense the undercurrent of bitterness between them. It was as if the balance of power between them faltered, with Tashi's control over her slowly slipping through her fingers.
Tashi's attitude towards Patrick hardened after the accident. Despite his efforts to reach out to her, she wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Patrick's visits to Stanford became rare—eventually stopping altogether. The once close connections between Patrick and her, Tashi, and Art had dwindled to nothing.
Art’s interactions with Tashi took on a different tone, with him accepting her instructions and following her guidance. Perhaps this was the start of Tashi's next target, with Art willingly playing the role of the obedient follower she craved.
She couldn’t help but feel tremendously guilty about Art and Tashi's situation. She also couldn't shake the feeling of pity for Patrick. Despite Patrick’s attempts to fix things, Tashi refused to engage with him—and consequently—Art did the same. As she reflected on her last encounter with Patrick at Stanford, she could still hear his resigned voice. “Good luck with those two.”
She did everything she could.
Her desperation pushed her to plead with Tashi. "Tashi, please," she implored, "I'll do anything . I just want things to go back the way they used to be between us." Tashi's silence and distance had become too much for her.
"Yeah, I also wish things had gone differently," Tashi said coolly, "but there’s nothing I can do about it, so what are you begging me for?"
She found herself begging for forgiveness, even though she knew deep down the accident wasn’t her fault. "I can't begin to imagine your frustration, Tashi. I’m just asking that you forgive me."
"You want my forgiveness?" Tashi says, her tone commanding. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna let me have Art and you’re going to play for me. I'll be here to train you and turn you pro." Tashi outlines her conditions unwavering determination, setting clear boundaries. "I don't want to hear any bitching, any complaints," she orders. "I don't want you distracted, trying to start anything with Art. If you're gonna be playing for me, you do it under my rules."
In her determination to secure Tashi's forgiveness, she found herself submitting to Tashi's demands and orders without question. She endured Tashi's harsh training daily, pushing her limits to the extreme during her final year at Stanford. The hardest part of her new reality was watching Tashi make Art fall in love with her, unable to decipher whether her jealousy was stronger for Art or Tashi.
Her own downfall came not long after. The intense pressure took its toll on her, leading to a breakdown during an important match. Overwhelmed, she dropped her racket and succumbed to an intense panic attack. She couldn’t take it anymore—making a promise to herself—she would never pick up a racket again.
Her studies came to a halt. The cursed year of 2007 and her Stanford days were over. She disappeared, similarly to Patrick.
Atlanta, 2011
Patrick
Patrick walks down the streets of downtown Atlanta, feeling the warm summer night air caress his skin as he takes a puff from his cigarette. His gaze scans the surroundings, taking in the luxurious interiors of the hotels that line the area. He probably could be staying in one of those hotels if his tennis career was as bustling as he expected it to be back in the day. Sure, he has his family’s money, but he never had the guts to ask his parents for anything.
He takes a deep puff of his cigarette, savoring the taste before flicking it away onto the pavement. With a final breath, he steps forward, his gaze fixed on the doorway of a hotel ahead. He can't help but notice the elegant wooden paneling of the hotel's interior, and the sparkling chandelier.
Patrick takes another step forward and comes to a stop in front of one of the windows.
She doesn’t seem to notice him at first, giving him the opportunity to observe the person he used to know. He notices how she’s changed—or, in fact—how little she’s changed since he last saw her. Her copper hair is slightly shorter, lending her a more sophisticated look, and her face holds a gentle expression as she gazes at the TV in the corner of the bar. He can't help but notice the familiar tilt of her head, a mannerism that is uniquely hers, and how she still looks youthful, yet more at peace and seemingly more adult.
As she turns her head and her eyes meet his through the window, her eyes widen in surprise. The soft glow of the reflection from the window falls upon her features, highlighting her beautiful expressions. Seeing her reaction, Patrick can't help but let a familiar smirk play upon his lips—his typical smirk.
For a brief moment, the two of them simply stand there, staring at each other through the window before he makes his way to the doorway to join her inside.
Her eyes follow him as he approaches over to her table in the empty bar. Patrick notices there’s no trace of hostility in her expression and decides to take a seat opposite her, his gaze briefly flicking down to the glass in her hands before meeting her eyes again.
As Patrick sits across from her, she can't help but notice how good he looks—perhaps too good—and she finds herself feeling extremely weak under his gaze.
She recognizes that familiar hint of smugness that has always been a part of his personality. But there is something different about him too, a gentleness beneath the surface.
The silence hangs in the air for a moment before she breaks it with a casual question, "Still playing tennis?"
“Yeah.” He pauses for a moment, considering whether to mention the lack of success in his career, but there’s no need to embarrass himself. "Guessing you're not."
As she shakes her head slowly, her eyelids flutter downward in a bittersweet expression. Art Donaldson's name is mentioned from the tennis commentary on the TV in the background, reminding them both of the shared history and memories that connect them.
Patrick's low, calm voice breaks through, asking the question that hangs between them. "So, what is it you've been up to?"
There's a hint of irony in her voice as she speaks. "I can't seem to fully escape tennis," she admits. "I'm an editor."
"You write about tennis?" Patrick quirks an eyebrow as he asks her a question.
"Sometimes, yeah." She nods slightly in confirmation.
The moment of silence stretches out between them, neither wanting to bring up the topic of Art and Tashi, yet knowing that it's unavoidable. Patrick breaks the silence first.
"Are you still in touch with them?" The words hang in the air, carrying a heavy weight.
Without needing to say their names, she knows exactly who is being referred to. "I wrote a paper a few months back," she explains, "I spoke to them briefly. It was cordial." She recalls her last encounter with Art and Tashi.
"So it was awkward?" His smirk becomes more pronounced as he awaits her response.
She shrugs casually, refusing to admit anything. She tries to maintain her neutral facade, but Patrick's smirk implies that he sees right through her.
Patrick leans in closer as he begins to tease her lightly. "You know," he says, "the thing about me is that I was never obsessed with Tashi the way you and Art were. Maybe at the beginning I was, but you're still going strong, aren't you? What's it been—six years?"
She catches a hint of the familiarity in his comment, reminding her that perhaps he hasn't changed much since their teenage days together.
"Well, I'm not the one marrying her," she says calmly, "maybe you should tell that to Art." Her words carry a subtle sense of finality, ending the discussion about Tashi's presence in her life.
Patrick’s expression changes slightly, and she can see the surprise that flickers across his features as he absorbs the word "marrying." He’s slightly caught off guard by this news, and there is a momentary glint in his eye that indicates that he now realizes his assumptions were misguided.
"And how's life going now that she hates your guts forever?" She leans in closer, taking the opportunity to tease him back.
He simply looks at her with a smile. "What about me? You hate my guts too?” He asks, his tone still somewhat playful—but with a sincere undertone—as if hoping for a different answer.
She notices the glint of subtle loneliness in his eyes and she can read past his facade of smugness.
"I wouldn't let you sit at my table if I still did." Her words are spoken in a soft, gentle tone, a hint of affection in her gaze as she looks at him.
Her hand freezes mid-air, her fingers just about to reach her glass, as she feels the unexpected touch of his hands as he gently guides the glass back onto the table. Their eyes lock once again, and she sees an expression on his face that is completely new to her.
"I miss you." The words come out of Patrick’s mouth smoothly. There is no facade, no bravado, just a simple, raw confession that hangs between them.
His words aren’t directed to Tashi, nor Art. He’s in the moment—talking to her—and only her. Maybe that’s exactly what she needed to hear, both of them having been deprived of affection for so long.
Maybe he’s just in the right place at the right time.
Holding her hands at the center of the table, he leans in and she accepts his lips against hers, sharing a slow yet passionate kiss.
His hand cups the side of her face before making its way up to her hair. She feels the smoothness of his face and his familiar scent. Someone she once hated so much she finds herself kissing with such tenderness.
After breaking the kiss, she takes his hand and leads him past the lobby and up to her room. They exchange few words, and as they step into her room and the door closes behind them, she looks up at him with an almost pleading gaze.
The look on her face, filled with desire, stirs something primal within him, and he knows at that moment that he will remember this night for a long time.
He slowly wraps his arms around her, pulling her close, his touch is firm. His eyes lock with hers. "Tell me what you want tonight." His voice comes out as a raspy whisper.
“Take care of me.” She whispers back, wasting no time before reaching up to hold the sides of his face to kiss him again—needy and hungry—but still savoring the moment.
The vulnerability in her voice tugs at something deep within him. His mouth moves hungrily against hers as his arms tighten around her, holding her close. Slowly, carefully, he walks her backward toward her bed, deepening the kiss as he lays her down, their bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs.
She starts to feel the reality of the situation settle in, sensing the rush of adrenaline, her heartbeat increasing along with the redness in her cheeks—but she doesn't back away.
They shuffle around to get rid of each other’s clothes. Patrick watches hungrily as she begins to undress, his eyes taking her in as he sees her in this light for the first time. He leans down, brushing his lips gently against her skin, his touch firm yet tender, as his hand softly caresses her side, tracing a path up to her breast.
"I want you so bad." He confesses in a hoarse voice. "You have no idea how beautiful you are."
She looks at him, searching in his eyes, craving the affection from him that he’s proved to be very good at providing.
“Have me, I’m all yours.” She replies in a breathy whisper, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. At that moment—as much as she feels like it’s her duty to be in control of every aspect in her life—she can’t help but simply let him take control.
His mouth moves to her neck, his lips burning against her skin as he places gentle, fleeting kisses along her collarbone. He moves lower, his mouth moving to her breast—his hand gently cupping the other—his thumb brushing against her.
He lifts his head, looking down at her with a burning gaze, his breath ragged. "Tell me what you want," he urges, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.
She barely has the opportunity to answer as he doesn’t hesitate for a second. He moves down her body, kissing a trail down her stomach, down her hips, down her thighs, until he’s nestled between her legs, his breath hot against her.
“I want you, please .” She swallows, finding it harder to breathe with each passing second.
She’s now had all three of them in this exact position before—Tashi, Art and now Patrick—faces buried between her thighs.
Patrick can practically smell her arousal, can feel the heat radiating from her, and it sends a shiver through him. He grips his hands on her thighs, his breath hot against her as he looks up at her, watching her grip the pillow behind her head. Without any hesitation, he leans in, his tongue teasing out of his mouth to lick and taste, his eyes not leaving her face, watching her every reaction.
