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siflshonen · 2 years

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An Entire Post about Eijiro Kirishima and Bakugo Katsuki

EDITED TO FIX TITLE ERROR AND ADD SLIDE.

And by request, the Bakugo presentation is now a series focused on him and the characters with which he has a prominent relationship. I hope you’re ready to read about Kirishima and Japanese masculinity today! Mina makes an appearance, too.

Link to the Bakugo presentation 2.0: Part 1 | Part 2

Link to the Bakugo presentation 1.0: Part 1 | Part 2

Link to the Todoroki presentation

Link to the Deku presentation

By request, the Bakugo presentation is now a series focused on him and the characters with which he has a prominent relationship. (When I say “relationship”, I don’t mean the connotation of romantic relationships, though I have included subsections specifically about the characters as they are portrayed in fandom ships. I alluded to some of them and the tropes that factor into them in the body of the Bakugo presentation, but this post is focused on the particular dynamics between Bakugo and the topical character.) I hope you’re ready to read about Kirishima and Japanese masculinity today! Mina makes an appearance, too.

What you are about to read dives between BNHA analysis, meta analysis, trope breakdowns, watered-down Japanese history as explained by an outsider Westerner (please take it with more than a grain of salt), and common nigh-disconnected fandom portrayals of these characters. When it comes to fandom portrayal, I will be focusing primarily on the western fandom because it is the one I know. You are also going to have to Deal With My Opinion even more blatantly than before. If you take whatever I say about ships personally, that’s on you for reading this even after I’ve warned you about it. On the flip side, if you have something to say on context and history, I am fascinated to know more! If I offend or misinform in the context of history, please let me know! I am smooth brain and trying.

Warnings for mentions of Japanese militarism/nationalism and associated symbols. Also, while this post is generally SFW, it does mention sex. Some of the Wikipedia links are also mildly NSFW, so be careful.

Here we go.

Eijiro Kirishima and Katsuki Bakugo Overview

Kirishima is truly a wonderful guy. Horikoshi created him as a unifying factor of the class, and that is what he does - starting with self-appointed black sheep Bakugo. I already pointed out the similarities between Bakugo’s chosen archetypal presentation and Crimson Riot’s background. I’ll explore that subtopic extensively later on, but just keep in mind that it’s not surprising that Kirishima in particular is first to figure out that Bakugo expresses himself a little, um, differently than other people. The first instance of this is one of the readers’ first obvious (read: very obvious) clues that Bakugo may have more going on under the surface than being an angry bully.

Anyway, the two of them don’t really connect until Kirishima joins forces with Bakugo at the Sports Festival to support him in taking down Deku. Bakugo accepts (or rather: Kirishima won’t let him refuse and Bakugo decided it wasn’t worth it to fight it) and their partnership is born!

But let’s talk about Kirishima for a moment. He is his own character and I love him. He has this cool adventure where he has a rad internship with Fatgum and the best senpai ever and it is just the absolute best part of the Overhaul Arc. Just, like, he gives literal meaning to Diamond is Unbreakable. Total baller. Every moment Kirishima appears during that arc is a delight. – PARTICULARLY since the Overhaul Arc doesn’t feature Bakugo at all and is coincidentally the slowest part of the whole manga, so every bright spot in it is a welcome relief. SIKE! Sorry, but this post isn’t just about Kirishima. Yes, I’m biased. But look me in the eyes and say the Overhaul Arc didn’t drag. See? You can’t.

Kirishima-Bakugo Parallels

Kirishima is a guy with a hardening quirk. It’s not flashy or particularly suited for offense or rescue, but he got into UA by the power of determination and unrelenting effort. What a guy. He’s a little self-conscious about how “worthy” he is to be a hero not just for his lackluster power, but because, in the past, he’s avoided conflict in situations where, if he were a true hero, he would have stepped in and offered support without thinking about it! Sound familiar? Instead, his childhood friend that he secretly admires very much stepped in to be heroic while he stood around and gaped uselessly! Sound familiar?! In high school, he puts on an outgoing persona (complete with a new hairstyle) inspired by his childhood hero to cover for his insecurities! SOUND FAMILIAR?!

