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amber-sekio · 3 months

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Relationship Headcanons

Fandom: BSD -Bungo Stray Dogs

TW: none? I think?

DAZAI

I said it in my Soukoku fic, Dazai wouldn’t know affection if it slapped him in the face ten times

Like he might realize when someone is showing interest in a sexual kind

And he would probably notice if someone is crushing on him

But like, if he likes them back?

Man is blind

He’s too busy panicking over read denying his own thoughts and feelings over you to analyze your actions

He’s busy trying to think of anything but how pretty you are when he sees you -thank you very much

No joke though, this can be applied to pretty much anyone he cares about

I mean he practically had a heart attack when Atsushi gave him flowers

Anyways if he finally admits to himself that he likes you then I could see him trying to push you away if I’m being brutally honest

He doesn’t want to lose you and he believes that anything he wants that he obtains, will be striped from him sooner or later

But…, in a perfect world he would eventually work up the courage to ask you out

He would probably avoid directly asking you but this is Dazai so he could defiantly figure out some round-about way to ask

As for the relationship?

He would still be his teasing self

But he would tone it down

Not because he doesn’t want to annoy you but more so because he actually lets some of his masks down when alone with you

He defiantly is very clingy to you

Man has been touch starved for a long time and he fears attachment too much to be touchy with the ADA members

But now he has you, who not only tolerates him but has decided to stay with him?

Of course he’s not going to let this chance slip from his grasp before all this inevitably ends (he’s still in denial)

He never cared much for holidays like Christmas or Valentines

But now he wants to experience them, with you

He’s always thinking, plans and outcomes racing through his mind, what ifs and regrets

But like, if you ruffle his hair, his brain just stops.

Like no thoughts, he short circuits

When his brain returned to him the first time it happened he panicked

Like, who gave you that amount of control?

After that first time he continued to try and get you to do it without asking

He needed his brain to shut up every now and then, and now he has a reliable source

Anyways, he likes to be a spoiled princess

No one can change my mind

For all his predictions he will never be able to predict your love and kindness for him

CHUUYA

Someone give this poor man a hug

Ugh, my heart

I can‘t imagine him wanting to date a normal citizen, too much of a risk

So you’d probably have to work in the Mafia

Even then, dating you would still be placing a huge target on you

He would actually take you out on dates before asking you out

Dates with him would be romantic

Like dinner by candle light vibes

He’d be strategic on where you guys sit

No need to be precarious on what you order, it’s all on him

When he does ask you out he would be slightly flustered but it just makes him adorable

Say yes, he doesn’t deserve to be hurt any more

He would spoil you to no end

If you want it, you can have it

You’re the only one allowed to call him short

He might get flustered from PDA in the start but will gradually warm up to it

Nothing clingy, just hand holding, a hand around your waist, a quick kiss here or there

But if he sees some guy hitting on you?

Down right possessive, arm snug around your waist, shoulder to shoulder

And if he’s drunk? Even worse

Like he’s pulling you onto his lap just to make sure that asshole knows your taken

If you do work in the mafia with him, he likes going on easier missions with you

And while he knows that you can handle yourself just fine, he can’t help but imagine something bad happening to you when he isn’t there to save you

He’s lost too many people in his life, please, don’t leave him as well

He loves when you rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat

And while you do that he’ll run his fingers through your hair

Chuuya loves to spoil you rotten as I stated, it’s his love language

So sometimes he’ll just hand you his black card and let you go shopping with friends or something

In fact, he encourages you to buy what you want

FYODOR

Honestly? Where do I start with him?

Like congratulations if you meet him and make it out alive

I don’t know if I should congratulate him taking an interest in you though

I feel like he believe that the interest he had in you was purely innocent curiosity

But I also don’t think he would try to delude himself for as long as Dazai does

Eventually he would notice that something was different about his interest for you than usual

And while he would hesitate to put a name to it so quickly he would eventually give in after realizing there was no stoping this feeling from festering in him

After coming to terms with his romantic? Feelings and interest in you he would definitely begin to manipulate you into feeling the same way for him

If you don’t already that is

If you don’t confess then he’ll definitely do the same thing Dazai did

And when you agree, he of course knew you would, he makes you move in with him

He can’t let his dearest other slip from his finger now can he?

I feel like before ever getting into a relationship, you would have been made aware of his ‘work’

Please, make sure the man eats

And takes his iron pill

Nikolai is getting a little tired of that daily routine despite how much he loves to be around Fyodor

Anyways, dates aren’t a very common thing in fact, very, very rare

I mean… what did you expect?

Man’s a literal terrorist

That being said, from time to time he’ll leave his ‘lair’ to spend time with you

If you ask, he’ll gladly play the cello for you

If he snaps at you for ‘bothering him with pointless things’ when you bring him his iron pill or food just listen

Don’t bother him with such things

And then same thing the next day

And after some 4 or 5 days he’ll stumble from his room

Staggering as he tries not to collapse or faint from both his lack of energy and his iron deficiency

And when he walks into the kitchen trying to get the iron pill bottle open?

Let him stumble his way over to you and ask for help before you finally do as such

And he realizes just how dependent on you he’s become

It’ll happen again eventually

But as of that moment, it’ll at least be awhile before the cycle repeats

(That last part of Fyodor’s was based upon some fanfic I read for him. I'm not sure who it was by, but I’ll tag it if and when I do find it.)

A/N: anyways, believe it or not, I love Chuuya just as much as I do Fyodor and Dazai

I’m just not as confident in his character. Since I’m a lot like Dazai, he comes easy to me and by substitute, Fyodor does as well

But Chuuya? Despite him being one of my 5 favorites along with Dazai and Fyodor, I just don’t resonate personally enough with him to write him really well

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seikilos-stele · 7 months

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Izzy, Ed, and Saying “I’m Sorry”

I saw a post recently that said Ed’s apology (“sorry about your leg”) was fine actually, because that’s just how Ed and Izzy are, it’s just how they talk.

So I wanted to stress: that’s how Ed is. That’s not how Izzy is.

When Izzy apologizes, it’s: “I said some things I regret last night. I don’t think you’re a shell of a man or a twat.” And: “Ed, I’m sorry. I’ve been terrible to you. I fed your darkness. Blackbeard. For years I egged him on even though I knew you’d outgrown him.”

In S1 and S2 we see how izzy apologizes. He acknowledges his wrongdoing in specific “I” statements — “I did THIS, and I regret it,” “I did THIS, and it was a terrible thing to do.” When Ed apologizes it’s “Sorry about your leg.” Not “Sorry for what I did to your leg,” and no eye contact.

Some people think that Izzy’s response, “Fuck off,” is evidence that he doesn’t accept Ed’s apology, but I disagree — I do think Izzy accepted. I think it’s the most he’s ever gotten from Ed and he knows he’s not going to get anything better. Ed himself says he’s never apologized before, and only does it (not to Izzy but to the crew) when Stede makes him.

It’s worth analyzing how the two apologies are treated by the narrative as well. When Ed apologizes, all is forgiven; he gets his crew (“Ed, they love you”), he gets his lover and his happy ending. For Izzy, the narrative isn’t so kind. In one case, his apology is met with deceit from Ed — to prevent Izzy from further apologizing (by leaving the ship) Blackbeard lies to Izzy and says he plans to kill Stede, then maneuvers Izzy into doing it for him. Only to let Izzy be banished, because he never really wanted Stede dead in the first place. To recap, Izzy is mean to Ed in private; he gives a sincere, unprompted apology the next morning and tries to repent by leaving the ship; he is narratively punished with a humiliating duel and banishment.

In S2, Izzy apologizes to the crew by protecting them from the Kraken, and he IS narratively rewarded for this. His wordless apology results in love from the crew, acceptance, and support. It’s worth noting that we never see Ed make the same concerted effort to change his behavior. Stede tries to push Ed into it, but Ed resists — he rolls his eyes, he treats it as a joke, and he tries to convince his crew that they actually enjoyed being tortured. This is very different from Izzy, who quietly changes his ways without being forced or prompted.

In the finale, Izzy apologizes for feeding Ed’s darkness and absolves Ed for the way he mutilated Izzy in the S1 finale and first two episodes of S2. These mutilations are physical acts including multiple amputations and forced auto-cannibalism; Izzy still bears the scar from his suicide attempt following the final and most severe amputation. Izzy gives a high-quality apology for his mean words (“namby pamby in a silk gown pining for his boyfriend,” “I serve Blackbeard, not Edward. Edward better watch his step.”) Ed doesn’t apologize for choking Izzy, for cutting off his toes and feeding them to him, for shooting him or for goading him into suicide; he certainly doesn’t apologize for lying to him back in S1 about Stede. As we all know, while Izzy dies, Ed doesn’t apologize at all. Izzy gets only one apology from Ed in S2. It’s a low-quality apology vaguely referencing Izzy’s leg, without taking responsibility for it. Ed’s apology is the same distant statement of pity that we might hear from Lucius or Black Pete upon noticing that Izzy is disabled. “Sorry about your leg” — not as in “I’m sorry for what I did,” but as in, “Wow, it sucks that that happened to you. And it has nothing to do with me.”

It’s made worse by the fact that Ed can’t just apologize to Izzy. It’s Izzy who approaches Ed, awkwardly extending the olive branch. Ed rebukes Izzy for avoiding him and makes a judgmental comment about Izzy’s recent uptick in drinking, then seeks out Izzy’s reassurance/comfort (“It feels like a storm’s coming…”). Izzy refuses to give Ed the comfort he seeks, and it’s clear that this bothers Ed; it’s a departure from their usual dynamic.

Ed has to work up to an apology over the course of a brief conversation where the first thing he does is subtly reprimands Izzy for avoiding him. Ed’s priority is not to say he’s sorry; it’s to make sure Izzy knows Ed is upset about the silent treatment and then to seek comfort for Ed’s own emotional turmoil. Contrast this with both Izzy’s apologies: in S1, when Ed approaches him, Izzy squares his shoulders and apologizes right away. There’s no waffling about it; it’s clearly been weighing on his mind, and he needs to say he’s sorry before the conversation veers elsewhere. In S2, Izzy is literally dying; he asks Ed to stay with him, and then launches directly into his apology. There are no insults; there’s no cattiness; he doesn’t try to make Ed feel bad for being hurt.

Conclusion:

There’s a world of difference between Izzy’s apologies and Ed’s. The first difference is in the quality. The second difference is in how the narrative treats them. Ed’s low-quality apologies are rewarded. Izzy’s higher-quality apologies are punished with banishment and death.