Things quickly escalate to her fumbling to grab her wallet, fishing out a condom to pass over to him. She’s unable to contain herself from admiring how good he looks while he tries to focus while rolling the condom onto himself. It seems that every little gesture he makes is swift and somehow so attractive, and as much as she would like to take a more active role, she simply feels glued down to the mattress, her body still warm and limbs feeling heavy.
He reaches down, his hand gently gripping her hip, as he positions himself between her legs. He looks down at her, his eyes burning with a mix of desire and affection, his expression a strange combination of intensity and tenderness.
"So pretty," He reaches down, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and kissing the side of her neck.
“Patrick, please, put it in .“ She practically begs as she wraps her legs around his hips, almost locking him in position.
He breaks away from her neck, his eyes burning as he looks down at her, panting softly as he takes in her expression. Then, slowly, carefully, he lines himself up with her entrance, his grip on her hips tightening ever so slightly as he slides himself into her, joining their bodies with a soft moan.
She cups her hands up to bring his face closer to hers. It’s almost pathetic how eagerly she receives him. “Keep moving—keep moving.” She begs in a breathless voice.
At the sound of her needy pleas, all restraint goes out of the window. He starts to move, his hips rocking against hers, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling of her, warm and wet and perfect around him.
“Oh god, ” he moans, his voice low and breathless. "You feel so good, so amazing." His body moves automatically, seeking out the best angle and position to drive her wild.
She feels perfectly helpless underneath him, her limbs tightly wrapped around him and her hand reaching for a fistful of his curls while she nuzzles into his neck in attempts to drown out her moans. “Fuck—” She breathes out, biting down on the back of her index finger.
One of his hands comes up, tugging her hand and pulling it away from her mouth with a breathless groan. “I wanna hear you.”
Patrick really could care less about how late it is and about the poor guests next door.
In the end, both of them are glad she happened to be in Atlanta at the same time as him.
#Spotify#challengers#challengers 2024#patrick zweig#tashi donaldson#tashi duncan#challengers movie#art donaldson#challengers fic#challengers film#challengers fanfic#challengers fanfiction#art donaldson x reader#challengers x reader#challengers smut#tashi duncan x reader#art donaldson x female reader#art donaldson x you#art donaldson x patrick zweig#art donaldson x tashi duncan#tashi duncan x you#tashi duncan x oc#patrick zweig x reader#patrick zweig x you#patrick zweig x art donaldson#patrick zweig x oc
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daylight - three
jj maybank x fem!reader | part 3 of the daylight series | read part 2 here
content warnings: alcohol
word count: 2k.
blurb: after finding a box of memories, you jump at the chance to go fishing with JJ. There, you open up a little more about your life in Vancouver.
You come downstairs at the sound of your dad calling your name. You find him standing by a stack of cardboard boxes, labelled with marker pen scribbles.
“Can you take your stuff upstairs? That other delivery van finally arrived. Only a God damn month late,” your dad grumbles.
“Sure thing,” you say.
It takes about ten minutes to lug your boxes upstairs. Closing your bedroom door, you begin to unpack. Most of them are full of clothes and accessories: caps and bags that you probably don’t even need, since you didn’t miss them in their lack. Another box has school things, in case you need your old notes for the next year of classes. The final box is full of miscellaneous items. Childhood memorabilia and wads of photographs and photo albums. Stupid dress-up gear from costume parties you and Mimsy had attended. You snap a selfie dressed in the get-up and send it to Mimsy.
A shoebox at the bottom has you taking pause. You take it out and set it on your bed, opening it. Your heart stops when you see what’s inside.
How could you forget?
The box is piled high with various things, and at the top is a journal. It's frayed on the corners from excessive wear and tear. It was the journal you had kept when dating your ex boyfriend, Tyler. You take it out and promptly put it to the side like it’s coated in anthrax. There is absolutely no urge to flick through the pages and relive every moment of that tumultuous, tortuous affair. Below the journal is a t-shirt that belonged to him, then an impressive stack of photos. Happy photos. Smiling photos. Photos that are mostly of just the two of you, always in one or the other’s bedroom. Any photos taken in public have the two of you standing apart, acting as though you don’t know the feel of the other’s skin. There's a birthday present he gave you; a card; a ‘love letter’ that had made you so happy at the time, and only bitter in the aftermath. In fact, all of it made you bitter. All emotions led back to anger, and betrayal, and hurt.
And yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to get rid of it. Even now, even still, in a different country, on a different coast: you feel the need to keep it. Treasure it like a cursed artefact.
You’re happy to be taken out of your nightmarish thoughts by the ping of your phone. You pick it up, expecting a text from Mimsy, only to be surprised at finding one from JJ.
I’m bored.
Smiling, glad for the distraction, you reply.
Hi bored.
Nerd. Srsly tho. I wanna do something.
You turn your back on the box of memories.
Wanna go to the cinema?
Hello I’m poor??? U acting mad expensive rn
Laughing, you roll your eyes and offer something that you know JJ would never refuse.
Fishing then?
Dope. Pick u up in 5.
You kill the time waiting for JJ by tidying away the last few belongings. The items are returned to the shoe box and hidden under your bed following the philosophy out of sight, out of mind.
The honk of a car horn outside has you grabbing your backpack and heading for the door. JJ sits behind the steering wheel, staring off into the distance as he mindlessly taps along to the beat of the Kendrick song he’s playing. You whistle as you approach and he smiles when he spots you.
“Where we fishing?”
“Found a good spot the other day,” JJ says, setting off once you’re in the passenger seat. “Caught some good bass and stuff. Spotted bass too.”
“Sounds good,” you hum. You kick your feet up onto the dashboard and pick at the peeling nail varnish on your fingertips.
There’s no need to fill the quiet of the campervan as JJ drives. You eye him in your peripheral as he concentrates on the road.
His resting face sits with a set jaw and you suddenly imagine him to clench his jaw in his sleep. Lips somewhere between a frown and smile, his eyes are somewhat hooded. His neck is so attractive. You never thought necks could be attractive before, but seeing it tense and relax when he swallows and sighs, the way the skin teases over the Adam’s apple...it's tortuous. You can just picture stretching your hands around it, scratching against the skin of his jugular with your nails, marking his pretty flesh with love bites…
“What’s up?”
“Huh?”
“You lookin' at me. Something up?” JJ asks in all his innocence.
Your dart your eyes to the road ahead. “Uh, no, no. I’m good.”
“A'right,” he says. Back to quiet. You don’t dare spare another glance at him for the rest of the ride.
JJ parks up on a quiet country road. You both get out of the car and load up with fishing gear and snackage. JJ takes the cooler, biceps flexing, and the fishing rods. Lugging two collapsable chairs on either shoulder, you follow him with a box of bait and your backpack in hand. He guides you up a dirt path, overgrown with ivy and stinging nettles. A dilapidating jetty comes into view and you’re happy to see it empty. You both take to setting up shop. You weren’t lying to him, the first time that you met: you didn’t much care for fishing. But honestly, you’d take any excuse to spend time with JJ. It’s pathetic to admit to yourself that he could ask you to help him drain a sewer and you’d say yes without a second thought.
Cracking open a beer, you offer it to JJ.
“Thanks,” he smiles.
You open your own and the two of you cheers before taking a swig. It’s crisp and cooling in the muggy summer sun. He hands you a prepared fishing rod and you lean against the shaky railing beside him. He’s dug out his cap: the red one that he wore the first time you met. It shadows his face beautifully. You look out to the water and admire the calming view. A sea bird darts across the sky in the distance and you half want to grab for your camera.
“You have good fishing in Vancouver?” he asks.
“S’alright,” you reply. “My uncle loves fishing. He used to take me to this spot where you could catch trout as long as your leg.”
“Fuck off,” JJ laughs.
“I’m serious! Swear to God, I thought this thing was gonna eat me!”
The two of you laugh. Your smile turns solemn at the memory. It hurts to think about your life in Vancouver. It feels like it was years ago, hazy like a lucid dream, distorted with nostalgia. Never before have you been more grateful for facetime or else you might forget Mimsy’s voice.
The day stretches on with the two of you passing drinks and chips and refreshing bait. The bucket starts to fill with some catches. Nothing impressive. Somehow you both end up sitting in your chairs. One hand remains on the rod, waiting for a bite and holding it steady. JJ is reclined in his chair somewhat precariously, feet up on the bannister, weighed down by heavy, black boots.
“I don’t think I ever asked,” JJ says, catching your attention. He looks to you. “Why’d you move to Kildare anyway?”
“Well, you know the old saying,” you reply. “If at first your marriage fails: pick up and move country, eh?”
“Ah,” JJ replies, chuckling a little. “Is the marriage fixed, then?”
“Hell no,” you snort. “They fucking hate each other. Hardly talk. I think my dad just wanted an excuse to move back to North Carolina.”
“He from here?”
“Yeah, he was born here. I have a ton of family out here too. Well, not in Kildare but in Carolina.”
“Damn,” JJ mumbles.
“It’s typical of my dad though. He's selfish like that. I mean, it's kind of messed up, don't you think? Dragging me away from my friends. From my life.” Your anger sparks suddenly. “You know, he didn’t even ask me if I wanted to leave. Because why the fuck would I want to leave? My entire life was there! Everything was there!”
JJ doesn’t speak. You catch yourself. Taking a shaky breath, you close your eyes, embarrassed for the outburst.
“Sorry,” you mumble. “I just…I haven’t really talked about it to anyone yet.”
“You’re good,” JJ says. You look at him to find a small, reassuring smile. “I get it. Parents suck.”
You laugh, shaking your head. Leaning your head back, eyes slipping closed, you agree. “Yep. Parents suck.”
“I’m sorry, by the way,” JJ quietly adds. You open your eyes on him. “That you had to leave Vancouver.”
“Thanks,” you smile, eyes sad. “I know I’ll find a way to be happy here. But right now, I just miss home. I miss Mimsy.”
“Mimsy?”
“My best friend,” you clarify. “She’s the fucking best. Completely unhinged. Obsessed with true crime and conspiracy theories. Zero filter.”
“She sounds like fun.”