It’s also telling that, based on Kirishima’s observation of chapter 1’s sludge villain incident, it is Deku as Bakugo’s rescuer that Kirishima admires rather than Bakugo for holding out and remaining standing against the sludge villain – especially since Hero society media portrayed Bakugo’s dogged survival as the laudable accomplishment. That’s interesting considering that Bakugo (who loathes the fact that he needed help against the sludge villain and sees the whole thing as a point of shame) expressed admiration for Kirishima (and All Might’s) ability to remain standing in a fight even if that’s all they can do, no?

Anyway, Kirishima knows what it is to want to improve oneself. This sets up a great starting point for a mutual understanding between himself and Bakugo, who also wants to improve himself. It’s also why he goes out of his way to help rescue Bakugo when he’s kidnapped by the villains at the training camp – not just because he cares about his classmate (he does!) but because it’s an opportunity for Kirishima to prove his worthiness of heroism to himself. This rescue was a tit-for-tat situation – which is very important for shielding Bakugo’s pride throughout the entire rescue kerfuffle. That’s also why Bakugo goes out of his way to pay Kirishima back in cash for the amount the night binoculars he used in the rescue cost him. Bakugo wouldn’t be comfortable “owing” Kirishima anything, and while he can’t pay Kirishima back in “effort” or “heroic conviction”, he can give him money.

In short: Kirishima’s hand, outstretched in equal partnership, is the first Bakugo has ever been able to accept. It’s a big deal. The moment Bakugo accepts Kirishima’s help is representative of Bakugo accepting that sometimes he needs, can accept, and even wants help. Which is great!

And then after that, Bakugo and Kirishima also hang around each other in the Provisional Licensing exam, wherein Kirishima realizes even more of Bakugo’s rude competence in action (and arguably passes because of Bakugo while Bakugo himself fails, but this is a whole bigger discussion.) They don’t really interact a whole lot after that besides the odd panel of Kirishima essentially telling Bakugo to tone it down, but they’re, like, friends, or whatever obfuscating term Bakugo would rather use. Hooray mutual respect!

Canon KiriBaku

Kirishima is Bakugo’s first friend and equal – and the first to accept Bakugo outside the context of his “small pond” middle school and give him the chance to interact with someone in a way not defined by his middle school reputation. In fact, it’s more profound considering that Kirishima explicitly knows about Bakugo and Deku’s involvement in the sludge villain incident, but doesn’t let that tint his opinion of Bakugo negatively. In fact, he very considerately doesn’t bring it up to Bakugo even though it’s something he’s curious about.

But excluding the events I’ve already mentioned, many of Kirishima’s appearances in the manga and anime have him more or less interpreting for or pseudo-handling Bakugo. Denki Kaminari, Hanta Sero, Sato Rikido, and Todoroki Shouto share duties in this role most often, too. In fact, this is a pattern that happens a lot: a character teases Bakugo, he gets embarrassed about it, he yells back in retaliation but does curb his behavior as requested. Lather, rinse, repeat. Do you remember what I said in the other presentation about bullying being a sort of social tool in Japan? Well, most of class 1-A is doing it to Bakugo. (Deku even has a big freak out over it because it seems so unreal to him.) It comes off more like banter and teasing, but that is what’s happening: the class is cajoling Bakugo into fitting in. Kirishima is notable because, after initially trying this wholly teasing approach, he realizes that maybe something less condescending would work.

Well, okay, being a little less condescending will work sometimes. Negging and shaming Bakugo is pretty much standard procedure for everyone. In return, Bakugo offers Kirishima sincere encouragement (even if it’s in Baku-ese) and also helps him with practical things like studying – after Kirishima insults him into it.