#ofmd critical #ofmd #Izzy hands

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highdreaming · 1 year

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Never Again

💢 All the works are pure fictions, for entertainment purposes only so please, read it at your own will.

Summary: He hurts you during an argument.

Find more at: Masterlist

Gavi x (female) reader

AN: Please like, reblog and give me feedback!

“Stop it, Gavi. I don’t want to talk to you anymore!” you yell, reaching to grab your purse, but Gavi gets in front of you, raising his hands as if to calm you down.

“Baby, c’mon, I didn’t do anything! She’s just a fan, all she asked for was a hug, nothing more.” Gavi explains, eyebrows scrunched together as you cross your arms.

“Oh yeah? And she also asked for you to give her your number?” you scoff, shaking your head. “Save me the excuses, Gavi. I saw that, so you’re not fooling anyone.”

You turn around to leave, but your boyfriend captures your wrist, stopping you from leaving.

“That’s not what it seems, I swear.”

“I know what I saw, Gavi. Let me go!” you harshly pull your wrist, but Gavi is stronger than you, holding you tight.

“You have to listen to me! It wasn’t my number, it was Ansu’s cause he liked her.”

“Don’t lie to me! I don’t want to hear it!”

Both of you pull and tug at your wrist, Gavi’s grip on you getting uncomfortably tighter as you attempt to get away from him. Both of you argue back and forth and Gavi finally snaps, twisting your hand so hard that you cry out in pain.

“Baby, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Gavi immediately releases your hand and you pull it against your chest, feeling the limb sore from the harsh tugs you’ve been subjected to.

You raise your eyes to Gavi as he stares at you in complete shock.

“I’m so so sorry, it was a mistake. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear!” he starts apologizing, hesitating in touching you, a remorseful expression painting his face.

“I know…But you still did it.” you say, wincing as you hand throbs in pain.

He slowly nods, taking a step back, sucking in a deep breath.

“You’re right and I’m so sorry for that. I’m a jerk for hurting and I never would intentionally hurt you, I love you too much for that.” he declares, pointing towards your hand. “Can I have a look at that, at least? I just wanna make sure it’s not too serious.”

You slowly nod, and Gavi immediately rushes to your side, hand connecting with yours.

His fingers rub against the skin, his brown eyes analyzing your wrist before he presses a kiss to it.

“I don’t think it’s too bad, but we can still go see a doctor.” he says, locking his eyes with you and you realize how much he’s regretting his actions. “I’m genuinely sorry, Y/N. Please say you forgive me.”

“I forgive you, you idiot.” you softly whisper, burying your head in Gavi’s chest. He wraps his arms around you, pressing several kisses to the top of your head.

“I’m so sorry.” he repeats and you smile to yourself, knowing that he means it.

-----

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deepouterspacecandy · 5 months

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Dancing Shadows

It’s not that you were smitten with her.

It’s just that when she accidentally brushed her leg against yours under the table, it set your body on fire. Warmth spilled from your head to your toes with an innocent touch and it was almost adolescent. The way her very presence caused you to avert your eyes the moment it happened, an instinctual reach for the nearest plastic straw or frayed string of your hoodie.

Anything to fiddle with to distract from the jackhammer between your ribs.

“Abby!” a familiar voice rang out.

You winced and immediately regretted it. You were never good at hiding your emotions.

Maybe nobody at this godforsaken table noticed your distaste for Owen. It wasn’t reasonable—your hatred for him, and you knew as much. Your reaction to his presence was based solely on boiling, unadulterated jealousy and so what? You were only human.

“What’s up?” Abby cooed, letting herself become smothered by the man behind her.

Okay, so smothered is a tad dramatic, but come on. Get a room.

“Just thought I’d check in with my favourite girl before shipping out,” Owen said. “This might be the longest we’ve been apart since we met.”

“Good riddance,” you mumbled.

Nora snorted at your near silent outburst, giving you a gentle kick. That tender brush of ankles beneath the table set nothing on fire but your attitude. You’d have to give it to her, though. She was always looking out for your best interest.

Owen Moore was the luckiest man in the entire compound, and you envied the way his dopey demeanor always seemed to put a smile on her face. Did he know how fortunate he was?

“I’m full,” you blurted, pushing away your half-eaten burrito. “Catch you later.”

You couldn’t bear to stop and analyze the shocked expression painted on Abby’s face.

She had saved you a spot at the table, the way she did every day. Her grey jacket bunched up on the bench across from her, awaiting your arrival. Her pretty face breaking into a smirk as you fumbled with your tray and her favourite coat.

She hadn’t muttered a single complaint when you opted for laying the fabric across your lap, even after dropping a stray piece of lettuce and mayo onto the collar.

She simply grinned and continued ranting about the current book she was reading. Well, that was before Owen turned up.

Abby called out to you, but your cheeks burned, and your stomach twisted in that uncomfortable way it often seemed to do in these situations. You hurried out of the chow hall without a second glance or destination in mind.

Your feet, one in front of the other, took you away from the source of the agony, and that’s all you could stand to process.

When you collapsed onto the couch in the library, it wasn’t much of a surprise.

This was your safe place. Your sanctuary.

Within minutes, the tight ball of rope in the pit of your stomach relaxed. Dim lighting and the weathered scent of old literature, the quiet hum of passersby in the hallway. The glide of battered paper between your fingers. The comfort of knowing that a temporary slice of peace was only a chapter away.

This little nook developed into a haven to have yourself a serious nervous system override, which your body desperately needed after a hectic week on patrol, coupled with far too many sleepless nights.

Fear wove its way through the stadium as the conflict between the WLF and the Scars mounted. In a matter of weeks, the ceasefire between the two factions disappeared.

When the Seraphites crossed boundaries they ought not cross, both in land and principle, Isaac retaliated without hesitation. And when Isaac sent his soldiers into their territory intending to cause abject harm, the Scars gathered their resources and fired back in short order. A vicious cycle perpetuated by ruthless leaders at the expense of loyal, dependent lives.

To say the conflict had transformed into a bloodbath was putting it lightly. You spent many hours in your bunk over the recent weeks, staring into the abyss in sheer disbelief.

How could human beings treat each other with such careless disregard? You didn’t agree with the way they lived, but at your core, it didn’t spark a desire for violence. You understood the importance of protecting your community, and you would do so without protest. It just seemed rather counterintuitive.

Could the war between your groups meet an end before your life wound up on the front lines as the next sacrifice?

It wasn’t until you started curling up in Abby’s jacket that you realized you’d taken it hostage in your frenetic escape. Heat trickled across the bridge of your nose, pooling in your cheeks.

“It looks better on you, anyway.”

“God, you scared me,” you huffed, clutching your chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

Abby’s calm tone filled your chest up with wild flutters as she slid in next to you on the couch.

Was this piece of furniture always so small?

Suddenly, there was only the hard edge of it at your heels and the overwhelming strength of the girl nestled beside you.

“It’s that brain of yours, always fretting about something. It’s bad for your health, you know,” Abby said. Her fresh breath, so close to your own, caused your insides to capsize. You tried not to fixate on her blonde braid spilling onto your shoulder. How she reminded you of an autumn forest, her skin softened by a bar of her beloved pine soap.

“I knew you were hoarding packs of chewing gum,” you said. “Show off.”

She smirked, giving you a playful nudge with a wad of minty green pressed between her teeth. “Want some?”

“Hard pass,” you said, desperate to control the giggles building in your throat. “Keep all those Owen cooties to yourself, please and thank you.”

She nibbled at the dry skin on her bottom lip before giving you a sidelong glance. “You don’t like him much, do you?”

A pang of guilt struck at your core. There was a tinge of melancholy in her voice. The last thing in the world you wanted to do was make her sad.

“He’s alright,” you said with a lazy shrug.

She grinned. “Just alright?”

“I’m indifferent to his existence.”

“That’s so much worse,” she chortled, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them back up, bright blue and glossy, it felt like she was staring into your soul.

Your heart thundered, turning your mouth bone-dry. Perhaps you should’ve accepted her gum after-all.

“What?” you rasped. If she recognized the panic in your voice, she was kind enough not to draw attention to it.

“Just you,” she whispered.

“Me?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You.”

“What about me?”

She shifted her body, and you all but froze as she moved onto her side, bracing herself to better look at you. It took all your might to muster the courage to meet her gaze. Her eyes flitted to your mouth for the briefest moment, and you swallowed hard.

“I think you’re really sweet,” she said. “Not very discreet, though.”

“Excuse you? And what exactly does that mean?” You graciously took offense, challenging her assessment. Her smile only radiated.

“It means I can read you like a book,” Abby said.

“Fat chance,” you teased. “It’s a miracle you can read at all!”

Her brow quirked, and her high spirit slipped into a tantalizing grin. “Can I take a crack at your disdain for Owen?”

Part of you wanted her to hit the nail on the head to tear your feelings for her wide open. Another part of you prayed for her to change the subject to save you from the heartache of the inevitable.

She was in a relationship. Taken. Beyond that, you were certain she was straight as an arrow, and it was nicer to exist in sheer denial of that fact for the time being.

“Well?” she pressed. “Can I?”

“Go nuts,” you said, feigning nonchalance. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

She shifted again, this time to make room for her hands to fidget. Was she nervous?

“He’s terrible at tracking,” Abby offered, as the corner of her mouth hitched. “Right?”

“I mean, yes,” you groaned. “He sucks at tracking, but that’s—that’s not why.”

She blew out a ragged breath, a sudden wash of pink highlighting her freckles. She hummed to herself and then clicked her tongue, pretending to ponder. “Gotcha. Okay. Only two more guesses. I better make them good.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” you asked, covering your face with your forearm.

“I know what it is!” she exclaimed, pausing for theatrical effect. “It’s because he interrupts everyone just before the punchline of a story, isn’t it?”

“Abby.”

“That drives me mental, too.”

“Abigail,” you grumbled. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

You hid yourself behind her crumpled jacket and the scent of this beautiful girl all around you turned your already racing thoughts into a dishevelled mess.

“Hold up,” Abby said. She reached for her jacket with such gentle intention, pulling it away from your face. “I get one more guess.”

Electricity threatened the mellow ambiance of the library, despite the adjacent hallway falling into silence. Everyone must be heading back to their duty assignments.

Everyone outside of you and Abby, of course. Surely, someone would come searching.