“She is. She’d get along with you guys great,” you say. “It’s hard though. The time difference and everything sucks. And we talk a lot now but I’m just worried about the future. Like, what if it gets too much, with the distance, and we get busy and drift apart. She’s been in my life since I was like six years old. I guess it freaks me out to think about her not being there, you know?”
JJ nods. “Guess that’s like me and John B. We’ve been best friends since kindergarten. I can’t imagine how it would feel being, like, six hours apart.”
“It sucks,” you chuckle. “And it’s not just that, either. I feel like I have unfinished things in Vancouver. It’s like I left before I could close the book, if that makes sense.”
“What kind of things?” JJ wonders. He shifts in his seat to face you better. Neither of you are paying much attention to fishing now.
“Romance things,” you say with a joking roll of your eyes.
JJ’s brows raise. “You leave a man behind or something?”
“Man is a generous word,” you snigger. “But yeah, sort of. We weren’t together anymore - I mean, maybe we weren’t together ever - but I never got all the answers I wanted…I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“Most things are,” JJ hums. You have to agree there. Nothing is ever clear-cut, black-and-white. At least not in your experience. “So, what’s the story? He cheat on you.”
“No. Least, I don’t think so,” you say. Shaking your head, you shoot him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t think I really wanna talk about it.”
“You’re good,” JJ says for a second time that day. He looks down to watch his thumb stroking the condensation on the side of his can. Tactfully avoiding your request, he then asks, “where you, like, in love with him?”
“Yes. God knows why, but, yeah,” you reply with a self-deprecating laugh. “Have you ever been in love?”
JJ squints against the sun as he looks out to the horizon. “Dunno, really. I guess you’d know if you had been in love, right? Like you’d know what that feels like.”
“Yeah, you would,” you return.
Looking at you, JJ only hesitates a moment before he asks, “what does it feel like? Being in love?”
Smiling wistfully, you reply honestly. “It’s the worst feeling in the world.”
part four coming soon!
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Let's talk about the Red Lyrium Idol
(…Because it's not like this thing has been discussed to death over the past ten years, right? 😂 *drops my two cents in the Scrooge McDuck money bin*)
Ah yes… The red lyrium idol. The one thing that's given me a headache since 2018, as I'm still trying to figure out how this damn thing could possibly fit into my bazillion tinfoil theories.
Whether it's the first official DA4 teaser in 2018, the Blue Wraith comic series or the entirety of the last chapter of Tevinter Nights, a lot of the supplementary media and promotional stuff setting up the course for DA4 seems to be centered around the idol. Quite literally, in some cases, like this mural from the first 2018 teaser:
It certainly led us to think that the idol won't just be another McGuffin (or so I hope lol), but other than that, it's still heavely shrouded in mystery…
Which is why I will now make an attempt to unravel this and gather every single bit of information we have on it (so far) and maybe that'll get us closer to some sort of answer in the end (actually, it won't, because this got SO long that I had to split this post in two parts lol No one's going to read all of this anyway 💀)!
Look, I just needed to get this behemoth of a post out before we might get an actual substantial trailer tomorrow and none of this will probably matter anymore. 😂💀
(Note: This whole thing was initially intended to be solely for myself to keep track of any information we've gotten about the idol since DA2. But since it's gotten SO long over the years, I figured why not just rewrite it into a somewhat coherent text and post it on here? :D ......Seriously, it's really, REALLY effing long.)
The Idol's Journey so far
To me, the idol always seemed to be something like "The One Ring" in LOTR. A forged ancient artifact with creepy unknown powers that is said to feel "alive", almost as if it possesses a will of its own, seeing as it has somehow found its way from countless random people, back to (presumably) its former owner. It also appears to be somewhat cursed, given that almost everyone who held it at one point seems to have died or gone mad by now (Yeah, I'm very worried about Varric and Hawke 👀).
Let us start with a quick summary of the journey the idol has made in the span of about 12-13 years (not counting the unknown timespan in which the last chapter of Tevinter Nights takes place):
First discovered by Hawke and Varric in an ancient Thaig in the Deep Roads.
Stolen by Bartrand, who then made a quick trip to Rivain.
Sold to Meredith, who turned it into a sword.
Taken out of Meredith's petrified corpse by Carta dwarves.
Sold again to a Tevinter mage, who brought it to House Qintara in Ventus.
Handed to a secret agent of Fen'Harel named Gaius (who was impersonating Magister Qintara).
Traded away to Tractus Danarius.
Handed to Magister Nenealeus at Castellum Tenebris to be used as part of a ritual.
Picked up by Cedric Marquette after the fortress fell, while trying to escape.
Handed back to Tractus Danarius, who then probably (not confirmed) went to Nevarra to perform another blood magic ritual.
Picked up by a Mortalitasi who (maybe) took it to Tevinter.
(Supposedly!) ended up in a vault under an auction house in Llomerryn in Rivain, where it was (supposedly!) retrieved by Solas.
That's quite the journey… that you wouldn't even know half about if you didn't read the comics or Tevinter Nights. But whereas the book and comics were all published after the first teaser trailer in 2018, after which the idol became the center of the fandom's attention and speculation, it should be noted that a connection to the idol was in fact already made way back in 2014, when people noticed that the image of Solas holding Flemeth's lifeless body at the end of Inquisition was very reminiscent of something else.
...Which brings us to the point of what the idol is even depicting to begin with.
Description
Before I'll start to give my own description based on the models in-game, the teaser and concept art, I'd like to quote the people who've actually seen it in person.
In the last chapter of Tevinter Nights, we are being told three tales by three different people, who all describe the same idol differently.
The Carta Assassin: "A couple hugging, too thin to be dwarves - but it's sitting there, glowing softly like a ruby lit by the grace of the Maker himself. […] It's heavier than you'd think - lyrium's heavier than you'd think, too, but this was heavy even for that. When I hefted it in my hand, it was like it wanted to keep moving, like it was liquid inside."
The Mortalitasi: "An idol crafted from red lyrium, which seemed to show two lovers, or a god mourning her sacrifice. It whispered in our minds when we saw it […]."
The Orlesian Bard/Solas: "He whispered something as he picked it up, tracing his gloved fingers gently along the crowned figure who comforted the other."
The one thing that all of these seem to have in common though is two figures who embrace each other in some way.
Which is interesting, because in all the depictions of the idol we've seen so far, it clearly shows three people instead of two. Granted, the third figure is a bit cramped up in the back of the crowned figure, but what's strange is that not even Solas himself mentions this third figure.
Most notable though is the crowned female looking figure in the center, which is holding onto the two other figures on each side of the ring shaped object (or it's the two figures holding onto the female?). The figures themselves look rather goulish, deadly or skeletal, with their bone structure clearly visible and all their expressions captured in a mix of horror or torment. The small carved-in lines coming from the middle figure's eye sockets also resemble black tears, much like we've seen on "The Mother" in Awakening.
There's also no sign of clothing, which is all the more apparent on the concept art of the idol, in which the breast of the middle figure is.. much more prominent. lol (We don't make fun of saggy boobs in this house, it's just nature and gravity after all, but for the sake of observation, I will note that they do remind me of Broodmother boobs, too 😂), aside from a hint of what could be a veil on the middle figure's head.
At the bottom of the idol, the lower bodies of the figures seem to fully submerge within its name-giving red lyrium and this "claw" type thing, which is coming off in the shape of crystalline red lyrium spikes at the tail end, though in the concept art and the DA2 model, these spikes were clearly more like red lyrium roots. But either way, the bottom makes it kinda look like it's been broken/ripped off?
We can also see tentacle like features, that remind me of the figures we've seen in the mural in the 2020 teaser and the depiction in the 25th anniversary book that revealed to us what the Archdemons were initially supposed to look like. 👀
I'd also like to point out that in the original concept art of the idol, the ears of the crowned figure look much more pointy to me than in later versions. 👀
There's also this "ring", that I've seen many people connect to how the Veil is often portrayed in Solas' murals.
But if this ring is supposed to depict the Veil, then what could it mean for the crowned figure reaching across to hold that ominous third figure on the "other side"?
And yes, I recognize that this ominous third figure also seems to be missing a left arm, just like another certain main character. 👀
The one thing that stands out the most though, is probably the crown itself. Most people might first associate it with Andraste, when the same shape can be traced as far back as ancient statues of Mythal.
Yeah, there's definitely a pattern here. 😂
That being said…
Connection to Mythal & Solas
Okay, we all know about the theory that Andraste might have been Mythal's previous host, right? We all know about the parallels between Mythal's story, Andraste, Flemeth, etc. And after comparing the idol to Flemeth and Meredith in their moment of death, considering all of the above/following and how old this thing potentially is, I will now make a wild guess here and argue that the idol is in fact depicting Mythal's death.
"He whispered something as he picked it up, tracing his gloved fingers gently along the crowned figure who comforted the other. But I could not make out the words, for I fear they were elven."
Not only does Solas seem to hold sentimental value for whoever the crowned figure is supposed to be, while also talking to it in elven, but the way he describes to "caress" the idol in Tevinter Nights does also seem to mirror how Flemythal was comforting him at the end of DAI.
However, I always thought it was a bit odd how Solas describes the idol as "a figure comforting another", when… tbh, "comforting" would probably be last thing that comes to my mind when I look at this...
"Agony" would be more fitting here, maybe? lol Kinda begs the question of how Mythal was murdered, too, with this being her expression in her moment of death? 👀
Without getting too much into it here, if there's one thing we can take from everything we've learned so far about their past, Solas' relationship with Mythal must've been a rather complicated one, to say the least.
"He did not want a body, but she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face."
Solas calls Mythal "the best of the elven gods", calling her "the mother, protective and fierce", and Solas is even described in the designer's notes as "Mythal's oldest friend" who is all about free will, yet if the spirit origin theory is true and Cole's cryptic comments in Trespasser are in fact about them, it was Mythal who gave Solas a body against his will, potentially bound/enslaved him with her vallaslin, and maybe even forced him to act against his original purpose?
"You should have seen me when I was younger. Hot-blooded and cocky, always ready to fight."
Cole: "You didn't do it to be right. You did it to save them."
Inquisitor: "Solas, what is Cole talking about?"
Solas: "A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything."
How much of what happened was Solas acting out Mythal's will, or rather, acting out of vengeance and pain in reaction to Mythal's death? How much of it was him acting downright impulsive?
Solas: “Cole is a spirit. The death of the real Cole wounded him, perverted him from his purpose. To regain that part of himself, he must forgive.”