In Kirishima’s defense, such an approach is the best way to ask Bakugo for anything at this stage of the story. If the request is framed as a put-down or a challenge, it doesn’t trap Bakugo in a position where the other person could be perceived as “lesser” for “begging”; doesn’t once again put Bakugo in a position where he is the “bully” or “party owed” because he’s the one who “has'' something Kirishima “needs” or doesn’t have; and also doesn’t put Bakugo in a space of vulnerability for offering to help and risking Kirishima’s denial. Instead, it’s a stupid jibe and implied challenge, which is something Bakugo can handle. Challenges, confrontations, and insults are just about the only straightforward forms of communication that Bakugo can consistently handle in the early to middle stages of the manga. That, and this approach also gives Kirishima the great fun of giving Bakugo crap and watching him grump about it.

In conclusion: Bakugo’s canon relationship with Kirishima teaches Bakugo how to rely on other people, how to give back to other people, how to navigate his sense of self without alienating himself from a larger social dynamic, how to accept and appreciate the accomplishments of his past even if he thinks he “should have” done better, and how to have a friend he can trust. Theirs is a supportive relationship, though at times I feel like it borders on being the dynamic of an exasperated older brother scolding a younger child.

But that’s the text. I’ve not even explored the angle of their shared subculture signaling and mutual breakdown and exploration of masculinity!

Fragile Ego and Fragile Masculinity

One of the most obvious (and probably most important) similarities between Kirishima and Bakugo is the fragility and “falseness” of their initial social presentation (read: tatemae). In Bakugo’s case, it’s his overblown ego. In Kirishima’s case, it is his highly performative masculinity. While Bakugo is sincerely confident in his abilities and self-absorbed while Kirishima is authentically good-hearted and determined, both of them are putting on airs to support these images and inspire themselves to meet a certain personal standard.

Horikoshi even illustrates these characters’ initial narrow-minded philosophies falling away by “cracking” key panels when they reach a meaningful conclusion or experience something that shatters their worldview. Bakugo’s ego “shatters” (because let’s be real - it’s been cracked and fragile since before he fell off that log) when he loses to Deku near the start of the series. Meanwhile, Kirishima’s fragile and closed-minded masculinity shatters after he internalizes that he’s not inherently “manly” or truly Heroic just because he’s a cis dude.

The negative and egotistical connotations of Bakugo’s break are obvious, but Kirishima’s are less so. This moment happens after he sees Mina, a girl, proving to be extremely “manly” by being a true Hero to some of their classmates. While Kirishima doesn’t espouse how “girls suck!” or go out of his way to badmouth women and girls in his backstory, it is by comparing himself to Mina and revisiting the true meaning behind Crimson Riot’s “manly” philosophy (read: that “manliness” as a positive isn’t limited by gender) that he begins to unpack and then eschew his unexplored assumptions that his gender, quirk, or any surface-level quality has any bearing on one’s “Heroism”. It’s subtle. It’s really nicely executed, actually, because it portrays a character grappling with an inherent bias that I doubt even Kirishima realized he had.

I’ll discuss Mina and the gender power dynamic in more detail later in this presentation, but keep it in your mind for now.

I’d also like to mention that this “cracking” visual suggesting “destruction before the choice for progress” is key to Shigaraki Tomura’s theme in the BNHA story as well, but this post isn’t about him. The purpose of me pointing out its use in Bakugo and Kirishima’s narratives is that, in both cases, the characters made choices to learn from the experience and grow in a more positive direction. I could also compare their old selves’ shattering to the cracking of an eggshell and the significance of the story’s multiple comparisons of the Hero students to hatching eggs, but alas. That is also not today’s topic.

Kirishima’s Progressive Manliness, Delinquents, Yakuza, Bushido, and Bakugo

One of Kirishima’s most notable qualities is his tendency to describe anything positive - the ability to show emotional strength as well as physical, the ability to shed tears and show sensitivity, the ability to do something competently, the ability to show consideration for others, the ability to act heroically in a general sense - as manly no matter what gender of person is performing it. It’s another philosophy inspired in-story by Crimson Riot.