“A deal’s a deal,” you said.

The heat from her body prickled your skin with a million tiny beads of sweat. You wanted to swipe your sleeve across your upper lip, too conscious of drawing focus to your nerves.

Her gaze transformed into something deep and ethereal the more you squirmed. She seemed entertained by your anxious energy, and you swear you could melt into the couch with each expectant glance she sent your way.

“If I get this right, what will you give me?”

“Give you?” you scoffed. “You mean like, a prize or something? Do I look like a carnival to you, Anderson?”

“All you really need is a big red nose,” she smirked.

This is precisely why you adored her. She knew when to apply pressure and when to ease the load. It’s what made her an excellent leader.

Abby was so much more than a disciplined soldier.

“You calling me a clown?”

She wiggled closer, laying her head on your shoulder. She let out a long exhale, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Maybe.”

You struggled to piece two coherent thoughts together. This conversation had already played out in your mind a dozen times, through many daydreams. You ached for Abby. Hopelessly charmed by her wit and her magnetism. But you couldn’t fathom being a secret of hers. A sneaky affair in the shadows.

Sure, you weren’t fond of Owen, but hurting him wasn’t at the top of your priority list, either.

You wanted Abby in the daylight.

Arms wrapped around her before a patrol, as her squad loaded the Humvee and Manny called over his shoulder about how utterly corny you two were. You wanted her to pull you onto her lap in public, a bashful smile on her face.

You wanted to be hers, and you wanted it to be okay.

“You make me feel things I’ve never felt before,” Abby said.

Her confession sent you over the edge, your heart beating impossibly fast. Could she feel it?

As you scrambled to find your words, she continued.

“I think about you all the time. Probably more than I should,” she said. “It’s making me crazy.”

You heard the echo of another hard swallow. This time you weren’t sure who it belonged to.

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked.

She lifted her head from your shoulder, and let it fall to the back of the couch, her sturdy features enveloped by the amber light of a nearby lamp. She was breathtaking. Sweat caused the short hairs around her face and neck to curl, bits of frizz peeking out from her loosening braid. You’d seen nothing more gorgeous in your lifetime.

“If I do what my body is begging me to do right now, it would be a very bad thing,” Abby said. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”

You nodded with a mixture of disappointment and relief. “I understand.”

Abby rubbed her vascular hands along her thighs, seemingly absorbed in thought. “I still have one more guess.”

“That you do.”

She sucked in a breath, controlling her exhale. A gym method she no doubt applied to most stressful situations during her daily grind.

“You hate Owen because you want me to be your girl instead,” Abby said. Her eyelids became heavier as she tried to catch hold of your unfocused gaze. “You want me.”

You nodded again, unable to look her in the eye, terrified that the two of you might lose control.

“Tell me then,” she said. “Tell me how you feel. I need to hear you say it.”

You noticed her legs spreading further apart, her natural confidence rivalling the alarm bells going off inside you. She anchored herself to the couch and the sudden thought of straddling her showered you with an intense surge of heat.

“When you kiss him, I wish it was me instead,” you said. “I wish it was me you reached for whenever you crave comfort. I want to be the one you run to when you’re happy or afraid. I want to keep you safe and make you feel alive. All of it.”

“Are you sure?” she murmured.

“Beyond,” you said. “I have wanted you for so long, Abby.”

Her knuckles skimmed the outside of your thigh. Inconspicuous and so, so gentle. “Give me some time, okay?”

“Of course.”

“God, you’re so pretty,” she said, igniting you both in a bout of shy giggles. “I finally get to say it. That’s allowed for now, right? I don’t even care. You are so fucking pretty, it’s killing me.”

Before you could fall into another dangerous pull, the doors to the library cracked open. Manny poked his head inside to remind Abby of the duties she needed to tend to. There was a slew of small missions Isaac demanded she organize, some requiring her to leave the compound for the afternoon. You were grateful to be off his radar for the day.

“Will you be here when I get back?”

“I’ll be around,” you said, linking your pinky finger with hers in unison, your hands tucked between her thigh and your own.

“Good. I’ll find you,” Abby whispered.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby the last of us #tlou part 2 #tlou abby #abby x reader #abby x you #abby x fem!reader

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s1ater · 2 years

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find me when you know.

pairings. conrad fisher x fem!reader

about. conrad is confusing, you hope to never see him again... but to also kiss him.

warnings. foul language, underage drinking

ricky rocks. i love writing melo asshole!conrad. i also could have gone a lot worse with this, but i don't think that's how conrad genuinely is... but who knows, maybe i'll change my mind.

the first time you had ever met conrad, you had nearly fallen straight through a wall at a party thrown to celebrate the end of the school year.

you weren’t drunk. you had barely even been there for more than ten minutes as you were walking through the home of the mutual who invited you, looking for friends, when you tripped over a pair of shoes, landing you no longer on stable feet, but stumbling toward the wall behind you.

if it weren’t for conrad, you probably would have gone straight through the brand new dry wall of the fresh new home built on cousins beach—a whole other reason the party was being thrown; to sport the large new house off to all of you.

“careful, sweetheart, that walls worth more than your whole life.”

exactly.

his hand was wrapped around your wrist and he smiled at you with something that was goofy and almost cocky as he pulled you back to your feet. you remember being half shocked as you looked at him, almost not believing that just happened—and he just stared back, analyzing you.

“well thanks. you are my knight and shining armor,” this made him smirk, finally letting go of your wrist at your implication and a returning look that was equally amused. “don’t know what i would have done without you.”

that was it. his bright eyes pierced yours and his soft upside down smile sent you off with a nod as if it was a mutual understanding that there was quite literally nothing else to say.

you had forgotten about this. this encounter must have been shoved all the way in the back of your head where the rest of your memories from house parties were—meant to be forgotten just so you wouldn’t feel the regret from any chance of an embarrassing moment being there.

you had forgotten this… until you once again found conrad right in front of your face, but not to save you.

“hi.”

“hey,” his head tipped to the side, surprised to see you as he sipped his beer. his face was soft looking beneath the light of the bonfire that was the center of the current party.

“i’m y/n.”

“i know,” he smiles, looking at you like you’re silly for saying. his cheeks are red from the slight exhilaration from drinking, but he was calm and still held himself high, like it was another saturday talking to you. “we’ve met before.”

“yes,” you nod, but not understanding how he got your name from just you falling. “i remember.“

“i don’t think you do,” conrad quirks a brow, the bottle of beer he held teasing his lips as he was still in between sips. he was looking you up and down slowly, determining whether or not you had anything to drink and what state you were in exactly. “you remember my name?”

you scoff, “you’re a fisher boy.”

“can you tell me which one?” his brow raised further, dropping the bottle from his face so you can fully see his challenging look.

“there’s more than one?” you joke, smiling, but he can’t tell if it is. he’s still trying to figure your current state out, and you almost seem a bit tipsy. “conrad.”

“right,” he nods slowly, turning on his feet now. “gold star.”

strange. he was very strange, but in a way that made you want more. conrad was no one to you, it was proved right there—first name basis. you had no reason to follow him, or continue to talk to him, but something was pulling you to do so.

“why do you sound so disappointed?” you fell in close behind him.

“i never see you at parties that much, why’s that?” he ignores your question, raising his own as he grabs another bottle, pulling the cap off with his teeth before turning to face you once more.

“uh,” you’re almost taken aback, almost finding it a strange question. “not a big partier?”

he nods. you could tell he didn’t really care for the answer, “you’re a junior next year?”

“yeah.”

“oh,” he scratches the back of his neck and you can’t tell if the expression that has came over his face is a good or bad one. you guess it’s bad by the way his eyes don’t meet yours, but rather anything else.

you can tell the gears in his head are turning, but you’re confused, squinting at him like you didn’t get him and there was a sudden frustration taking over your chest.

“i’ll see you later, y/n,” he waves at you, waves you away as he turns on his heal to get away from you. “try not to trip on anything.”

you laugh dryly, looking at the sand in almost helplessness until he finally dispersed. what a fucking dickhead.

you didn’t see conrad much after that but when you did, you never approached him. the previous atmosphere created between the two of you in such short time was turned sour after you last saw him and you felt no need to turn it any worse. it was odd, and you weren't sure how it even happened, or even if it was just in your head, but you were upset at the possibility that he didn't like just because of you being a junior.

it was a stupid reason, but why did you care? you didn't even know each other that well in the first place.

it was probably best you didn't. you heard things about him. things you didn't particularly care for because you hadn't ever known him before the end of the school year party.

a lot of people didn't like him because he just didn't care what people thought of him. he didn't care for people's feelings, didn't care where they stood, didn't care how much money was in their pocket, didn't care if they were in a relationship, or just who they were.

he was in his own world and the only time people would see him in theirs, it would be to fuck around, drink, smoke, and fuck.

maybe it was a blessing he didn't want anything to do with you.

"y/n knows conrad, right y/n?"

you raised your head to meet your friends eyes as she was motioning to you. you frowned, focusing on her red face and blood shot eyes, then to who she was talking to; jeremiah fisher. you frowned even harder, slightly shaking your head.

oh dear god.

the boy with bright blue eyes smiled to you with his perfect white teeth, a look of clarity arising, like he recognized you, or you looked even more familiar just because you knew his brother. you shied away to his exuberant aura. he barely moved, but just the look on his face—you knew you were in for it.

jeremiah was in your grade and he had to of been one of the nicest people you had met. he got around, which made sense because you can't get around as much as he did without being as friendly as he was. you unfortunately didn't have the pleasure of being on that list.

"that's great," his arm extended out your way, "i actually think he's mentioned you before, which is not like connie at all."

connie.

"really?" your brows quirked, not believing this at all. "conrad didn't exactly give me the impression that i was that memorable."

"strange," jeremiah agrees, leaning against the wall, "never know what goes through his head. when's the last time you talked with him?"

"last month."

"you're kidding," he looked like he didn't believe you, both of his brows raising as well as his body from the wall and back to its full posture. "he just mentioned you the other day."

you frowned, your head tipping at this new piece of information. this was real fucking strange.

"asked me about you, i swear. and he never talks to me about girls."

you glanced to your friend who looked just as shocked as you did before giving you a knowing look, like she had an idea, "well, jere, i think you should approach conrad about this issue."

oh, jesus.

"that's a fucking fantastic idea," no it wasn't, he knew it, you knew it, your friend knew it. this just could make a boring-usual night a lot more fun... for certain people, "lets go y/n," he yanked on your arm, brining you to your feet.