Varric: “You don’t just forgive someone killing you.”
Solas: “You don’t. A spirit can.”
Or was it Mythal's death itself that "wounded him and perverted him from his purpose", just like he described what happened to Cole?
And what does that say about Mythal then, when she clearly hasn't forgiven her murderers and still strives for vengeance after all this time? What if Solas' own perception of Mythal and all the circumstances surrounding her murder is warped because he was once bound to her? 👀
Anyway. To get back to topic.
So if we assume that the idol is in fact depicting Mythal's death, then that brings us to the next question of why the idol is even made of red lyrium? Or rather, what is Mythal's connection to red lyrium?
We know that red lyrium is tainted blood of a Titan. Mythal was the first to kill a Titan and mine their blood for things we won't get into in this post. So, how did the idol end up in the Deep Roads, anyway? How long had it been there? One thing that's kinda strange to me, is how the DA wiki page about the idol says that it was forged by the dwarves, solely based on the fact that it was initially found in the Deep Roads, when we have no actual evidence for that. We've seen statues of both Mythal and the Dread Wolf in the Deep Road section in Trespasser where the mining of lyrium was undergone, but we don't know if the dwarves even had any part in building them as well.
Would the dwarves forge an idol of the elven deity who conquered them and killed their Titan, if they were somehow forced to do so? We also have to remember that dwarves were and still are the only ones able to actually mine raw lyrium safely, but even the Carta dwarves in Tevinter Nights had to take several precautions in order to recover the red lyrium idol from Meredith's corpse. And even then, many of them still fell shaking or went mad in its presence like Bartrand.
So if it only takes that little exposure to have that much of an effect on someone's sanity, how were the ancient dwarves or anyone even able to create it in the first place? What if the idol was initially made of blue lyrium but was then somehow corrupted?
And if we take one moment to really think about what an idol actually is.
"An object representing extreme devotion and religious worship to a god."
While Solas doesn't think of any of the Evanuris as actual gods, he still seems to hold Mythal at such a high regard that he wouldn't even speak of her at a sacred place like the Temple of Mythal (whether or not that was because he just wanted to withhold any secret ancient knowledge). He's able to fully recite the invocation to Mythal if you bring him with you to her altar. He also looks exactly like the sentinels in Mythal's temple.
I could go on, but generally speaking, there are so many little hints pointing to Solas being a former slave/servant of Mythal that, again, we won't get into here, but it's important to mention when trying to figure out why the idol (presumably) even belongs to Solas.
"The idol's journey is now complete, and it has found its master."
In Tevinter Nights, the Dread Wolf claims that the red lyrium idol belongs to him. He also made sure to punish those who tried to misuse it, going so far as to march in with an entire army of spirits and snapping a guy's neck with his jaw. (Yup, you're better off not to touch the Dread Wolf's stuff for dirty blood rituals, kids.)
"You use my idol carelessly, and in doing so, you threaten all creation."
Additionally, in the last chapter of Tevinter Nights, Charter and other spies conclude that Solas must need the idol for whatever ritual he's planning, while Solas in Bard disguise claims that he's already in possession of the idol now and therefore, I quote, "cannot be stopped". (Though I personally still don't actually buy a single thing about his vivid tale at that auction house, but we'll get back to this later. lol)
And if the idol belongs to Solas, was he the one who created it, or did he order the dwarves or someone else to make it for him? But why would he intentionally make an idol out of red lyrium, anyway? He is fully aware of the dangers and corruption that comes with being exposed to red lyrium and its use. Especially considering that red lyrium is blighted and how he repeatedly expresses great concern over the Blights and gets furious over the Grey Wardens' attempts to preempt them by killing the Archdemons (because he obviously knows more than us).
So, does he know a way to use it without getting corrupted like everyone else? The Seekers of Truth are so far the only ones we've seen to be immune to red lyrium thanks to having their minds touched by a spirit of Faith during their vigil. Could Solas' connection to spirits/his hypothetical spirit origin allow him to use the idol without it effecting him?
But if any of this is true, then l'm again asking myself what even was the purpose of the idol to begin with? Why or when was it created? How does it differ from any other red lyrium, and what could Solas have used it for in the ancient past?
Powers & Effects
So, let's talk about what this thing can actually do (as far as we know).
(Btw, this is the part where I will shamelessly copy a lot straight from the DA wiki, because truth be told, I'm just a German struggling with limited vocabulary and I figured there's simply no way to summarize this any better than the wiki already has. 💀)
Just like any other red lyrium, we know that being exposed to the idol for too long will make you mad/paranoid/possessive/violent, while also grant you special powers, until overuse causes your body to be completely overtaken by red lyrium. It seems to thin the Veil wherever it is currently kept, allowing spirits or demons to interact with the physical world.
It also emanates a song that is slowly turning people who hear it insane.
The Song
"It sings… sick music."
"It eats you inside until you're nothing."
"It creeps into your thoughts, humming."
"They hear a different song. The song behind the door old whispers want opened. They are dead and dark and done."
"Songs screaming far away. It wants to wake up but can't remember how."
(- Cole's comments about red lyrium/red templars)
After Bartrand took the idol and left Varric and Hawke to die in the primeval Thaig, he started hearing voices, claiming the idol was "singing" to him. Even after selling it, Bartrand could still hear the idol and was eventually driven mad by its red lyrium.
Three years later, it is discovered that Bartrand had chipped a piece of the idol off and left it in his estate, which causes the house to behave like it was haunted and the Veil was torn.
Then during the "Haunted" quest, Varric himself remarks several times to hear music while walking through the estate, much like the Carta assassin in Tevinter Nights recalled to have heard "music in the wind, like some old song I heard as a kid but can't quite remember" when obtaining the idol from Meredith's corpse.
Important to mention here is that Varric seems to also be the only one in the party able to hear this song.
Varric: "Hey… is that music? Where is that coming from?"
Hawke: "In don't hear anything."
Varric: "Where is that singing coming from? You hear it, right, Hawke?"
Varric: "Where is that voice coming from?"
Hawke: "What voice?"
Varric: "I can barely hear it… I wish I could make out the words."
Varric also told us that, after Bartrand went mad, he tortured his non-dwarven servants by cutting pieces off them to help them "hear the song".
(And remember, the idol was found in an ancient primeval Thaig in the Deep Roads, sitting on something like an altar, indicating that it was being worshiped by the ancient dwarves as well. Presumably because they too were being influenced by the idol's/red lyrium's song?)
Haunted
During the "Haunted" quest, we learn that the mere presence of a shard of the idol in the estate causes:
"Voices whispering in the walls"
Random objects moving on their own
Apparitions/screaming spirits appear running across the floors
When Varric picks up the piece of the idol, he starts to exhibit the same symptoms of madness Bartrand showed, at which point Hawke can either let Varric keep the piece, or can take it from him with the intent of having Sandal destroy it.
If Hawke asks Anders to diagnose Bartrand in Act 2, he suspects a demon at work, however Bartrand is a dwarf. Instead, he determines that "his mind has been poisoned by something powerful".
In Tevinter Nights, the Carta assassin recalls that, in the attempt to retrieve the idol from Meredith's corpse, most of his colleagues fell shaking and whispering the closer they got to it.
Meredith
After Bartrand sold the idol to Meredith, she reshapes it into her sword Certainty, which does eventually drive her insane as well. It also gives her unnatural powers, such as the ability to animate the statues in the Gallows, and even limited flight capabilities.
(My question is though, were the things happening in that final fight directly caused by the idol or was this just the result of the Veil being already weakened that much by the many terrible things that happened at that place/Kirkwall in general?)
Anyhow, during the final battle at the Gallows, Meredith overuses the lyrium sword, causing it to burst into dust and petrify her into a statue.
Though as we all know now, some part of Meredith seems to have survived somehow, as her… mind(?) or something was shown to now still "live" within the red lyrium somewhere in Kirkwall at the end of Absolution. She (or "it") also seems to have somewhat control over the red templars now, too.
So, how is this possible? What exactly is she now, if it even is herself and not just a manifestation/echo of her memories or something? Could it have something to do with the idol? No one really knows (and we might never find out, if Netflix won't give us a second season, anyway lol), but I do think it's curious how the idol is likely depicting Mythal's death, who didn't actually die either and lived on through the ages as a type of lingering "wisp" clinging to various hosts. 👀
I also want to point out how Solas did suspiciously include Meredith's petrified corpse in his mural in the 2020 teaser as well, placing her right under that ominous upside down figure with the tentacles.
Furthermore, just like Meredith, the idol also seems to be somewhat indestructable. lol After Meredith's sword burst into dust, it regrew inside her petrified corpse (which Solas was apparently also aware of). What's interesting is that it regenerated in Meredith's chest of all places. You know, like, where the heart is supposed to be? 👀
Then there's also this curious line from Anders, when talking about Varric acting strange after obtaining a shard of the idol:
"This thing's magic seems only more potent when broken."
I've mentioned it before, but with the spikes (or roots in DA2) at the bottom part of the idol making it look like it was ripped or broken off of something, you have to wonder if its current state is somewhat broken, even after regenerating.
"Hot-Blooded"
During the Haunted quest, Fenris will remark this:
"Whatever is here is angry."
In DAI, Cole repeatedly comments on how red lyrium feels "very angry" and how it is "less angry when it's cold". We know for a fact that red lyrium emanates a noticeable heat. A corrupted Bartrand is especially weak to cold/ice magic.
While anger is generally associated with heat, I find this aspect particularly interesting, given that red lyrium is tainted blood of a Titan.
And building on that, while still searching for further connections between red lyrium, the idol and Mythal… Remember how the ancient sarcophagus in the Blue Wraith and Dark Fortress comic was used in a ritual, in which lyrium combined with fire of a Great dragon carved lyrium infused markings into Fenris' and Shirallas' skin, granting them special powers.
Not only was this ancient sarcophagus specifically built only for elves, and its design resembling that of Mythal's statues…
…but here we have a case in which lyrium is purposefully "set on fire" by a Great dragon to create "elven super soldiers". Mythal is always depicted as a dragon. And she mined lyrium in humongous amounts.
Again, red lyrium emanates heat. If this was common practice in ancient times, then I feel like it's not surprising that a Titan would eventually be pretty damn angry in reaction to its blood being continuously burned for centuries [insert boiling blood joke here].