As discussed previously, Crimson Riot’s “manly” credo is rooted in subcultures from the real world. His philosophy is inspired by the most noble interpretation possible of the general Japanese delinquent/furyou shonen/Yankee/Yanki subculture. However, even the delinquent culture has a bigger context, so Crimson Riot is ostensibly drawing from other codes of Japanese masculinity and morals, too. I don’t exclusively mean bushido, though I want to make it clear that I am including it since it is intrinsically connected to the discussion of Japanese masculinity in basically every possible subculture in this post. However, right now, I’m referring to the Yakuza jingi (delinquents often enter the Yakuza after they age out of school) and their generalized form of the underlying Japanese concept of chivalry. The Yakuza framing of chivalry is not exactly the same as bushido, but rather the idea of “acting chivalrously” through what they refer to as ninkyodo, or the “way of humanity.” There’s still influence and elements of bushido in this, however.

For all you weebs who watched or read Way of the Househusband/Goshufukudo: the series’ tagline of, “housework without honor or humanity!” is a play on the main character’s status as an ex-Yakuza because he left the Yakuza (aka “strayed from his ninkyodo/strayed from the path of humanity”) to be a househusband. It’s also a play on the Battles Without Honor or Humanity movies revolving around the same sentiment – except without the house-husbandry part, of course.

Bakugo’s outlook and personal presentation leans more towards a fictionalized version of the delinquent or Yakuza ninkyodo presentation of personal code than Kirishima's “manly” credo, but the connection between the two masculine personal conducts – or the fact that an underlying code of conduct is central to both identities – is still there. If you read the article on delinquents I linked, you’ll also notice that it makes an emphasis on a sense of community and closeness being a probable reason for the delinquent subculture’s enduring existence simultaneous to its rebellious and individualistic slant. Kirishima and Bakugo are good representations of those two seemingly opposite poles, no? Kirishima focuses on creating a sense of community with himself as the unifying factor while Bakugo seeks to separate himself through his individuality.

(Also, I learned while writing this that the Yakuza created a recruitment website called ninkyodo. Considering the bigger discussion of social unrest and subdued envelope-pushing inherent in BNHA, the wacky little blog post is worth a look since it pivots around the Japanese mob being upset with the government’s social programs. Reading the Yakuza’s purported gripes and then comparing/contrasting them with Bakugo’s values and friction with the BNHA Hero world is a fun mental exercise.)

That said, there is one VERY big difference in Kirishima’s presentation and aesthetic versus Bakugo’s, and it should not be overlooked in this discussion. I warn you now: for the sake of speed and word count I am simplifying the associations I’m about to make, but you can read this entire Wikipedia article if you want a better picture of what I mean or need a starting point for your own research. Or if you don’t believe me.

Bushido, Kouha, Japanese Nationalism, and Kirishima

Kirishima’s Crimson Riot-inspired philosophy and aesthetic is drawn from delinquent culture, which is a subculture that takes its cues from bushido – literally “warrior way” but or sometimes likened to “chivalry” or even “samurai code” in English – which is in turn associated with Japanese nationalism. This association is very clear in Kirishima’s aesthetic. Look at his room. The Mount Fuji and ocean wave iconography, his hachimaki (admittedly this is relatively common among modern students but it still carries a history), the tacky flames in representation of a “burning soul”…

More to the point, Horikoshi lists one of Kirishima’s favorite things as kouha (called “manly men” in the English version), which basically comes out in English to mean “hard school”. It’s a pun on Kirishima’s hardening quirk. However, it also refers to Kirishima’s penchant for historically manly things and hyper-masculine presentation.

Kouha are, as Kirishima’s middle school classmates say, “old school”. They’re even more old school than delinquents (or Crimson Riot), and they are also deeply nationalist. Kouha were a cultural phenomenon born from the student populations of Japanese military schools (the establishment of the Japanese Imperial Army is considered the first formal step of Japan’s Westernization, by the way!) during the Meiji era. They held specific beliefs about male supremacy, masculinity, and national pride. To kouha, these concepts were inseparable from one another. They, and their resulting legacy as soldiers and Navy members in subsequent wars, are the main reason that quasi-nationalist or outright nationalist symbolism is so thoroughly entrenched in the Japanese presentation of hyper-masculinity even in the modern day.