"jeremiah, i uh, don't think this is a good idea."

"why not?" he wasn't listening to you or your protests. not when this could be good.

"i just think that conrad... he's not someone who would appreciate me cock blocking him at this party or like ever, so maybe lets leave this for another time, you know? one where i'm like a lot more wasted than i am right now."

"oh you'll want to sober up for this, y/n," and there you were, standing right before conrad who noticed the two of you right away. "con, you remember y/n."

fuck, fuck, fuck.

"how could i forget," he mumbles, glancing between the two of you, not looking even remotely surprised. "i'll talk to you guys later," he doesn't even look to the two other guys he was previously talking to, only you.

they walk away and he seems to sigh, raising a brow, "y/n."

"conrad."

"oh this is great," jeremiah looks between the two of you, "but i think, conrad, you should tell y/n what we were talking about this morning, alone."

"yeah, whatever."

he walks away, winking at you and you felt already absolutely miserable.

"your brother's charming."

"yeah, i'm sure," he coughs awkwardly, holding his bottle of beer tightly.

"i hear you talk about me," you rock on your feet. this was risky, but you still look up at him with sudden amusement because what's the worse that could happen now?

he swallows harshly, his eyes going to the ceiling, mentally cursing himself as well his brother for putting him into a position like this. he was unsure about you originally because he knew nothing about you and he almost didn't want to know anything about you. knowing things about people, knowing what they were like and how they perceived things always made things like relationships and hookups more difficult.

you were pretty and a new face. the idea of something new would be good for him. good and easy. but with the fact that word got around fast, no matter how secret and you being a junior, being in the same year as jeremiah would make things far more complicated than they needed to be and cause things to be far from easy.

it all automatically ruled you untouchable.

but he screwed that up himself, didn't he?

"i asked about you, yes."

"why?"

"why do you think?" his head tipped to the side when he finally looked back down at you and you couldn't tell if he was taunting you or not.

"i'm bad at these kinds of things, conrad, why did you ask about me?"

fuck.

"was wondering if you were worth my time. it's easier to learn about people through other people than to do it yourself," conrad bit down on his cheek immediately, he knew the moment it came out of his mouth it was fucked. he looked down at you, expecting you to backhand him, to be mad at his response, but what he saw from your face was confusion.

you didn't know what to say to that. your face was scrunched as you thought, your mouth opening to speak, but you said nothing, therefore closing it once more. it had to of been one of the most douchebag things you had ever heard, but you were still very confused and the only reason you didn't walk away was because it was conrad.

you were still very intrigued and this moment was only pushing this interest further.

"is this you trying to tell me that i'm not worth your time..?"

he frowns, thinking, "no."

but it was him trying to figure out whether or not you were worth it.

"i don't know what to say," you mumble, "to be honest, what you just said was fucking weird and rude, but i'm too buzzed to care."

his lips almost twitch into a smile as he watched you.

"conrad, i want to kiss you, but i also want to not see you for a long time."

he actually laughs at this, shaking his head before lightly grabbing onto your bicep, "think about it, y/n," he leans toward you, pressing his lips to the side of your cheek. "think about how you feel about me, then come find me."

navigation.

#conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher #tsitp #the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher #belly conklin #christopher briney #chris briney

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ilyrafe · 1 year

Text

𝒂 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒓 | 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰 ✧ 𝒂. 𝒘.

pairing: august walker x f!reader

warnings: angst, heavy talk

word count: 1k

a/n: read sleepy, three words and a bleak and barren moor for context! sorry it took so long! i rewrote the whole thing!

taglist (i’m tagging the people who commented on the first part!): @summersong69 @alexlupij @identity2212 @shotgunbunny @rebelangel1102 @chrisevansismysworld @fluffonlyplease

you dangle your foot anxiously as you wait for august in a hotel room. all your dates were a hotel room.

it’s been almost a week since that party. after much thought and reflection, you thought it would best to end whatever you have with august. you’re not happy about it, but you also know that it’s the best thing to do because at the end of the day, nothing but sex is going to happen on his part.

maybe if you and cassandra hadn’t met, you wouldn’t have that awareness. even if she is lying, you understood that being involved with someone like august is simply not good.

the most ironic thing is that he’s not even your type. how did you fall in love with someone you wouldn’t normally be interested in?

after only a week without august you realized that your life had started to revolve around him and his needs.

a bleak and barren moor. that’s how you feel about yourself.

that must be why you’re so nervous, because chances are this is just another “fun night”, and you’ll stick with him even though this is nothing more than a sex contract for him.

you don’t mean anything to him.

you’re so in your head, you don’t hear the door opening. it’s only when you feel his lips against the skin of your neck and his arms around you that you realize he’s there. you melt in his arms instantly.

“what a lovely surprise.”

indeed. it takes everything in you to free yourself from his grip, which makes him frown.

“uh... this is not why i called you here today.” you start, and your voice is already shaky. it’s impossible to contain your nervousness, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.

as always, he is very well dressed. august doesn’t skimp on clothes. on nothing, actually. his clothes are expensive and of great quality, his cars are the best one out there, his shoes and watches cost fortunes. you are successful and have a few luxury items such as bags and jewelry, but you have to work a lot to afford them.

truth is, you will never be on the same level, and that saddens you, because deep down, you look for reasons to continue with him, and you never find one that is valid and plausible. you want to feel equal to him somehow, but the reality is that you both could not be more different and far apart.

when you look at him, everything you’ve heard about him and everything you think about everything goes out the window. the feeling of actually believing that you understand and know him behind the tough facade he puts on is very real, and it leaves you ten times more confused and regretful.

“so, why are we here?”

“i called you here to say that i don’t want to do this anymore.” you state, and august is still clueless. “i’m terminating this contract.”

saying those words don’t bring a sense of relief, at least not now. you can only feel like throwing up and crying. should’ve done this on the phone, you scold yourself.

“why are you saying this now?“

“it doesn’t matter.”

“no, it does matter. last week we were fine, until you left me-”

“there is no we. the contract states that if either party verbally expresses that they want to leave, the contract is automatically and effectively terminated. i’m expressing that i want out, so it’s over.”

august takes a step back, visibly intrigued and upset. you can nearly see the engines inside his head working, as he clearly tries to analyze you.

“is there someone else?”

oh, how you wish you had someone else. it would all be so much easier.

“this doesn’t concern you.”

“why are you acting like this, y/n? what did i do?”

you sigh as you sit on the bed, trying to avoid his gaze. it all feels like a game, and you feel like you’re losing. indeed, if this was a game, it was not a fair play. you entered the field as a loser.

“it's not about what you did, it’s about what i did.” you admit, feeling the bitter taste of truth in your mouth. “i made a mistake.”

“what mistake? what the fuck are you talking about?”

“i fell in love with you, august,” you finally confess. “it wasn’t supposed to happen, so i’m terminating this fucking contract. i don’t know what the fuck i was thinking when i accepted this, it’s just ridiculous and sexist, ‘cause all i was to you was a cum dumpster, and every single time i remember that, i truly feel like dying.”

it’s hard to shock him, but you did it. august is transfixed by your unvarnished, unfiltered confession. it’s really appalling to hear you use profanity to refer to yourself.

how can you be in love with someone you clearly despise?

“you can’t be serious... we were fine a week ago!” he protests, evidently disappointed and frustrated.

“i guess i came to my senses.” you shrug. “you thought i was going to be your personal fuck toy for the rest of my life? you clearly don’t know me, august.”

when you get out of bed, you hand him the contract, but it is torn into four parts. instead of picking up the pieces of paper, he gently grabs your wrist, forcing you to look at him.

your eyes are genuinely sad, and it affects him somehow. it’s just that august doesn’t really care that people are sad. but you were the person he wanted to spend time with the most, even on the basis of a stupid contract.

“what do you want me to do to make you stay?”

“nothing,” you shrug in defeat. “there is nothing to be done.”

you free your wrist from his hand, grab your purse and head to the hotel room door, but first, you feel like you should tell him one last thing.

“i know i don’t have the right to meddle in your life, but if there’s still some conscience in there... you should get professional help. people are not objects, august. you can’t control everything.”

he remains motionless, unresponsive. perhaps the advice was in vain. he’s out of your life anyway, and you want to die for it, but you know you’ll survive.

you go away, and leave him for good, hoping never to cross his path again.

let me know iwhat you thought and if you want to be tagged on the third and final part!

#my writings #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill oneshot #august walker #august walker x you #august walker x reader #august walker oneshot #august walker imagine #mission impossible fallout

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genshinlover101 · 2 years

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may i request a s/o who's really smart but weak when it comes to physical activities(like senku ishigami from dr.stone tho),with sara,beidou, and 2 other characters of ur choice.take care,thank u and dont overwork urself!!<3

Her with a Smart but Weak S/O

Characters: Sara, Beidou, Yelan, Shinobu x gn!reader

Warnings: none

A/n: I’m gonna be completely honest and say I have yet to watch Dr. Stone, I searched up his wiki page and scanned over his personality section so I hope that’s enough to grasp a smart but weak reader <3

• Sara was both a cunning strategist and physically talented. She was both brains and brawn, someone who you revered and highly respected. The only thing that blinded her was her loyalty towards the Shogun. The path that she dearly sought was clouded by her own mental barriers.

• However strong or smart she was, Sara deeply admired you. Your barrier was something that was visible and easily overcome. No matter how often you guided her she simply could not grasp why she was so inept at being a normal average person without duty.

• She envied your ability to think outside of the box. Sometimes when she was in a pinch you’d save her with your abstract solutions, a strategy that she wouldn’t have even dreamed of. Even if you couldn’t accomplish it yourself, your greatest strength was all you needed to overcome your greatest weakness.

Sara crunched the seventh disposable paper in her hand that night, her hand rubbing her forehead in frustration. No matter how many strategy books she reviewed, how many formulas she created, or past performances she retraced, she could not figure out how to overcome this band of Nobushi.

It was like a slow burn to hear her groan in the middle of the night, trying to sleep but your brain in a million different places at once. You felt as if Sara’s anxious state was like a template for yourself, peaking at her sitting at the wooden desk with nothing but a small candle lighting the dark space.

You had decided enough was enough, creeping up behind Sara to see for yourself what was so difficult. Analyzing the Nobushi camp, looking at areas to infiltrate it. Before she could write whatever she was about to on her eighth try, you lowered your hand upon hers taking control of her feathered pen but not letting her leave your grip. Surrounding her crouched body with your own you drew a diagram of exactly how to approach the situation with the least amount of casualties.