So, aside from the red lyrium being blighted, could there be a connection in Mythal burning the Titans' blood? As far as we know, it did take a couple of aeons in which Mythal (presumably) continued to mine (and burn?) the Titans' blood, before the ancient elves sealed the Deep Roads for good, because they discovered something… bad. As Solas himself declares in the vision described at the mural depicting a Titan's death:
"Let this place be forgotten. Let no one wake its anger."
"The vision grows dark. An aeon seems to pass. Then the runes crackle, as if filled with an angry energy. A new vision appears: elves collapsing caverns, sealing the Deep Roads with stone and magic."
"Terror, heart-pounding, ice-cold, as the last of the spells is cast."
And there it is again. That anger we're talking about. What's so interesting to me, is how this does sort of come full circle with Mythal and the idol after all, since the motivation behind Mythal's actions, even after thousands of years, remains her unwavering desire for vengeance upon the people who betrayed and murdered her, which, in a way, does mirror the same anger/heat that the Titan is emanating from its tainted blood.
And speaking of blood……
A Ritual Blade
In Tevinter Nights, we learned that the idol is able to produce a blade, which is then used as part of a blood magic ritual.
"The Tevinter mage was killing his slaves. […] He had cut the throat of one of them, and then another, catching the blood of his victims on the idol as he made his way around the circle. […] The Tevinter mage raised the idol before him, and I saw a spike of lyrium spring from the base of the idol, so that all at once, it was not merely an idol, but a ritual blade. He slashed his own hand, and a wave of power pulsed through the cavern. It was as though we were the blood, and the cavern was the body through which it flowed, and we fell, all of us, to the ground, our minds pulled into the raw chaos of the Fade by the power of his ritual."
In the end of the Dark Fortress comic, the idol produced another red lyrium sword, that could be fully detached and was then placed onto the before-mentioned sarcophagus, turning Shirallas into a raving beserker that was pretty much invincible as long as he was in possession of that same sword.
While the blue lyrium infused sword that was used in Fenris' ritual simply dissolved in the process, the sword produced by the idol could "regenerate" and was especially resistant to Great dragon fire.
"Unlike the lyrium-infused swords of the so-called Arcane warriors, this sword should survive the ritual."
In the final fight against him, Marquette comments on how Shirallas "feeds energy to the sword from the red lyrium in his veins" and how in turn "the sword heals his wounds".
So in both the comic and Tevinter Nights, the idol/the weapon produced from the idol seems to draw power specifically from the blood of its wielder. It makes me wonder if it was initially intended to be used this way, since we have to remember that it still presumably belongs to Solas, who claims to not practice blood magic, because it seems to make it more difficult to enter the Fade.
Which is ironic, given what the mage in Tevinter Nights did to disrupt the Fade, but also how the Magisters Sidereal used a massive blood ritual to enter the Fade physically.
And oddly enough, in your first conversation with Solas about blood magic, he makes this curious analogy with daggers as an example…
Inquisitor: Every time I've seen blood magic used, it has been for some evil purpose.
Solas: I once saw a woman being stabbed in the stomach with a dagger. She died slowly, in angony. It was repulsive. If the Chantry outlawed daggers, would that stop the people from using it? Of course not. […]"
Inquisitor: "You don't need to sacrifice a slave's life to make a dagger."
Solas: "I suppose it depends upon the dagger."
So… Could Solas be referencing Mythal's death here? Or what if the dagger here is referring to the idol in its blade form? What the heck does he mean by "I suppose it depends upon the dagger"? Was a slave's life sacrificed to create the idol maybe?
But if blood magic wasn't the sole purpose for why it was made, then what else could the idol as a ritual blade be used for?
Which brings us to…
Dalish mythology
According to Dalish legends, Fen'Harel told the Creators and the Forgotten Ones that the Avvar had forged a "terrible weapon", a blade that would end the war between both clans of gods. He told the Creators that it was forged in the heavens, while the Forgotten Ones were told that it was hidden in the Abyss. And when the gods went seeking it, Fen'Harel sealed them both in their realms forever.
Okay. So, let's just assume for a second that the blade in this legend was actually the idol in its blade form. Because hell, what are the odds of having two "super powerful ancient blades that belong to Solas"? lol
If they are in fact the same weapon and the part about Solas tricking the gods is true, why were the Evanuris and the Forgotten Ones so eager to get this thing, to the point that they would fell into a trap?
And with this, I'd also like to point out the level design in the scene in which Flemeth takes Kieran's Old God soul in the Fade. I can't help but feel like the statue of Dirthamen being stabbed in the back with a sword, crying a stream of blood, resulting in a huge pool of blood, as well as a bloody ouroboros symbol on the ground, is a very deliberate design choice. Especially considering the context of this scene with the revelation about Flemeth and Mythal, I'd argue this is all in reference to how Mythal was betrayed and murdered.
Again, the idol could depict Mythal in her moment of death. In the final fresco in the rotunda, the one Solas never finished before leaving the Inquisition, we see a wolf looming over a dragon slain by a blade.
In the last visual of the 2022 cinematic that, going by Varric's narration, could potentially depict the destruction of the Veil, Solas appears to hold something that resembles a blade with a very destinct handle. Additionally, we've since discovered an icon hidden on the Steam page of DA4, that shows a dagger with an identical shape and the same glowy purple as the Dreadwolf title.
So we have the idol in its blade form, the blade Mythal was potentially slain with, the blade Solas is holding in the 2022 cinematic, Solas mentioning a dagger in relation to blood magic and Fen'Harel's blade in Dalish legends.
That's a lot of blades... and a lot of blood. lol
The Hunt of the Fell Wolf
"The Hunt of the Fell Wolf" is the title of a poem that can be found in the Jaws of Hakkon DLC. It tells a story of former Inquisitor Ameridan, his friend Haron and their fight against a demon wolf.
Along with numerous odd things in this tale that could be interpreted as some kind of metaphor (or just the devs messing with us, if you want to know more, please check out this post), it also mentions an "idol of fade-touched stone" in connection to the demon wolf.
The wounded knight in darkness
Found within the cavern’s gloom
An idol of fade-touched stone,
Which could prove the monster’s doom.
In the poem, after a grim fight, the wolf takes Ameridan's friend Haron to its lair, a "labyrinth of winding cave" (which many believe is referring to the Deep Roads, just like the ancient Thaig in DA2 where Hawke and Varric found the red lyrium idol originally) where Haron, oddly enough, also happens to find an idol. What's intruiging though, is that this idol seems to be connected to the wolf in such a way that he can only be defeated if both him and the idol are destroyed and struck down at the same time.
With burning blade, Ameridan
And monster met again
Whilst elsewhere did Haron valiantly
With demon-wards contend.
As demon-stone was shattered,
Ameridan struck true:
Beast and spirit—both felled at once,
Though neither hunter knew.
"Beast and spirit—both felled at once"
Two entities that are connected across two different places… as in the physical body and the spirit maybe?
As in the waking world and the Fade?
So, let's reiterate.
The red lyrium idol belongs to the Dread Wolf. Cole remarks how he can feel that Solas is "in both places". The word "Dread Wolf" itself is an anagram for "World" and "Fade". We've talked about the popular spirit origin theory before, Solas taking a physical form against his will because of Mythal. The whole matter of Solas' "true name" before he called himself Pride. Solas' entire personal quest, which may or may not mirror his own past, a spirit of Wisdom being denied its original purpose, turning into a pride demon ("He wants to give wisdom not orders"). His strange remarks at the end of Cole's personal quest ("We cannot change our nature by wishing"). The fact that Solas makes Cole forget about his true identity, just like spirit!Cole does. The visual portrayal of Solas "consuming" Flemeth's powers at the end of DAI. The way in which Solas doesn't recognize anyone in the waking world as "people", but will vehemently debate you on why spirits should be considered people.
"But the People… They need me." (- Solas to Flemeth at the end of DAI)
"Never again." (- Solas after burning the mages who were responsible for Wisdom's corruption)
"From this moment, should you ever bind a spirit, your life is mine." (- the Dread Wolf's final warning to the mages in Tevinter Nights)
All of this considered, what could the poem in JOH imply for the connection between Solas and the Dread Wolf/the Dread Wolf and the idol?
"They made bodies from the Earth, and the Earth was afraid. It fought back, but they made it forget."
One theory assumes that the creation of the Veil lead to the separation of the ancient elves' bodies and their souls/spirits, assuming that before the creation of the Veil, the Evanuris somehow made bodies from the Titans/lyrium for spirits to manifest and then enslaved/bound them to their will by marking those bodies with their vallaslin.
But if that's true, then what happened to Solas when he created the Veil?
"He broke the dreams to stop the old dreams from waking. The wolf chews its leg off to escape the trap."
In all the murals, tarot cards and illustrations, the Dread Wolf and Solas are always depicted separately.
What really IS the Dread Wolf? And what is he to Solas?
"It was a beast unlike any I had ever seen. Lupine in appearance, but the size of a high dragon, with shaggy spiked hide and six burning eyes like a pride demon, and it came to us on wings of fire that resolved themselves into a horde of lesser demons."
From what little we know of the Dread Wolf himself, he only seems to exist within the Fade (that is to say, before the Veil, Solas was already depicted as a wolf, presumably even before his rebellion and before the Evanuris "bestowed" him with the title "Fen'Harel"). In the Mortalitasi's tale in Tevinter Nights, his army of spirits follows the mages back to the waking world, yet the Dread Wolf himself remains in the Fade. In one of the frescoes in the rotunda, Solas portrays the Black City surrounded by the six burning red eyes that resemble those of the Dread Wolf, almost like he's keeping watch over the eternal prison of those he banished. In the Tower tarot card, the Dread Wolf is ominously looming over Solas, almost like it's about to consume him, while in one of the Trespasser murals, it looks more like the Dread Wolf follows his lead. And then there's the DA4 2018 teaser mural, in which they're opposing each other, only seperated by the red lyrium idol in the center of the Veil.
If the red lyrium idol is connected to Solas like the idol in the poem is connected to the wolf, could this be part of the reason Solas is so desperate to find it? Does it possess some kind of spirit? Can the Dread Wolf only be defeated if the idol is destroyed at the same time, just like in the poem?
Where is it now?
So where's the damn thing now?
Well, in my opinion, there are two options.