HOWEVER! Kirishima and Crimson Riot’s manliness philosophy departs from Japanese nationalism (and neo-nationalism) in a very clear and obvious way: it is inclusive. The aesthetic preserves Kirishima’s personal pride as a Japanese guy - specifically as a masculine man - while his take on “manliness” is modern and geared towards celebrating the intrinsic goodness of humanity that isn’t defined by gender, sex, skin color, or nationality. Also, his imagery does not use the Rising Sun flag (which, from the perspective of non-Japanese, is specifically associated internationally with war crimes and, for related reasons, the Japanese Navy. Consider it a Japanese swastika—not to be confused with the Japanese manji, which is actually a totally different thing) or red sunbeam motif. This could be because BNHA is set 200 years in the future and the rising sun imagery has fallen out of public memory, or, more likely, Horikoshi (and therefore Kirishima) wants to signal that Kirishima doesn’t hold those beliefs. Even so, Kirishima’s “look” is still emblematic of kouha and still associates masculinity with his national identity.

This isn’t a perfect one-to-one localization, but, for us in the West, we can sort of think of it like this: the difference between Kirishima and a neo-nationalist is not unlike the difference between guys who just authentically really like Viking iconography and neo-Nazis who appropriate Nordic iconography for their beliefs. It’s just that Kirishima seems to be reclaiming these symbols in reverse. (It’s probably a really good thing Mina knows Kirishima from his time before UA or else she might be giving him a way more intense and judgemental side-eye over what’s in his room.)

Bakugo’s Aesthetic Versus Kirishima’s Aesthetic

To be clear: the specific flavor of “tackiness” and “kouha look” Kirishima enjoys is definitely indicative of outright nationalism, but it is also associated with other hyper-masculine subcultures. These include the Japanese delinquents and bosozoku. Delinquent subcultures often use lots of prideful Japanese iconography (though usually not so much with the sunbeam-laden rising sun flag. Modern delinquents usually stick to the modern Japanese flag) as part of their uniforms or flags.

Interestingly, Bakugo lacks these visual markers of the “classic” delinquent look while Kirishima embraces them. Instead, it seems Bakugo’s chosen delinquent visual identity markers are taken exclusively from the filter of shonen anime delinquents rather than the real world subculture! Their differing attempts to separate the things they like from its historic baggage is really interesting!

Eijiro Kirishima: Sharp Newborn Son of the Jagged Island

Now that I’ve unpacked the association between Kirishima’s masculinity, presentation, and national history, I can talk about the easiest detail: his name. Like Bakugo, Kirishima’s name is extremely straightforward.

Ei: sharp or keen

Ji: kid or newborn

Ro: son

Kiri: jagged or to cut

Shima: island

Eijiro means, as this kind person on the internet puts it, “sharp boy”. They also point out that the “Ei” is written in a way not ordinarily associated with names (which is usually “sharp” like “keen” or “intelligent”), so his name subtly “blunts” his intelligence while still pointing (ha) out that he’s a guy made of sharp rocks. And while that’s cute, it’s his last name that gives us more mileage for interpretation. Kirishima. “Cut island”. Japan is a nation made up of multiple islands.

Kirishima is meant to be, very literally, a fresh-eyed child of his nation. He is emblematic of masculine heritage and identity. That’s a little more nuanced than saying Kirishima is Japan, but he definitely represents a significant pre-World War II slice of it.

“Gay Coded” Kirishima and Modern Japanese Masculinity

There is one last association that Kirishima’s chosen “nationalist-not-nationalist” kouha aesthetic conjures that I need to unpack. As I’ve said, modern Japanese sociopolitical (and masculine) identity is strongly associated with bushido. Bushido, particularly during the Meiji era and Russo-Japanese war (y’all ever read or watched Golden Kamuy?), is consequently associated with the Navy and nanshoku (THIS WIKIPEDIA ARTICLE IS MILDLY NSFW), or the practice of male-male relationships ranging from ritual pederasty to what one could interpret as just plain gay by modern Western standards. Whenever the Eastern or Western fandom discusses the possibility of Kirishima being gay-coded, this association between his kouha aesthetic and nanshoku is almost always at the heart of it. Well, that, and his dogged telegraphing of how much he’s into the kouha aesthetic and other “manly” things. To the modern Japanese, a high degree of overblown hyper-masculine presentation and speech can come across as performative overcompensating.