It didn’t take Sara long to follow your plan, the genius of the Tenryou Commission’s General not far behind your own. However, being a general was the exact thing that was holding her back, not knowing how to think beyond her own knowledge and training. “This is brilliant,” she muttered, her lips barely parted as she looked at the simple solution.

“I cannot partake in such a plan, but I’m sure someone as strong as a Tengu will be able to take the lead,” you reassured her.

She clenched her fists together in determination and in partial relief that she would finally be able to retire for the night. “I am grateful to have someone as intelligent as you alongside me. I am regretful to say I couldn’t have even imagined this as a plan of attack,” She looked down, not meeting your eyes once as if she was ashamed. “I will gladly honor this plan, it is a pity you cannot be beside me while I do so, however.”

• Beidou was admittedly stronger than she was smarter, but that didn’t mean she was stupid. After all, who else could lead a whole band of pirates in an organized fashion? Who else could bypass the great Tianquan? Who else could spread their name far and wide to strike fear in the hearts of all Treasure Hoarders?

• When it came to anything else other than battle and war, Beidou was somewhat dense unless she’s encountered it before. Math Equations, Civil ministry, law? She looked to you for that. After all, connections were a resource, she would be stupid not to rely on you every once and a while.

• She envied your book smarts. She never listened when the adults said, ‘listen to this in school, because you’ll use this in your adulthood’, therefore she somewhat lacked in logistics. But who knew you’d need to know geometry and physics to aim a cannon whenever you needed perfect accuracy.

Beidou scratched her head at the bill that was given to her the moment she anchored at Liyue Harbor. Not understanding the many numbers and terms used in the document, all she knew was that she had done something illegal and had to pay a great sum of money. Rolling her eyes as she was looking forward to relaxing and stuffing her mouth with something other than saltwater fish for the first time in two weeks.

What did she do when she didn’t understand something though? She called upon her partner in crime. “Bring me the brains of the crew will ya?” Beidou told a crewmate, knowing exactly who she was talking about even without her calling your official title or name.

It didn’t take them long to drag you against your will to the same dock, no matter how smart you were, you couldn’t stand your ground against even an average crewmate. Beidou turned to face you with a goofy smile, her movements very animated, her affection for you not very well hidden. She wasted no time shoving the scroll in your face, you already knew what was coming.

“Beidou sometimes you can be insufferable,” you sighed. Despite your teasing comments, she knew you adored her, your attitude was the least of her worries. You skimmed over the contents of the document, calculating all her tolls and legal terms that her muscle of a brain couldn’t comprehend.

“You can solve it though right? I mean- you solve everything don’t you sport?” She put you in an annoying headlock, her arm wrestling with your neck so you didn’t try and escape. You were about to speak against her, your mouth only opening a smudge before she immediately cut you off. “Listen, don’t tell me all the boring details, I just wanna know the damages and if I can squeeze outta it you know?”

• Yelan was smarter than stronger, to be able to manipulate her targets and mask her true identity from even her closest confidants. Everyone could trust Yelan, but Yelan could trust nobody, only using her resources to serve as an intelligence the Tianquan.

• When it came to Yelan’s allies she always believed in ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours,’. However, for you, it was more like ‘keep your friends close, your enemies closer,’. Your smarts were enough to be considered a threat if you ever accidentally found something out of your bounds.

• She was rather sly, if you found out about her real line of work you’d be immediately thrown in jail. But for her, you were a treasure trove of intelligence. She would consider losing you as a great loss, something that she would struggle to recover from for years.

Yelan stood leaning over the wooden fence that oversaw Liyue Harbor from Yujing Terrace. The moon hanging overhead as she waited for your arrival, you were late much to her dismay. She always looked forward to her meetings with you, the hair on her skin tingling with excitement as she thought of all the little intel she could dig from you.

Her thoughts were interrupted by your arrival. “Ah my dearest,” her hand wrapped on your chest into a warm embrace. “I apologize for not being awake this morning to greet you, you know- it’s just simply too early for me,” she always knew how to butter you up. Your toes squeezed at her unusual affection. She knew how to bend her words and exactly how to touch you to get your attention. You felt weak in the knees, even weaker than you normally were.

You hung yourself over the railing, looking at only her, despite the beautiful night view. She scooted closer to you with a smug look, covering your ear with her hand when she whispered to you. “Did you hear?” she asked trying to strike up a conversation. You stared at her emerald eyes, her face so close you could see her vibrant purple makeup.

She took your silence as a no, grabbing your shoulder to get impossibly closer. “I heard from the great vine, the Qixing may be planning something special for you,” she relayed, such harmless information. Something that might’ve even been fabricated in order to get what she wanted from you. “Would you like to find out?”

You took a minute to think, a bead of sweat dripping from your forehead in peril. Gently nodding in case you might regret saying yes. “You first, you remember our deal no?” She asked you, her head cocked at an angle with a smile that meant death to you. “In order to get information from me- you must give me something equal in return.”

• Shinobu was admittedly smarter than stronger, but not by much. How else would the Arataki gang stay afloat? Without Shinobu’s quick wits and physical competence then the entire gang would probably be locked up and abolished by the Tenryou Commission.

• Shinobu looked up to your quick wits and plans. Sometimes even she came to a mental barrier on how to get her friends out of trouble, but you never failed. Even if you yourself couldn’t help her physically, your wits was enough to impress her.

• She admired how capable your sheer intelligence was. It was a good change of scenery after being surrounded by grown men who steal candy from kids on a daily. You seemed civil and put together, someone who she didn’t have to worry about for once.

If Shinobu didn’t wear her mask 24/7, you would be able to see just how deep the scowl on her face was. Yet again the Arataki Gang had been reprimanded by the Tenryou Commission. Usually, she just had to convince them to apologize to General Kujou and they’d be granted freedom at her mercy. But this time they’d truly done it, a stray member who had escaped confinement relaying the situation to her.

You didn’t need to be told twice about the whole ordeal, already knowing Itto had probably done something horrible to serve such a big sentence. Shinobu stood still trying to think of all the possibilities and best course of action. Even though Shinobu has extensive knowledge of almost everything, it seemed the whole shock of the incident shook her to the core.

You normally didn’t want to backseat Shinobu’s concerns, she was plenty capable. But this wasn’t a manner of undermining her competence, it was to be her supporting crutch when she needed it most. You placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “Would you like me to try and talk to the Tenryou Commission?” you tried to convince her.

She felt cold blood run through her veins when your words processed through her mind. when she realized she wasn’t alone she felt a sense of relief. Since she couldn’t trust the gang to do most difficult tasks, she had forgotten what it was like to rely on others. Regardless, she was always one to reject the help of others when she knew she could do it herself. “No need,” she took your hand from her shoulder.

Even though she was stubborn, your mental support was all she needed. “I know when it comes to physical labor you’re not the best,” she tried to say in the nicest way possible. “But your support is more than enough, if there comes a time when I need you I’ll call upon you.”

#sara x reader #Beidou x reader #yelan x reader #shinobu x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kujou sara #beidou #yelan #kuki shinobu

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justmeandmyships · 2 years

Text

The Duffer brothers brought me here: My experience with byler. (A rant to get things out of my mind)

With Vol 2 being so close and me without nothing better to do I want to share my experience on how I became a byler shipper and so confident about them.

First of all, let me tell you before this season I never watched any theories or anything like that. I just watched the show and kept going with my life (despite of me loving analyzing things with stranger things I never felt the urge to do so idk why). I wasn’t thinking of any ships because tbh 90% of the couples seem to me very cliche, predictable and boring. I despise all these couples so much that in season 3 when everybody was like “oh what a fun and cool season”, my family knows that I was venting about how it was the worst season. For me it felt so superficial. Nothing to do with the two priors seasons. I was ready to stop watching this show. I was that annoyed!!

So imagine the shock I felt this season as a general viewer when I saw the awkward hug between Will and Mike at the airport when all I knew they amended things past season. My first thought was “why is Mike being a jerk to Will?” . It makes absolutely no sense with Mike’s character.

Then the first thing Mike asks Will is about the painting. He not even asked him how he was or anything like that. He asked Jonatan but he didn’t care about his best friend???!!!

Bare with me my mind was going crazy. Nothing makes sense. Not with the Mike I know. Even on season 3 when he was a jerk to Will, he did it on the heat of the moment and regretted immediately but this season?!! This season he was blatantly ignored him and treated him badly.

Are the Duffers that bad writers? I asked myself. Is this show going down hill? Nothing made sense.

But then the “we are friends” x 2 happened. It opened my mind to a possibility that I never ever considered. Was Mike having feelings for Will? Because let me tell you I’m straight so I never ever ever in a million times not matter how BAD I fight with my best friend, I never had the need to remember her the status of our relationship. I never have to remember her that we are friends. Why will we feel the need to clear that up? We are friends what else can we be? Why we any of us forget that unless one of us was at one point or another considering us in another kind of relationship ?

Something definitely clicked. Then the awkwardness continued until the “i thought that I lost you” with Mike visible nervous, Will with tears in his eyes. I was like okayyyy. Plausible. Perhaps I was misrepresented things.

But then THEN Mike came back to his awkwardness. That fucking triple looks that he gave Will. Why is he awkward again if you already cleared things on. There’s was no denying that something was happening. SOMETHING WAS HAPPENING.

However my biggest proof without no doubt was how Mike nodded when Will told him about being scared of telling people the truth. If Mike’s truth is that he loves El, why is he scared? Specially when she already told him that she is waiting for him to say it?

There’s no logic explanation for that nodding that Mike did. Except of course you admit that his truth isn’t something that El wants to hear. Plus his awkwardness with Will, the math clicked on my mind. Mike Wheeler can’t be straight.

So i was convinced. I was opened to the idea but still didn’t fully believe because to do such move on the narrative. A main character who was just a character and not “the gay or queer character”. That’s something never seen before. Can the Duffers be that brave? That’s just a power move. That will made people crazy for good or bad.

That’s when I started reading theories and the more I read, the more things made sense not just from this season but for all the previous seasons.

There’s no way Byler won’t be canon. My experience tell me so because I would have never ever questioned Mike’s sexuality if the Duffers didn’t make all those scenes this season. They made act so out of character that it’s impossible to ignore his actions. They made the awkwardness, they made the airport scene, they made heart to heart talks, they were the ones with the tender emotional music. I didn’t say oh look how cute Mike and Will look. No. It was the writers choices that made me start questioning everything. They brought me here. Not only me but many many many people like me.