Option 1) The bard's tale in Tevinter Nights was complete bullshit. lol
Despite Solas trying to convince us that he already obtained the idol in a vault some time ago under an auction house in Llomerryn, it's possible that, much like his whole charade in that chapter, this tale was also entirely fabricated. lol
To make it short, here is a list of arguments for why the "bard's tale" could've been a complete lie:
Solas attended this spy meeting specifically for information on the idol's whereabouts (because he doesn't actually know where it is currently?).
Everything until the last two pages was an act.
Both the Mortalitasi and the Carta Assassin point out several contradictions within his tale.
Upon hearing the other spies assuming that he needs the idol, it would just make sense that he would want them/Charter to believe that he’s now in possession of the idol and “cannot be stopped”, so that they would drop all effort to find it before him.
On the very last page of the book, there's a lists of bullet points of information when Charter is about to write down her report, and it does not explicitly say “He has the idol” but rather just what it looks like, which suggests that Charter didn’t buy his story either.
So if this was all lies, the last known location of the idol would therefore be the unknown person who took it when escaping from the Dread Wolf's spirit army in the Grand Necropolis in the tale of the Mortalitasi.
Meaning that Solas would therefore still be searching for it now. (Which would actually be kind of hilarious, considering how there's likely gonna be a ten year timeskip since DAI, so he would've been searching for the flippin thing for the better part of a decade now. 😂 We know from the end of the Blue Wraith comics that he had followed the idol's path via eluvian, but maybe he just lost track of it at some point? In fact, the last we heard from him, Solas was apparently busy pursuing some Venatori people to get another ancient artifact called the Crucious Stone in the The Missing comic, much like he prevented the Tevinter mage in Nevarra from using his idol. Solas after ten years of searching for the idol was probably like "Oh fuck it, I give up, on to McGuffin Nr 2 then". lmao)
In an interview with the comic writers Nunzio DeFilippis and Christina Weir, they talked about how in their initial draft of Dark Fortress, Solas actually *got* the idol(!!) from two of his agents by using the eluvian located at Nenealeus' place before BioWare stepped in and requested a change. 👀 That version would've explained how Solas was able to track the idol through the eluvian we see at the end. Their own interpretation was that Solas can only overlook a certain radius within the area of where another eluvian is located. Which would actually support the assumption that Solas might've lost track of the idol at some point after Nenealeus left the place… but that's just their interpretation and not official BioWare canon (yet), sooo…. Hm.
Option 2) Solas has the idol now.
So let's assume that the part about him obtaining the idol in Tevinter Nights was actually true and it's now in his possession.
Aside from this, the only thing that could speak for Solas already having the idol in the beginning of DA4, is once again the final visual in the 2022 cinematic.
If this cinematic is in fact playing at the beginning of the game as a general re-introduction to the lore and the last visual is depicting Solas in the middle of destroying the Veil using the idol, then.. well yeah, there it is, in his hand…. at least, for now. Making Solas succeed in the first 10 minutes, I guess? lol
……Unless!
See, a few years ago, I speculated about how the idol might actually be the perfect plot device/motivation for our new protagonist to get involved in the whole Solas deal without even knowing who he is.
Let's say the last visual in the 2022 cinematic is actually showing us a hypothetical scenario, and not something that has already happened/is currently happening. Like, Varric gives this expository narration explaining who Solas is and what might happen if we don't succeed in getting the idol. (Notice how Varric says "And we're the only ones who can stop him" at the end… Like there's still a chance to stop him before this actually happens.) We know from Tevinter Nights that Charter knows that Solas needs the idol for whatever ritual he's planning. And Charter obviously informed the Inquisition/Varric about this as well. So the next logical step for the Inquisition now would be to obtain the idol (whether or not the bard's tale in TN was true) to prevent this ritual at any cost, right?
The comic The Missing re-emphasized that Varric is now in charge of getting people that Solas doesn't know. And this might be where the new protagonist gets recruited by Varric (who is still a spymaster after all) and gets assigned the alias "Rook" for a heist mission to obtain the idol. (And after a very thorough observation of the DA4 reddit leaks from 2023… it looks like Rook might've actually succeeded in this potential quest?)
While we don't know when the stuff in the leaks actually takes place within DA4's storyline, I think it's safe to say that Rook will obtain the idol at some point in the story and that it will play a pivotal role, if the blurb on the Steam page for DA4 is to be believed. lol
As well as what could likely end up being the game's icon, found on the Steam page.
And again, remember how in the Hunt of the Fell Wolf poem, it seemed like Ameridan struck the wolf’s body in the waking world, while his friend Haron killed the spirit (inside the idol?) in the Fade. What could this imply for DA4 then, if we are applying the role of Ameridan, Haron and the wolf in this tale to the Inquisitor, Rook and Solas?? 👀 Is this how we can stop him? The Inquisitor confronts Solas in the waking world, while Rook has to destroy the idol/fight the Dread Wolf in the Fade?
Or could it just be a metaphor for the Inquisitor in DA4 keeping Solas occupied to distract him from Rook, while they can figure out another secret way to deal with him/how to get/destroy the idol?
See, the thing is, we have to remember that this is after all, a video game. lol Meaning that, if our protagonist gets to carry around a powerful ancient artifact/weapon, I would assume that this has to be somehow implemented in the gameplay as well. What we can take from the short footage of the 2023 reddit leak, is that Rook might carry the idol (if it really IS the same thing) while still fighting with their own main weapon in combat. So, what if the idol serves as more of a special power tool outside of combat, for example, like the anchor did in DAI, where it can only be used for special occasions? Let's say, the idol in its blade form can't be used in battle but is able to "split" the Veil or reality, like the anchor was able to open and close rifts? Or, if we assume that the idol is something like an ancient phylactery (which btw is my favorite theory and I will talk about in my second post), maybe it can be used as some kind of "tracking device"? Actually, I'm super curious to learn how Rook is even able to carry it like this in the first place, since we know what kind of effect it usually has on people. lol
~~~~~
Anyway, I'll make a hard cut here now and save the rest of this behemoth of a post for a second separate post (because I also just realized that tumblr doesn't let me add any more images 😂💀), so if any of you actually made it this far... thank you for being just as crazy as me about this and I will post the second part shortly after. lol ❤
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In-Depth Analysis On All The DR Characters Because What, Are You Gonna Try And Stop Me? Who Are You, My Mom? Yeah, I Didn't Think So- Part 2: Mondo Owada
So yeah, I decided to do Mondo's next. After all the material I ended up inadvertently collecting for him in my Taka analysis, it just made more sense to go ahead and get him out of the way, even if I'd rather go for my personal favorite characters first.
As noted previously, this analysis will only be using canon material. It'll primarily focus on the game and its english translation since that's what I'm most familiar with, but may also pull from the original Japanese, as well as the animation, stageplay, etc. If you aren't interested, just keep scrolling. Mondo fans, prepare some popcorn, and perhaps a tissue box since if you're anything like the Taka fans you may end up crying. You're welcome.
Part 1- Character Design
Mondo Owada is a delinquent character whose design pays homage to manga series Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable, and is modeled after its protagonist, Josuke Hikashigata. Mondo sports a massive pompadour and a modified uniform that mimics Josuke's, and is the leader of a biker gang called the Crazy Diamonds, a direct reference to Josuke's Stand, Crazy Diamond.
Due to leading this biker gang, he was given the title of SHSL Gang Leader, or Ultimate Biker Gang Leader.
Part 2- Character Introduction
Most of Mondo's character introduction isn't actually from himself, but from the researching Makoto did prior to entering the school in-game. We know immediately that he's leader of the largest biker gang in Japan, and get a look into his public image via Makoto. Despite the fact that Mondo is being fairly chill with his greeting, Makoto remains terrified of him based off of reputation alone- "I'd better be careful around him. One wrong word and I could wake up at the bottom of the sea..."
However, we can quickly see that this reputation is built mainly on bravado, as when Monokuma first calls for the entrance ceremony, we can see Mondo begin to sweat, despite his claiming otherwise- "Well hell, it ain't like I'm scared or nothin'. Let's just get this over with!"
He continues to sweat throughout Monokuma's explanation of the communal life, attempting to cover it up by yelling at the bear to let them out. We get a brief look at his more protective nature, as he purposefully puts himself between Hiro and Monokuma in order to confront him. We also quickly learn just how easily provoked he is.
Despite this provocation, he's not completely swept up in his rage, as he's able to listen to Kyoko's warning of the bomb and follows her advice- to throw it away- without hesitation. So our first real impression of him is that he's a short-tempered and intimidating- but well-intentioned- protector of sorts. He's not completely brainless; he's considerate of his classmates and their safety even when putting himself at risk.
Part 3- Early Game Development
Mondo is an interesting case, as he's a character that almost immediately looks directly into the camera and tells the player directly what their main motivation is. The only other character in this series that's as transparent about their goals so early in is Sayaka, and even then the game makes you ask for that information.
He tells us, in no uncertain terms, that keeping promises is the #1 most important thing to him. He also tells us indirectly how highly he values his family and personal connections, holding his brother's word as law. These combined with his talent being that of a gang leader all suggest a pack leader mentality, which is immediately confirmed by his anger at Byakuya for trying to separate from the group- "Like hell I'm gonna let you run off and do whatever you want!"
Not only is this loss of control upsetting to him, but he's then immediately provoked and called insignificant by Byakuya, leading him to lash out at the closest person in an attempt to regain that hold of power- which just so happens to be Makoto. Not only is this response irrational and violent, but it knocks out Makoto for 10-11 hours. Mondo is a leader, yes, but he's a gang leader, and his bite does match his bark.
Mondo's aggressive and fairly single-minded nature is made apparent when he continuously tries to break down the hatch in the main hall. Not only does he attempt to bust it open with Sakura on the first day, but he then returns to the hatch with Leon the following day, despite the fact he already admitted there was probably no way to open it from inside, and continues to check into the following chapter. He sees one possible way out, and zeroes in on it, just in case.