However, there’s one big detail that’s usually missing from these discussions in fandom: generally, the display of hyper-masculinity that is associated with performative overcompensating from closeted gay men includes constantly talking about how much heterosexual intercourse they have (which, according to them, is a whole lot) and how much they love women. Carnally. Sometimes they may even hit on women to an absurd and almost cartoonish degree – but usually only performatively in front of others or to try and fool (or repulse) the woman on the receiving end! The goal of a closeted gay person telegraphing heterosexual stereotypes to such an extreme degree is to either:

1. fool other people into thinking that they are not gay (which is often not very successful)

2. keep themselves in denial by playing the part of an ultra-straight dude.

So, if I am using hyper-sexualized hetero behavior as the main parameter for how gay-coded a character is, I could argue that Mineta is more gay-coded than Kirishima is. He’s not, but I could make the argument.

But why would a gay person feel the need to do either of these things? Oh, honey. Masculine fragility has different nuances between cultures, but it isn’t exclusive to English-speaking countries. Modern Japan (read: Meiji era to post-World War II Japan that did its damndest to Westernize as rapidly as possible) is relatively homophobic and views homosexuality as, well, “unmanly”. (You can read more about that in the kouha and nanshoku Wikipedia articles I’ve linked.) That’s the power of comphet, baby!

That said, I don’t think Kirishima is gay-coded based on his affinity for manly stuff. He’s not using it to compensate for his sexuality. If anything, he’s using his kouha-manly presentation to compensate for his perceived lack of Heroic and manly spirit. True heroism is what defines Kirishima and Crimson Riot’s perception of “manliness”, not sexuality. In fact, that’s the core of why their ideology is so progressive and why it flies in the face of its kouha-presentation packaging.

“If Kirishima is Straight, Why Doesn’t He Draw Obvious Attention to His Attraction to Girls?”

Heck, maybe he isn’t straight. I don’t know and frankly I don’t care. But there’s multiple reasons this could be the case even if he’s straight:

1. Kirishima is not a “carnivorous man” like Kaminari nor is he a fucking creep like Mineta.

2. This is a little bit outdated and old-fashioned, but in Japan, it’s generally seen as a faux-pas to openly make a big deal of special affection towards a specific person in front of others. This is out of consideration for said object of affection, particularly if the pair in question isn’t already dating and there’s the possibility that the interest isn’t mutual between the two parties. It would be very embarrassing for someone to have to turn down a love confession in front of an audience of peers. If the pair in question is dating, this is usually more relaxed, particularly in the modern day.

3. A well-rounded character (and a person) is more than their potential sexuality. Also, this isn’t a romance manga. Thank god. I can barely deal with reading about Ochako’s stupid crush – and even Ochako the character hates having a crush!

Anyway.

Modern Japanese Masculine Fragility and Anxiety About the Future

Since this is a shonen manga, the focus on men/growing mens’ identity (and the Japanese-specific flavor of masculinity) in a modern and changing world comes up a lot. While not directly related to Kirishima and Bakugo’s chosen countercultures, here’s a link to download an observational piece describing three notable cishet male Japanese subgroups struggling to define (or redefine) their own masculinity and identity: herbivorous men (kind of like western hipster metrosexuals), otaku (you know what these are), and Japanese petit-nationalists (basically neo-nationalists. And yes, they share elements from Kirishima’s aesthetic. If this were about Spinner and any heteromorph characters, this particular group would be much more relevant to this discussion.) Here’s another piece focused on “genderless” danshi and masculinity. Both of these pieces discuss the precarious correlation between male identity, community, presentation, and values. That, and I think they’re neat topics – though I do suggest you think critically about what you read in them.