So keep that in mind.

#byler #stranger things #posting because I’m bored.

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writer-darling · 1 year

Text

Systems (Part 3 of the My Werewolf's Keeper Universe)

Part 1 | Part 2

Rating: T (13+)

Pairing: Jack Russell (Werewolf by Night, 2022) x GN!Reader

Warnings: Allusions and mentions of blood. Mentions of food, eating. More-than-friends-but-not-a-couple trope. Mutual pining. Descriptions of fear and anxiety. Mentions of monsters. Distrust among best friends, tension (both sexual and non), mentions of injuries (non-graphic), mentions of anxiety symptoms, hyperventilating, mutual pining, hurt/comfort dynamic, mentions of weaponry (tranquilizer gun). If there are any that I missed, please inbox me to let me know and I will add them in :)

Word Count: 3k

Summary!: Set directly after the events of “Once,”

******

Jack tries his hardest to make things between you two better, and you have to admire his tenacity. He’s doing everything to try and put you at ease, making himself available for anything you might need from him. Other than that, he acts relatively normal around you, but there’s a new sense of disconnection between you two. On your end, you know it’s distrust. He’s blocked you off, at least partially, your entire friendship. Truth omitting or just straight up lying, you don’t have enough information to label it correctly just yet. But still, it hurts. It hurts way more than you were expecting.

Granted, he had good reason to block you off from that part of his life. I mean how does someone spring “by the way I’m a werewolf!” on a best friend like that? It could never be a natural tidbit of information, no way. But, you had always tried to show up for Jack. To allow him the freedom to be open with you and not have to worry about judgement, just as he had for you. So what was it then? Did he just not trust you? Was he truly so worried that you would have run off screaming for the hills if you knew about his true nature? Whatever it was, it made him nervous. Well, more nervous than normal.

Much like he is now. You’re in the kitchen, putting away the groceries you bought around noon. The morning had been spent with both of you exchanging simple “good mornings” and breakfast bagels, but there had been that underlying tension that now seemed to drench every interaction you two shared. He’d snuck the usual glances at you, but the way he watched you felt different. It felt like he was analyzing you, just waiting for the moment you run off. He’s still watching you now, his eyes remaining glued to your form as you go about putting the mini cucumbers in one of the produce crispers while he places the Frosted Flakes box next to the box of pancake mix in the pantry. Now that his ruse is up, he’s able to travel throughout the house freely without having to pretend to lock himself up in his room for 72 hours. So, you took up his offer to help you out with the groceries. You’re regretting it now, wishing you had time to think. Though it’s not like you haven’t spent all hours of the previous night thinking. Your head is practically bursting from all the overstimulation.

As you move to grab the Greek yoghurt, he leans over you to open the spice cabinet, shakers of ground cinnamon, cloves, and black pepper in one of his hands. You tense immediately, pressing yourself into the counter just as you turn to face him, tub in your own hand. His body is extra-warm as it hurdles you in place. You drop your eyes from him. Usually this accidental-unaccidental forced proximity between you both would make warmth blossom in your chest. Usually. The hurt on his face is clear, his eyes looking at anywhere but you as he moves away quickly, a quiet “sorry,” making its way past his lips, putting the spices beside you before he moves all the way across the kitchen. You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine and say nothing in response, both of you finishing up with a renewed speed fueled by awkwardness and shame.

As soon as you’re done, Jack is out of the kitchen like a bat out of hell, taking a granola bar with him for lunch. You sigh when you realize he’s gone and get to work, finding something simple to make for dinner. You choose something filling after reconsidering for a moment, since you really don’t know when or even if he eats once he leaves during the night. How much should you make? How fast do werewolf metabolisms work anyway? He had an appetite, he always did, but how much did the wolf eat in comparison to Jack? All valuable questions that you put into the back of your mind for now, fully intent on asking Jack about them later. You decide to make beef stroganoff, with a side of potatoes and a fresh salad. It’ll keep him full for the night you hope.

You let your mind wander as you cut and dice and cook and boil and bake for the next few hours. Your movements are on autopilot as your busy mind tries to think about anything but Jack and what he’s doing. Most likely preparing for his next transformation tonight. Your brain replays the events from last night - yet again. It’s been doing that on-and-off all day. This time around, it chooses to focus on the cage you saw before he decided to tackle you. The way it was absolutely bare, no bed, no comfort in it. Not even a blanket. It had been a clear place for punishment. The chains, the dirt floor, the damp and cold of it all. The deep claw marks. Your stomach twists uncomfortably at that last image. You shake your head, but your brain doesn’t let you rest. A sudden idea pops into your mind and you decide to act on it, heading to the linen closet before going outside as quietly as possible, not wanting Jack to hear.

When you’ve finished with that and are back in the kitchen a couple more hours later, you serve yourself a plate full of food before making your way upstairs quietly. Once in the room, you grab your laptop from your bedside table and power it on. You decide to browse around for some job listing in town, having set up your resume through one of those job search websites. No offers yet. You turn on the TV, finding a two-and-a-half hour movie to watch as you eat and continue applying to local listings. The food is just as filling as you’d hoped, and the creaminess of the stroganoff and starchiness of the potatoes quickly puts you into a food coma, your laptop still on your knees as the end credits of the movie roll.

The sunlight filtering through the window wakes you up in the morning. Your laptop is now beside you, having tipped over while you slept. It’s dead, so you connect it to the charger as you grab your phone from your nightstand. No calls or messages from Jack, but you get up anyway, knowing where he’ll be.

Before making your way outside, you grab the throw from the living room, and then a pair of his slippers that he keeps by the front door.

The sound of oldies from the 1940s makes its way across the lawn to your ears as you begin your trek towards the cellar. The doors are wide open, and you make your way down the steps slowly, cautiously. When your eyes adjust to the darkness, you spot him immediately, taking advantage of your idea from yesterday. The blanket covers him completely, and he’s sound asleep as you approach the cage. His face is open as he dreams, a soft snore slipping from between his lips. You notice though that even in his sleep, there’s that familiar furrow between his brows and his mouth is turned down in a slight frown. You watch him for a few minutes, not wanting to disrupt him from his sleep just yet. There’s mud caked under his fingernails, and his body (the parts of it you can see anyway) and face are covered in streaks of dirt and grime. His hair is a mess, leaves and twigs caught in the strands. You spot a bruise on his left shoulder, and then a deep scratch on his right calf. The knuckles on both of his hands are swollen and purple. What the hell did he do last night? Before you have a chance to speculate, he startles awake. His eyes shoot open and he sits up, the blanket falling from his upper torso. His eyes dart wildly around the room as he begins to hyperventilate, his mouth agape as he breathes roughly.

“Jack, Jack!” His eyes find you and you move closer. “It’s ok, you’re safe.” His features shift in confusion, his gaze hazy and unfocused. “Can I come in?” You ask. He nods, rubbing his eyes as his breathing slowly evens out. You cringe as the shrill creak of the door pierces through the relative calm of the cellar. He’s watching you again, his expression still holding fear. You move very slowly, shifting into a crouching position so you’re at eye level with him. “Are you ok?” He slowly shakes his head. He’s trembling. You grab the throw you brought from over your shoulder, placing it over his form. He curls it around his body. When you sit down on the floor, keeping a few feet of space between you, he quickly shuffles over and hugs you to him, curling his face into your neck. You don’t move, and he’s about to pull away, remembering. But you can tell he’s scared, his heartbeat fast against your chest and little huffs of panicked breaths ghosting over your pulse point. Slowly, you hug him, wrapping your arms around his body. At your touch, he holds onto you tighter, instantly melting into you and leaning his head on your shoulder.

“I’m ok. I’m just tired.” He mumbles into your jacket. You don’t believe him, but you don’t push it.

“Ok, do you want to go inside?” You ask. You feel him shake his head lightly.

“Let’s stay here for a few minutes.” So you do, sitting there with him. He smells like moss and dirt. But there’s also his scent underneath that, the cologne you always get him for his birthday that smells like musk and vevitier. Hints of citrus and leather. It’s so familiar, it makes your heart skip. You curl a hand into his hair. He lets out a long sigh, his breath warm but finally even against your skin as your free hand rubs up and down his back.

Your mind begins to wander as your eyes scan the bleakness of the cellar. You realize then that if you didn’t know about his condition, then surely not many others do either. Jack was a solitary man by nature. Not unfriendly, but he kept a tight lid on his emotions around others. Now you know why. Still, you realize he must be much more lonely than you could have even imagined. Never letting anyone be too close. Never formulating a true connection. And that revelation breaks your heart. For you, of course, since you always considered him your most trusted friend. But for him as well. Did you truly know him? You liked to believe you did. But you still couldn’t be sure.

After a good 10 minutes, he pulls away, helping you stand. He keeps both blankets wrapped around him as you two walk back to the house after locking up the cellar.

“What did you do last night?” You ask him as you both walk across the dew-soaked lawn.

“Had a job to do out in the woods: a fae got loose from our research facility and I had to track him down.” He says. He says it so nonchalantly that you have to laugh, shaking your head.

“What?” He asks, his expression light as he gazes at you.

“Nothing, just.. Man, I can’t believe all this.” You say, another sound - something between a chuckle and a scoff - coming out of your throat.

Inside the house, you are about to direct him to the bathroom.

“Why?” He asks.

“Well, you gotta shower first of all because you’re covered in dirt and muck.” He glances down at his covered body. “And second, I gotta clean up all those wounds on your-” You cut off as your eyes fall to his knuckles keeping the blankets close to his form. They’re red now, and barely swollen at all.

“Oh.” He says, calling you attention back to his face. “Don’t worry about my injuries; they heal on their own pretty well most of the time.”

“Is that another wolf thing?” You ask.

“Yeah, fast healing.” He replies. You nod, pensively.

“Well, I guess that explains that time I swore I saw you break your ankle playing flag football with the Suarez boys but you were able to chase down Ms. Torres pig the next day.” He goes red at the memory, nodding sheepishly.

“Yeah, I did break it that day, but it healed quickly. It was the day after my first transformation ended.” You nod, resuming your guiding. He smiles, following, and steps into the bathroom.

“Well, you still need to shower. Go, and I’ll get you some clean clothes from your room.” He stops you with a touch on your wrist. You turn back towards him and he drops his hand.