The game continues to double down on the irrational, defensive aspects of his character when Monokuma appears again to present the first motive. He again confronts Monokuma directly- pretending as if he knows who's piloting the bear for a fact("We know who you are!")- and attempting to intimidate him into letting them go. Once again, this demonstrates both his desire to protect himself and his classmates, and his unwavering confidence in the intelligence of said classmates, as Chihiro was the one to suggest the mastermind being Genocide Jack based only off her gut feeling. He then proceeds to immediately turn around and make Makoto be the one to go find the motive instead of going himself, getting extremely angry when Makoto doesn't instantly do as he's told- "Hey... Hey hey hey hey hey... HEEEEEY!!! You see how passionately I'm begging you!? What's the big deal? Just check it out real quick!"
He then calms down the second Makoto agrees.
It creates a sort of duality with his character between his more protective nature and his need to exert control, something the game makes a point to call out.
Part 4- Relationships
Mondo develops a fair number of relationships across his time in the game, to varying levels of importance- some antagonistic, some exceedingly complex. We'll go from least to most important to the overarching story.
4.1- Celeste
Celeste and Mondo are written in directly opposing ways, as while they're both fairly short-tempered, Celeste is much better at hiding it. It's by this logic that throughout the early game, oftentimes when Mondo starts to get riled up by the rules of the school and/or their circumstances, it's Celeste who ends up deescalating before he can explode, maintaining a facade of calm where he can't.
4.2- Sakuraoi
While not very touched upon, Mondo does end up developing a mutual respect for Sakura and Hina. When the class splits up to investigate the school on the first day, he joins the two of them in trying to find a way to get back to the outside, and he and Sakura work together to try and bust open the hatch in the main hall.
Hina's the one that stops Mondo from attacking Byakuya in the library, and when Chihiro begins to cry over Mondo saying that 'women are naturally weak anyway', it's Hina who calls him out for 'screaming like a lunatic.'
His relationship with Taka is also directly contrasted to Sakura's with Hina by Sakura herself- "Friendship between men seems very simplistic. Nothing like what I'm used to with girls." "Yeah, for real..." It's an interesting comparison, considering both Sakura and Mondo end up dying and leaving the responsibility of failure on Hina and Taka.
4.3- Byakuya
Byakuya antagonizes Mondo more than once, first as they're splitting up to search the school, and again after the library opens. Both times he seems to take enjoyment from it, calling him unimportant more than once and refusing to even entertain the idea that he might die.
"So miniscule, so insignificant, they couldn't possibly have any kind of influence on the boundless ocean."
"You know, I still just can't believe it..." "Believe what?" "That an uneducated, brain-dead, useless piece of garbage like you has survived this long."
"You all need to try harder. If an opponent isn't going to give it their best, where's the fun for me?"
It's enough of a threat for Mondo to genuinely believe that he's dangerous and want to keep him bound so he can't attack (foreshadowing when Byakuya himself would go one to tie Chihiro up? Probably not but it's a neat connection)
He also goes on to fuck with Chihiro, both by mocking her fear and by purposefully tampering with (what he believed to be) the crime scene of her death. On both counts, this directly affects Mondo, calling him out for his bullying("Hey, shithead! You get off on bullying people that can't fight back?") and letting Byakuya pin the crime of killing Chihiro on himself in the trial.
However, despite all this, Mondo never gets the chance to give Byakuya his comeuppance for his words and actions.
4.4- Ishimondo (yeah these bitches gay)
Similarly to Byakuya, Taka starts in a more antagonistic position, directly opposing Mondo as the unofficial, self-designated 'leader' of the class and remaining insensitive to the feelings of his classmates.
Unlike Byakuya, there's no actual intent to harm here, and their banter remains more focused on their differing ideas on how to help their classmates than anything else. Still, as time continues to pass, Mondo's impatience combined with the recent losses from ch 1 starts to push him over the edge, getting angrier with the class's lack of urgency.
This impatience only leads him to butt heads with Taka more, who's trying to keep the class together and safe first and foremost. On top of that, Mondo's delinquency is directly opposed to Taka's disciplinary background, making it all too easy to see each other as foes. Despite the fact they consider themselves the better type of man to the other, they have similar views on how men are to face each other, leading to the sauna scene.
Both characters' strong-willed determination and stubbornness inadvertently puts them on the same path, attempting to use their physical abilities to prove himself a more worthy leader than the other. It's a simplistic way of deciding, but it's one they both wholeheartedly believe in, and this gives them the opportunity to connect with each other in a way they're unable to with anyone else in the class. Thus, the following morning, when asked about the contest, the two have formed an inseparable brotherhood and refuse to even acknowledge the contest, as having a winner would put them on different levels. Interestingly, Mondo shares the belief with Taka that men bond by being naked around each other("Guys gotta expose themselves to each other, ya know?"), suggesting that he removed his clothes in order for this 'brotherhood' to form.
4.5- Daiya
The first thing we learn about Mondo's older brother in-game is that he was the one who taught Mondo to always keep his promises, no matter the cost. The second thing we learn is that he fucking died. And until nearly the end of Mondo's run in the game, that's all we as an audience need to know. He had an older brother that taught him his core values and passed away, leaving Mondo to carry out his wishes. It's not until after the chapter 2 trial is said and done that we learn anything more about him through Mondo's secret: "That embarrassing memory, that secret he didn't want anyone to know... You know what he did? He killed his own brother!"
It's through Monokuma that we learn the truth of Mondo's history with his brother: Daiya was his only family growing up, and thus, became his role model, the man Mondo himself wanted to become. He respected Daiya and Daiya alone. He followed him everywhere, and together, they formed the Crazy Diamonds, which went from a local biker gang to one of the greatest in Japan. It was through his brother that he developed his biking talent, and acted as his right hand. But some of the gang didn't believe in Mondo or trust him the way Daiya did. As Daiya grew older and prepared to retire, rumors of nepotism circulated throughout the gang, saying that Mondo was nothing compared to Daiya, that he wasn't worthy to take over the gang.
"Daiya created the gang with his bare hands! Mondo's just along for the ride." "Can someone like that be our leader?" "All that'll do is make the gang look bad."
Any accomplishments Mondo had made within the gang didn't count to the gang, or to Mondo himself, because they were put next to the leader's achievements. He compared himself to Daiya as well, feeding into the rumors and developing a deep-rooted jealousy. He felt like he had to be the stronger man, had to prove himself to the gang, had to best his brother or he wouldn't be accepted. So he challenged him. He challenged Daiya, and lost all restraint on the road, charging forward with the desperation of a dead man. And it cost him his brother's life.
His brother made him promise not to let the gang go as he passed; Mondo became shackled by his honor to stay. He fully believes it was his fault Daiya died, and now not only is he indebted to stay with the gang, but can never admit blame for fear of tarnishing not only his own reputation, but tearing his brother's gang apart. His community demands unwavering macho leadership, and he can't afford to break character for even a second.
4.6- Chihiro (will be using mostly he/him due to discussing canon)
Mondo and Chihiro exist on 2 sides of the same coin- toxic masculinity. Both characters (canonically speaking here) are men, but are perceived totally differently, both by those around them and by themselves. And because of this design, when put into the high-stress scenario that they were, they were doomed to drive each other to ruin.
Even before chapter 2 starts, there are multiple instances of Mondo listening to Chihiro and respecting his words without doubt(his theory of Genocide Jack and asking his opinion on '11037'). We've also seen Mondo's confrontational and protective nature in action. So it's no surprise at all when he stands up to Byakuya on Chihiro's behalf when he clams up. And while this is done with good intentions, it only serves to make Chihiro feel weaker. Mondo is physically stronger- anyone can see that- and he's not afraid to mouth off to someone showing excitement at the killing game they were all forced into. So when asked if he's okay the following morning, he can't help but explain himself- he feels weak, and doesn't like having someone else stand up for him. For Mondo, this goes directly against his idea of strength, and can't comprehend why "she'd" possibly care.
With all of Mondo's toughness, he carries not just the expectations of a man, but the misogynist beliefs that often come with it. But regardless of that, he's immediately able to tell he fucked up("Hey, c'mon, don't cry... I-It's my fault, okay? I won't yell anymore...") as far as the narrative will allow him due to writer's bias*. He feels bad about this, genuinely, enough to offer Chihiro his promise as a man. It's enough of a gesture for Chihiro to trust him completely, believing in the man's promise he's emphasized as being the most important thing to him since the very beginning.
(*Writer's bias in this case means the author is also sexist to a degree. Mondo is very clearly meant to be a tough guy with good intentions but because the creator appears to agree with the sentiment that women are weaker on average, we as an audience are meant to take issue with the fact that he's yelling and not the sexist statement. Said bias is made pretty clear by the fact their 'weak boy' character is dressed like a woman to emphasize his weakness and be a 'gotcha', as well as the fact they later have Kyoko force Makoto to tear paper out of Hifumi's rigor mortis hand because Makoto's a boy and she's a girl, even though earlier in that same game she, still a girl, was allowed to examine Chihiro's corpse in enough detail to find her dick. Writer's biases can and does affect the final product, so it's always important to consider that when looking at a character's development to determine whether they're being shitty because they're supposed to be or if it's some fault with the creator themself inputting their biases into something that otherwise wouldn't develop in this way. This has been Critical Consumption of Media 101.)
When Chihiro's found dead, Mondo keeps his head hung, lamenting about the fact that Chihiro wanted to be stronger, and when Makoto points out Chihiro was a woman anyway, Mondo just dismisses it, contradicting his earlier statement.
He respects Chihiro's memory and refuses to speak poorly of him. And while at first glance this is all it appears to be, as the trial unfolds and we learn the truth about what happened to Chihiro, a dual meaning behind this reveals itself- another showcasing of his devotion to the promises he keeps and the desire to protect his friend, even in death.
Chihiro is physically weak; a strong wind could probably knock him over, and he's much more in-tune with his emotions than your average guy. He mourns the losses of Sayaka, "Junko", and Leon all deeply, and has a deep shame for not being able to defend himself against Byakuya. But despite all this, when tested by Monokuma's secrets motive, he doesn't crumble away. He thrives, taking that threat and turning it into motivation to push his limits. He has the self-awareness to know when to ask for help, and isn't swayed by the threat of death. He's physically weak, but is incredibly strong mentally and is able to conquer his fears and face the lie he created for himself. Unfortunately for him, living with this toxic idea of what masculinity is supposed to look like makes him believe the way to do this can only be found in becoming physically stronger, and dies without ever seeing the strength he already had.