However, I feel I should mention that Japan’s current crisis regarding declining birth rates is often associated with the lack of “properly masculine” men and the growing ability of modern Japanese women to put off or refuse marriage.The first observational piece about male subgroups discusses how masculine identity and neo-nationalism seem to be closely associated or even conflated for one another by the individuals in the neo-nationalist subgroup, but also alludes to the fact that a lack of clearly defined masculinity is being treated as a national crisis since it is seen as a prohibitive factor for Japan’s current generation to start families. To that end, Prime Minister Shinso Abe pushed for a variety of measures to encourage people to have kids.

In fact, Shinso Abe has achieved meme status in international otaku circles because whenever an anime or manga encourages or portrays sex for the purpose of procreation and raising a family as expected and singularly correct, the community wonders if it’s anime propaganda aimed at encouraging Japanese viewers to go have kids. This, combined with the fact that Shueisha/Shonen Jump upholds certain beliefs and gender/sexuality power dynamics in their company policy that is reflected in their published titles, will be important later in this series of presentations. For now, it’s just something to think about.

I know this is Tumblr where cishet men are the minority and most discussion about masculine fragility and stereotypes is unappealing because most of us are over it in our real lives, but this kind of stuff is important to at least know about when looking at media so closely involved with these concepts. It’s fandom’s great freedom to interpret these characters however we like, but understanding them as they were intended to be understood in context first - or at least trying to do so - is helpful. If you’re sick of shonen-centered discussion and want to pivot to the intersection of Japanese subcultures and shojo manga, this is a good place to start.

Bakugo’s Masculinity Journey and Kirishima’s Perspective

These issues surrounding masculinity and the nation’s future snowball together in part because of a generalized anxiety over change from modern (post-World War II) Japan’s assumed “norm” – including changing “norms” of prior generations’ assumptions about masculinity and gender roles. I’ve already posited in my earlier presentation that Bakugo is the manga’s best representation for change both regarding him as an individual character and as a representation of change impacting the (modern-Japan-analogous) reality in which he was brought up. To that end, I think it is important to consider how his character changes from a masculinity-focused angle. And I don’t just refer to what factors are impacting his masculinity in the written text. I am also referring to the subtext and implied culture (read: modern Japanese culture) of the world in which he’s drawn.

Basically, this is what the masculinity “tradition” is to Bakugo: another legacy and expectation. He may have chosen the flavor and presentation of it with his delinquent schtick, but he never asked to unflinchingly uphold it every moment of his life nor did he ask to inherit the negativity associated with it. Masculinity as a construct is just another damn thing with generations of sociopolitical baggage that he (and every other kid in his class) has to reconcile and then go beyond. In this context, masculinity is All Might – it’s another impossible and unsustainable symbol he looked up to in his childhood that he now has to face for what it really is, make peace with, and then surpass.

To be clear: all the students are grappling with similar pressures, but Bakugo is the one most driven – and with the greatest understanding of what this means in context – to surpass and change.

Kirishima’s masculinity-focused solution to the struggle between his past identity (his high school debut is concerned with leaving his old self behind) and what he wants to be is an overtly positive, unifying, and forward-thinking one. (Kirishima’s example is also a little naive considering he doesn’t seem to grasp the militaristic history of his aesthetic and symbols, but I don’t think there’s such a thing as an unproblematic approach to anything in this world. My privileged Western ass is going to overlook this in favor of his effort and heart. Others may not.) Meanwhile, Bakugo is also grappling with the loaded history of what he’d like to be and the outdated expectations of its masculinity thrust upon him – through the lenses of his academic and career paths, his success, his social standing, his self-isolation, his dominance, his relationship with Deku specifically, and his self-presentation as a delinquent as well as shonen protagonist Hero.

Kirishima’s example offers Bakugo a glimpse at maintaining his self-expression without being shackled to the past it carries. Basically, Kirishima’s underlying message is, “Your identity can change as you grow, bro. Your identity is mutable, but it isn’t fragile like classic masculinity is.” Or, to quote Hogarth in The Iron Giant, “You are what you choose to be.”

Emasculated Japan and the Message of Kirishima’s Masculinity Taken One Step Farther

This is mostly conjecture, but I want to point it out anyway.