“I’m glad you know the truth now.” He says, his relief genuine. You smile after a moment, nodding.

“Me too.”

You place the clothing - a grey t-shirt, some navy flannel pjs, boxers, and a pair of socks - on the counter. You go outside, checking the mailbox at the end of the driveway. There’s a few letters all for Jack, and a fresh newspaper. You take your time walking back, and by the time you go inside Jack is in the kitchen dressed and cooking what seems to be french toast and breakfast sausage. He glances at you over his shoulder as you sit at the table, opening up the newspaper and laying the mail on the table.

“I forgot to thank you for dinner yesterday. It was really good, thank you. And for the help this morning.”

“Yeah, of course. I wasn’t sure if it would be enough for you, but I figured there’s probably not a lot of places you can eat as a wolf. The help well, I just did what I thought would be best.” You respond, but your eyes remain glued to one of the front page headlines: 2 Dead in Forest Animal Attack.

He calls your name and you call back with a “Yeah, what’s up?” As you look down at the newspaper in your hands, beginning to read the actual story.

“I have something for you.” The tone of his voice catches your attention. It’s quiet, and grave. You set the newspaper down on the table and turn to look at him, but your eyes immediately zero in on the gun in his hands. You hadn't even noticed it beside him on the kitchen counter, away from the hot stove, of course.

“A… hunting rifle? Gee, Jack you shouldn’t have.. You really shouldn’t have.” He knew you had an aversion to weapons.

“This isn’t a regular rifle. It’s a special gun I had made.” He reaches you and holds it out to you but you don’t grab it.

“Don’t tell me there’s a round of silver bullets in here.” You say, only half joking. One corner of his mouth quirks up into a tiny smirk.

“No, it’s a tranquilizer gun. I want you to have it.” You meet his eyes, your hands almost reaching for it but you hesitate again. He nods in encouragement and you purse your lips for a second. You grab it but immediately set it on the table away from you.

“Why are you giving me this again?” You ask him as you eye the body of the gun.

“I can be… unpredictable the morning after a full moon.” He explains, averting his eyes from you as he answers.

“Unpredictable?” You ask, quirking an eyebrow at him. He nods, returning his gaze to you and you can see that his eyes are dead serious.

“Sometimes I can recover in five minutes, other times it takes five days. It’s all still unpredictable. I’ve never hurt anyone. But, I don’t know where I am - who I am - until the adrenaline passes. And if you’re still willing to do this, this is my only condition.”

“So… you want me to use this?” You ask, your voice already teetering on protest. He was your friend, there’s no way you could shoot him, even if he begged you. You didn’t have the heart to shoot anyone, let alone Jack.

“I want you,” he grabs your hand then and places it on the gun, closing your fingers around it with his own. You notice how his hand encompasses your own entirely, warm and firm around your grip. “to have a way to protect yourself.” Your eyes meet and you know there’s no negotiating this. He wants you safe, even if it has to be from him. Your gaze searches his, but there’s still no give in his intensity. Your eyes dart from him to the gun, then back again. “Please, it’ll give me some peace of mind.” After a beat, you nod, and his body visibly eases with relief.

“Ok.” He smiles, appreciative that you’re not fighting him on this too much, and drops his hand from yours as he turns back to the food at the stove. You’re left to contemplate this latest bit of information, turning the gun over in your hands. You finally take a closer look at it. It’s nothing fancy, looking like any old rifle to you with a rich brown butt, handguard, and pistol grip, while the rest of the body is a charcoal grey metal. There’s a scope attached to it, and in the chamber is not a bullet, but instead a small dart with a metal needle and a glass vial which contains a bright red liquid within it. Must be the tranquilizer.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got breakfast ready.” He says, changing the subject. You can’t help yourself as you grin, familiar playfulness returning.

“Mmm, like a wolf.” You reply, standing up and placing the gun back on the table.

*****

No, I’m still not out of love with Jack Rusell, shut up.

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#Gael Garcia Bernal #werewolf by night #marvel #gael garcia bernal x gender neutral reader #gael garcia bernal x you #jack russell x gender neutral reader #Jack Russell x you #my werewolf's keeper au #crossposted on AO3 #writer darling

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sewercentipede · 2 years

Text

i feel really good about choosing to break the longterm cycle of wasting my time and energy trying to handhold neoliberal men through leftist theory because every single time I do that, I massively regret it because at the end of the day they don’t actually want to learn anything, they don’t want to read anything, they don’t want me to explain anything to them, they just see it as an argument that they need to win at all costs. they always consider themselves better experts than me (when they haven’t even cracked open a single piece of leftist lit whereas i have devoted so many years to reading and understanding many different branches of leftist ideologies from books to speech transcripts to manifestos to articles to physically traveling the world to study under leftist thinkers, and so on), and whether they realize it or not their only goal is to feed their ego, make me feel and seem stupid, make me seem evil, and argue that everything I’m saying is wrong and full of fallacies, while conveniently obscuring their own point of view and deflecting questions about their ideology and where it came from and why (usually because they genuinely don’t know and don’t want to know because they have too much invested in their beliefs, and it embarrasses them to realize they know nothing substantial about the ideology they ascribe to or where it came from and why it exists; they generally rely on what other people, who know as little as they do, tell them). and most of the time they have to resort to putting words in my mouth, because firstly I know what fuck I’m talking about and that is ultimately a threat, and secondly their interest is not in learning or understanding my politics, their interest (consciously or subconsciously) is to waste my time and energy, tear me down, demonize my politics, and feel morally superior about themselves. in those conversations they make it absolutely clear that my political beliefs are on trial, while their political beliefs are the only correct ones and therefore do not need to be analyzed in any ideological or epistemological sense.

so at this point in my life when I see the red flags and signs that a person is doing that i just straight up drop out of the conversation without a word and never talk to them again because that shit is a waste of my time and they always expose their true colors which are fucking ugly and make it impossible to respect them; people I think are close friends reveal a side of them that is just so morally repugnant, no self respecting person could stay friends with them. it’s like arguing with a wall. Except the wall yells at you for no reason. it’s so fucking toxic. I have no hope for liberals anymore frankly. I didn’t in general but with friends in my life I always had some hope that since they knew me, they’d respect me enough to at least hear me out, at least try to understand or at least treat me with respect. but time and time again they prove that friendship implies none of those things. because suddenly I’m some fucking dumb bitch to them, not the friend they knew and cared about for X amount of time. they continue over and over to prove to me that they are pathetic egotistical wastes of energy and im done being nice about it

I don’t owe them shit. they always demand that I owe teaching them, or enlightening them, or whatever other bullshit, but I don’t. I don’t owe them a damn thing. Some would try to coax me into such convos by telling me they’re different, they’re open minded, they won’t be biased, they won’t take it personally.... but it’d turn out to be a lie, every single time. And at the end of the day, if they can’t be bothered to take the time or energy of an hour, at most, to read an 80 page manifesto that answers all their half-baked “gotchas”, then why should I be bothered spending hours on hours taking the responsibility of explaining to them the things they refused to read, only to be met with derision, at best? Not ONE liberal man I’ve gone to these lengths with has ever read anything I’ve recommended them (and I always made sure to recommend only things that were very short because I knew they’d come up with a plethora of excuses to avoid having to read anything remotely challenging length-wise), much less the goddamn basics! like dude, not only are you fucking useless, you’re part of the problem. I have zero sympathy for you, and I have better things to do with my time. you’re no friend of mine, you’re no brother of mine, you’re no comrade of mine. you’re dead to me, point blank.

I’m never doing that shit ever again.

and let me be clear there are a lot of men in leftism that have this issue too, they are so-called leftists that have more in common with liberals and neoliberals than they do with communists, despite calling themselves communists, which they only do because they either don’t understand what communism means or they just like how it sounds to call themselves communists. these people can get fucked. and like liberals/neoliberals, they are no comrades of mine

#and I won’t ever apologize about it #long post

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icouldntfindquiet · 10 months

Note

Are you asking for silence from the LA Reddit girl? Honest question. This whole fanbase is an emotional wreck and wants answers. Speculation based on industry history and knowledge is going to be the only way to make things understandable, at best. She’s getting hounded for private information that she literally can’t post by fans who aren’t nearly as understanding as most CATB blogs about privacy and it’s leading to her wanting to stay quiet. I think she’s somewhat pissed off and regrets saying anything. She wants to help and loves this band but some people are being legitimately awful to her. If she’s right I honestly think she deserves an apology. I fully believe her and recommend you send her a message and get your questions sorted privately cause she’ll def answer and explain. I don’t want to speak for her. She’s explained her side every time she’s been questioned. She didn’t know what was going on and contacted people she knows worked with them as a last resort and they told her what they know then talked to fans. There’s comments she left still up. This was her explaination about how she knows what’s going on https://www.reddit.com/r/thebottlemen/comments/13td8j9/another_one_after_he_deleted_the_last_image/jlve2ea/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=1&utm_term=1&context=3

The mods would so call her out on bullshit but hasn’t and believes her as well. Her side lines up more than most of the rumors that have previously been posted. She’s also said since this comment was posted she’s gained a lot more information. We’ll just have to wait.

I’m not asking her to stay silent. She can do whatever she wants. I mainly lurk on Reddit and haven’t interacted with her at all. I haven’t messaged her, commented on her posts, or even upvoted/downvoted her posts. I leave her alone because I know a lot of people are messaging her, and I’d message her as well but the information I want is something she can’t give so I’m leaving her alone.

I’m sorry if she’s being harassed. I can’t stop people from harassing her but I hope they’ll use good judgement and treat others how they want to be treated. I’m not sure what you want me to do. I just read what she says, hope for the best, and wait for something to happen. I’m not telling her what she should and shouldn’t do and I’m not telling people what they should and shouldn’t believe. I’m just taking in information, analyzing it, and forming my own opinion. I’ve done nothing to her! 😟

#talk

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insanityessays · 2 years

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Sorry Shakespeare, Beetlejuice is better

Or: I aggressively compare things that could be tangentially related to my homework, but instead I'm just over-analyzing things to the point where I'm more or less rambling like an insane person.

You know what happens when you try to analyze Shakespeare’s Richard III while you’re hyper fixating on Beetlejuice (the musical, the musical, the musical)?

Well, if you’re anything like me, you end up drawing way too many plot comparisons and end up working on an analysis that you could never turn in for class credit because the analysis you came up with reads more like a conspiracy theory or a discussion than an actual essay.