Mondo, on the inverse, is extremely physically capable, even without trying. He's 187 cm of muscle, and is confrontational to a fault, only giving him more opportunities to show off that physical strength. But on the inside, he can't face the sins of his past, can't admit his faults, and can't comprehend how to make peace with himself. All this is exacerbated by the weight he carries of leading the gang his brother formed, unable to release that weight from his conscience.
"N-No matter what... I couldn't let the other gang members find out. If that happened, everything would've been ruined... Everything me and my brother worked to create... woulda been destroyed... His death... all the guilt I'd been carrying around... it all woulda been for nothing."
And when Monokuma tests his resolve, he completely crumbles. Unable to admit the truth to himself, he's faced with Chihiro, someone who has the mental capability he could only dream of. That primal fear of breaking the promise he made for his brother on his deathbed, combined with Chihiro's unwavering confidence as he happily chimes how unbothered Mondo must be, blocks out all rationale. He spirals, forgetting where he is and who he's talking to, trying to make the panic go away as he throws the dumbbell in his hand.
Chihiro and Mondo each have everything the other wants, and drive each other to death trying to get it.
Part 5- Chihiro's Trial
For most of the trial, Mondo doesn't appear suspicious at all. So much time is spent on Byakuya's suspicious behavior and his framing of Genocide Jack that you barely notice him. He fully appears to be trying to find Chihiro's killer and find justice for her, following Makoto's line of reasoning to find Byakuya as the killer- with the body's suspension and the subtle differences between Jack's methods of killing and the murder of Chihiro herself. He's all too eager to declare Byakuya as the killer- and though we can't know for sure, he may have genuinely believed it. After all, walking into the girls' locker room to find her body suspended and the message of 'Bloodlust' written on the walls certainly wasn't his doing. Unfortunately for him, that's all Byakuya did, and the conversation continues.
In the end, Mondo brings about his own execution. Even after slipping up with his words, the conversation is able to continue on, sfifting focus over to Chihiro's missing E-Handbook and what exactly happened to it. And when Mondo becomes cornered with Makoto's mention of the sauna, it's not Mondo who goes on the defensive; it's Taka. Mondo gives up; he lets his tough-guy persona go. He finally faces the truth; he's undoubtedly the one that ended Chihiro's life, no matter how he may have wanted to delude himself otherwise. He sees his bro defending him, and he accepts that he has to die. It's not beyond reason to say that Taka's insistence of his innocence was what pushed him to truly admit his guilt, both to the class and to himself. Up until this point, he'd still been trying to play it off and get away with it. But was it worth it to live and kill his bro, and everyone else, just to protect his pride? No. He admits to being the killer, straight up.
"Yeah. Yeah... I did it... I killed him."
"Go ahead, Monokuma. Get it over with... Ask for the goddamned verdict..."
Part 6- The Cage of Death
The first person that comments with some variation of OH MY GOD YOU'RE SO EVIL HOW COULD YOU PUT THE EXECUTION IN THIS gets a cookie. Anyways, the executions in these games are always thematic to the characters and are meant to send them into the worst possible despair in their final moments, so let's break this down.
The execution begins with Mondo forcefully strapped to his motorcycle by Monokuma, who's sporting the same pompadour as him. This may be representative of Mondo feeling confined to the biker gang by his guilt; he was never able to break free of the lie he created about that night. The pompadour is likely just Monokuma making fun of him for his hair again, as the thing that nearly killed him in the prologue.
The kanji written on the motorcycle reads 'Little Black Sambo,' a reference to a children's story of the same title. The entire execution is an inverse of this story as well. In the story, a boy named Sambo is surrounded by four hungry tigers, and gives up his clothes to avoid being eaten. The tigers are all conceited and argue over who's the best-dressed, chasing each other in circles until they churn themselves into butter. Sambo is then able to recollect his clothes and the butter, and his mother uses the butter to make pancakes. This story is well-known and beloved in Japan, but isn't in basically the entire rest of the world on account of the racist caricatures of the POC present in it.
Mondo's execution is a inversed version of the story(and also, because Mondo isn't blasian there's thankfully no directly racist art in it, just tigers). Rather than being the one to trick the tigers, he's the one who's full of pride, and so he's sent into a motorcycle cage and left to spin around and around, while the tigers dance on either side of him. He ends up being the one who's turned into butter, and Monokuma gets to enjoy a delicious plate of Mondocakes. It's meant to represent the downfall of Mondo's macho personality and how he sent himself into a spiral, but loses a lot of its meaning if you aren't familiar with the story.
Part 7- Jealousy
So, we've torn this character apart. We know what makes him tick, but why does that all matter? What was the point of his story? Simple- it's a cautionary tale. It's a warning against everything he stands for. Mondo, through all his faults, is NOT someone you're actually supposed to idealize or hold up as the epitome of manhood in the way that Chihiro does. Rather, he's a deconstruction of everything society views as 'manly', and a demonstration of why that line of thinking is inherently flawed. He's big and tough, he yells and cusses at the people around him, he doesn't have a handle on his own strength. He knocks a dude out for like, 10 hours straight because he was mad at someone else!!! That's not a healthy way to get your frustration out!!!
Simply put, your image and pride are not worth your mental health, and comparing yourself to the people around you not only tortures yourself, but can hurt those who you love. Mondo couldn't stop comparing his own faults to the strengths of others, and ended up pushing himself too hard trying to prove himself. Not only did he lose his brother over it, but he felt like he had to keep all his pain and regret locked up for the sake of an image they'd painted together. It pushed him up to the edge, and he never learned to cope with it in a way that was healthy. It only led to him lashing out more and more, and repeating history when he killed Chihiro. Your trauma can't be fixed by ignoring it or shoving it down; seek out help when you need it. It's okay to confide in your friends; they aren't your enemy, and they aren't making fun of you. That line of thinking will only push you over the edge.
Afterword
So yeah, this was longer than anticipated. Even after doing Taka's and creating a point of reference for myself, I still ended up surprised. I mean, Taka survived longer, so you'd think his would be longer, right? But no, Mondo is not only a very well-established character, but he has more important connections and a much more impactful storyline. I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say Mondo may be one of the easiest characters to understand from THH, considering how in-your-face they make him. And I respect that, even if his whole facade can be kind of annoying for me. I totally see why this guy is so popular among fans. Happy birthday Mondo!
Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed this one, and be sure to stick around! Sayaka's analysis is coming up next, and holy shit am I excited for this one.
#danganronpa#trigger happy havoc#danganronpa thh#danganronpa trigger happy havoc#thh#dr thh#dr1 thh#danganronpa mondo#mondo owada#mondo oowada#owada mondo#oowada mondo#mondoblr#ishimondo#chihiro fujisaki#byakuya togami#daiya owada#daiya oowada#dr character analysis#character analysis#character study#analysis#media analysis#kiyotaka ishimaru
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Journal entry on the official website. [source]
"Introducing The Veilguard
Welcome back to Thedas"
--
"Hey everyone,
It’s been too long since we last spoke! We’re happy to bring back our community blog series, where we can chat with you about our next adventure - Dragon Age: The Veilguard.
If you’re joining us just now, earlier this week we released a blog detailing how we renamed the game to better represent what makes it special - it’s about you and your companions – not your enemies – that are at the heart of this new experience. Check that out alongside our Official Reveal Trailer which premiered at the Xbox Showcase on June 9th, where you first meet your seven companions.
We’re also excited to open the official BioWare Discord server. You can expect news drops, giveaways, activities, and more planned between now and launch. This is our new dedicated home where we look forward to bringing this one-of-a-kind community together with a space to engage more frequently and celebrate your favorite stories and characters from Dragon Age: The Veilguard and others in the franchise.
But that’s not all. We know what you value the most is seeing the game as it is, exactly how you’ll play it. So, we’re happy to provide you with a look from the opening moments of the game. Grab some snacks as we have 15+ minutes to explore Dragon Age: The Veilguard together."
--
"Are you the hero Thedas needs?
This video from the first moments of the game is just the tip of the iceberg, and there’s so much more to discover on this epic journey. You’ll explore Thedas, uniting a cast of (yes, romanceable!) companions as you fight against ancient elven gods. In this crafted character-driven RPG, you’ll visit meticulously crafted biomes and beautiful regions, some that you’ve only heard whispers about in Dragon Age lore, including Rivain, Weisshaupt, Arlathan, Minrathous, and the Deep Roads - to name a few. We’ll have a lot more coming this summer as we fully detail what’s in store.
You’ll begin by diving into the Character Creator. You’ll choose your class, lineage, gender, overall appearance and more. Choosing which faction Rook is part of will unlock different narrative, dialogue, and gameplay interactions.
Combat is another area that has a lot of depth to it - both in how you choose to defeat your enemies and its progression throughout the game. The game will support various skill levels, but at its core, Dragon Age: The Veilguard has fluid moment-to-moment combat where you can choose between three classes - Warrior, Mage, or Rogue – each having their own advanced specializations. There's also a layer of tactical depth for those who want to dig in, which we really didn't get to cover in the video.
Our new customizable ability wheel will help you turn the tide of battle at any time. It will allow you to pause the action, issue commands to your followers, use abilities, and unleash devastating combos. As you become more powerful, you can start to see the potential in how much fun (and hectic) things can get.
We're also giving the option to use some of your abilities via a shortcut. Giving you these different kinds of options is something we thought a lot about and wanted to provide so you can find the playstyle that best fits you.
Alright, that’s it for now as we’ll dive deeper into this and all things Dragon Age: The Veilguard through the Fall."
Before we go, if you haven’t seen this yet, we wanted to provide an overview of what we have upcoming. As we’ve said earlier, we plan to continue revealing more about Dragon Age: The Veilguard and answer your burning questions. However, there’ll be some things we have to keep close to the chest as we get closer to launch.
Remember to join the custom console giveaway before entries close on June 16th*, and set a reminder for our Developer Discord Q&A on June 14th at 10am PT. Submit your questions in the #ask-bioware channel on the server!
Dragon Age: The Veilguard will be coming to PC, Xbox Series X|S, and PlayStation 5 in Fall 2024.
That’s all for now, talk soon!
-- The Dragon Age Community Team
*Sponsor: Trufan Inc. NO PURCHASE NEC. 18+ Ends June 17, 2024. For full details see https://go.ea.com/DATVGiveaway"
#dragon age: the veilguard#dragon age: dreadwolf#dragon age 4#the dread wolf rises#da4#dragon age#bioware#video games
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