So, despite the fact you have an actual essay to write, you need to get all of the thoughts you have in your brain down onto paper, then throw that paper into the void. On the plus side, because this isn’t a fancy-shmancy class essay, you get to write it the best way possible: really casually, with bad jokes, and not properly citing in MLA formatting because even though citation formatting makes sense it’s kind of a pain in the ass to complete. I also put in swear words because I can. This nonsense took me multiple hours to write. I do not regret a thing.

While I was reading Richard the Third, I realized that Richard is a lot like Beetlejuice. And then that sent me on a train of thought that led me to drawing more and more comparisons between the two. So here’s my very hastily written comparison between Shakespeare’s Richard III and Beetlejuice (the musical, the musical, the musical).

So there’s one really big similarity between the two characters that we can see from really early on in the play:

Everyone fucking hates them

To be fair, in both cases it’s understandable that these characters receive a lot of hate from every other character on stage. Lady Anne hates Richard because he murdered her husband and her son. Understandable.

Beetlejuice didn’t do that (allegedly). The moment Barbra and Adam meet him, they’re just really creeped out. Beetlejuice hasn’t actually killed anyone (that we know of). He just really wants to.

“Oh, Babs, I would LOVE that. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to kill those people downstairs.” (I.v)

Both Richard and Beetlejuice then proceed to make a bunch of sex jokes.

This early in the story, Richard is probably the more hateable of the two. That’s saying something, seeing as he’s up against a literal demon.

Richard is just a figurative demon (unless you’re interpreting the script in a really weird way, which then… good for you).

Which is probably why the insults towards Richard are quite a bit more… intense…

“Thou elvish-mark'd, abortive, rooting hog!

Thou that wast seal'd in thy nativity

The slave of nature and the son of hell!” (I.iii)

Meanwhile the worst that Beetlejuice has been called is a “needy pervert”.

Okay, so maybe it’s not that fair to analyze the two of them side by side like this, mostly because Richard is way more despicable, and everyone hates him quite a bit more.

But I stand by my point- they’re kind of similar.

Richard’s opening soliloquy has him basically telling the audience “hey guys, I’m the really evil villain of the show. My intentions are to be very evil. Also no one loves me.”

“And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover,

To entertain these fair well-spoken days,

I am determined to prove a villain

And hate the idle pleasures of these days.”

Which has a very similar feel to the DC version of the Invisible reprise.

“I WANT THE SAME THINGS AS YOU

TO BE SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF LOVE

AND ALSO TO KILL LOTS OF PEOPLE

AND BASICALLY FUCK SHIT UP”

Those are basically the same if you ignore the differences.

Both characters are demonic figures that can and will murder multiple people, both are quite evil, and both have a lot of soliloquies despite being a villainous character.

The key difference is their motivation.

It is very theater of a character to explicitly state their motivations to the audience (either through speech or song). That’s because understanding a character’s motivations is what drives the plot forward in basically any story. Just look at disney:

“I want adventure in the great wide somewhere”

“I wanna be where the people are”

“I wanna be like you”

Beetlejuice has motivations to be loved. He wants to interact with people, he wants to find friends, he wants to stop being ignored. The obstacle to this is that he’s an insecure guy who is also literally invisible for half of the show. Which is sad. It’s relatable to the audience. I relate to “wants love, bad at people” on a very personal level. If you look at the entire musical in that way, the whole thing makes sense.

Now let’s talk Richard III. What is his motivation?

Without interpreting the character too much, there really isn’t much of a motivation there. He’s just evil for the sake of being evil. It isn’t really for love- in some ways he already has that. He gets a wife, his brother likes him, the children trust him, he has friends.

This is what really dampens the character of Richard III. I can’t relate to “I want murder” on a personal level. Arguably he’s motivated by fear for the second half of the play- he doesn’t want to lose what he has. But having half a play with no motivation for a main character? That’s stupid.

I’m sure that there are going to be people who are like, “he’s motivated by power” but to be honest, I’ve never really understood that. Power is a flimsy motivation. I want to dig deeper than that: why does this person want power? For Richard, there’s not much to go off of. The audience or the actors can interpret his interests, but there’s nothing (as far as I can tell) in the script itself to suggest his actions are fueled by anything.

So moving on in the story, both characters (kind of) get what they want at some point in the story. Richard is crowned king. Beetlejuice becomes alive.

When Richard becomes king, it’s a story of paranoia eating at him until he dies. Fun times.

When Beetlejuice becomes alive, he sort of ends up learning that he didn’t get what he wanted- for a reason. The things he thought he wanted weren’t what he actually wanted.

Sticking with the core motivation of “love” with Beetlejuice, it’s easy to see where each bit of his logic comes from. Mostly because he tells the audience exactly what he’s doing and why.

“Alone. Again. You know what it feels like

to get everything you thought you ever wanted, but still feel like no one

will every love you? This guy knows what I’m talking about, I gotta get

out of here! I need to really live, really connect! Everyone can see me

now, but if I were alive, I could get out of the house, meet my kind of

people. You know, socially liberal, but fiscally conservative. And there

is a way. All I have to do is convince Lydia to marry me.”

Essentially, he wants friends, so he needs to become alive.

However, his plan to become alive involves tricking people and harming others- which is what leads to his death.

Which is where the redemption arc comes in. He realizes that you can’t make friends through murder. He stands up for the people he cares about, they kind of forgive him, then he leaves.

There’s a moment like that in Richard III.

Kind of.

“I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;

And if I die, no soul shall pity me:

Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself

Find in myself no pity to myself?”

It’s the moment when he comes to a conclusion- no one likes him because he murdered a lot of people. The next act, he dies.

Isn’t that the most unsatisfying ending? He realizes that his actions were bad, and falls into this field of self hatred, then just kind of dies unceremoniously. It would probably have a greater effect if he hadn’t proclaimed himself a villain at the beginning of the play. He starts thinking himself a loathed villain, he ends thinking himself a loathed villain.

Arguably, you could say that the play exists as Richard telling the story of his death, meaning that all of the soliloquies at the beginning of the play were made with the knowledge of what happens at the end of the play, and he comments on his existence as a villain in a form of regret for his actions.

…Which might be how the audience is meant to interpret the play, as made more obvious by staging and acting choices.

I think I accidentally made myself interpret the play completely differently by accident?

But if that’s true, then Richard’s character is extremely weak for the beginning of the play. Without “evil” he has no motivation. With that, everything just becomes a very passive experience. If we have no idea why someone is doing something, there isn’t much drama to it.

I mean, you could argue that villains don’t need a reason to be evil. If we read Richard as the antagonist of the story then it’s a bit more acceptable that there isn’t much motivation.

That’s kind of the case with Juno in Beetlejuice. We don’t get the chance to explore her character very much, and she mostly serves as a final obstacle to defeat at the end of the story. In this way, Beetlejuice isn’t the main villain- even if he does evil things.

So despite the fact that Richard has a ton of time on stage, and most of the choices are coming from him, and he speaks to the audience a lot, and his story is the one we follow; if we read Richard as an antagonist, the lack of a motivation makes sense.

But then I ask you who exactly is the protagonist of Richard III?

Well, maybe it doesn’t have one. It’s a weird play that focuses on a character who doesn’t have reasons for their choices- things just kind of happen.

That’s a way to tell a story I suppose. While a lot of good stories are character-driven, it’s technically possible to write one without an active main character. Forcing Richard into that role makes the story not work very well, so why read the play that way?

Maybe Richard III doesn’t need a main character that makes choices. Is that a terrible way to write a story? Yes.

Even if that is the case, Beetlejuice is still a better story. Because the actions of the characters actually make sense. There’s a part of Richard III that I haven’t covered yet.

Going all the way back to act 1, scene 2; Lady Anne insults Richard due to the fact that he killed her husband and her son. He ends up somehow convvincing her that even though he did murder people, it’s completely fine because he’s in love with her. Thus, the worst part of the play: SHE FALLS FOR HIM.

To begin, she gets mad at him for the whole murder thing. Richard claims he did not murder them, she calls him out on his bullshit. Then he makes a bunch of sex jokes.

So Richard changes his tactic- he decides to claim that She’s technically at fault for the murder of her husband and son, due to the fact that he only murdered them so he could get close to her romantically. She spits at him, wishes him dead. So he hands her a knife and tells her to stab him. Lady Anne is not willing to do that. He gives her a ring. He pretends to want to repent, she leaves not as angry at him.

Which is the most infuriating scene in the entire play. Somehow, she ends up not wishing to murder him. Richard brags about it in a later soliloquy.

“To take her in her heart's extremest hate,

With curses in her mouth, tears in her eyes,

The bleeding witness of her hatred by;

Having God, her conscience, and these bars

against me,

And I nothing to back my suit at all,

But the plain devil and dissembling looks,

And yet to win her, all the world to nothing!”

I’m 90% sure we are supposed to believe Richard during this soliloquy. Somehow, she fell for him in that scene.

Which is stupid.

Why does she do that? Is it a trick? Unlike the end of Beetlejuice, where pretending to go along with the marriage plan led to his death, there seemingly aren’t consequences to this. It doesn’t lead to anything major happening to him.

On top of that, later she basically states that she did indeed end up falling for him:

“Within so small a time my woman’s heart Grossly grew captive to his honey words”

Ugh, tell me this was written by a man without telling me this was written by a man.

Why on earth would she fall for the man that murdered her husband. It makes no sense.

Unlike Richard, Beetlejuice never receives actual romantic interest. He’s tricked into believing he is, and then gets killed. This makes sense, as he has threatened to kill (and has killed, in the DC version) people at this point. It would not make sense to fall in love with a person if they murder your family. This should be obvious, but apparently not to Shakespeare.

Yes, I’m well aware that there are other themes in both shows. Beetlejuice is also about dealing with grief and moving on in life, Richard the Third is also about lying to people and trust. But when comparing the two similar characters and plot points, Beetlejuice (the musical, the musical, the musical) is much better at showing characters, making sense, and having a much more satisfying ending.

There’s also a giant snake.

#insanity essays #I write an analysis of literature but it's one no one should be forced to read.#This bad boy took me fucking hours #not the worst essay I've ever written somehow #Beetlejuice #beetlejuice musical #Shakespeare #Richard iii #am i really bad at reading shakespeare?#well #maybe my interpretations are a bit out there #but like i needed to write this #my adhd said so

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