I have already talked about the baggage and expectations associated with present day real-world Japanese masculinity and the changing gender-based power balance. However, I haven’t talked specifically about how that carries echoes from masculinity from post-World War II Japan.

In the Bakugo presentation, I mentioned that the shonen genre was “born” after World War II and the art form still incorporates postwar baggage. This includes the aftermath of the nation reeling from its lack of military power after the war. I’ve already drawn a clear line between Japanese military might and its masculinity, so I don’t feel I need to elaborate much about why I make this next statement: a significant swath of the Japanese felt the loss of military power emasculated the country (which, as discussed through Mina, made it “effeminate”. Or, depending on the perspective, it “infantilized” the country. Elsewhere in this writeup, I reference an introductory course examining shojo manga and identity that touches on the infantilization of Japan through media exports and branding if you’d like to read another perspective using this terminology.)

There exists a complicated relationship between national shame over losing the war, shame from Japan’s own war crimes, shame in Japan’s continued political ineffectiveness without a strong established military, and outright Japanese envy of the West for not only winning the war but epitomizing prosperity and modernity. I really don’t have the background to talk about this in-depth or respectfully. The point is that overt pride in the Japanese identity is a complicated issue in general, but particularly as it reflects in expressed Japanese masculinity.

As I have established, the archetype Bakugo chose for his Hero persona is distinctly Eastern and distinctly masculine: the shonen protagonist. While Bakugo and his costume blatantly involves war imagery through the grenades and explosives, he does not use imagery indicative of Japan or the Japanese military.

I don’t want to put words in Horikoshi’s mouth, but Kirishima’s example of portraying positive masculinity alongside neutral or positive portrayals of strikingly Japan-centered imagery leaves me with this impression: Kirishima’s existence is almost saying to Bakugo, “It’s okay. It’s okay to be masculine and it’s okay to be proud of your place of origin. You don’t have to shy away from its darker history. You can embrace it all.”

Considering BNHA’s emphasis on remembering one’s origins as motivation and likewise labeling significant chapters with the word “Origin” in the title, I feel this observation is significant even if only as food for thought.

I suppose if one really wanted to, one could use everything I’ve written as an argument to say, “If you like Kirishima, you fell for the Japanese militarism apologist ploy”, but I don’t think portraying him as an apologist was the intent. I choose to see this as a shonen comic about superheroes and connecting the past with the present because that’s all I think it is trying to be.

The Future is Female: Mina Ashido and Eijiro Kirishima

Mina and Kirishima are introduced to us as a pair of foils, so this writeup would be incomplete if I didn’t mention her. If Kirishima is the “manly” Japan of a bygone era questioning how he can be relevant, Mina is “effeminate” modern-day Japan. Simplifying the terms into gender categories like that is a little more charged than I would prefer, but let me explain my logic.

During Japan’s occupation by the Allies after World War II, women gained, among other things, the right to vote. To quote Wikipedia directly: “It has been argued that the granting of rights to women played an important role in the radical shift Japan underwent from a war nation to a democratized and demilitarized country.” They also were no longer bound exclusively to the home as wives and mothers, but could also take employment. Got it? Good. While I needed to explain this to set the stage for the stark difference in gender politics between the kouha’s heyday and women’s standing after World War II, this is only loosely related to Mina and her portrayal.

Again: it’s about the look. In simple terms, traditional Japanese femininity isn’t flashy and women don’t take the lead. Mina is flashy and she does lead. And in BNHA, this is framed as a positive by her peers. (I have no idea how the older generation feels about it. We don’t know much about Mina’s personal life, unfortunately.)

Mina is a modern girl. She stands out because of her natural appearance, but she also dresses ostentatiously whenever she isn’t wearing her high school uniform. Her look favors an updated spin on the gyaru subculture. In fact, while part of her natural appearance rather than intentional choice, I could argue that Mina’s startlingly black eyes and “unnaturally”-colored skin is meant to indicate the yamanba (spinoff from ganguro) fashion subculture, but I’m not sure I am meant to go that far. Regardless of the specifics, everything about her appearance implies the largest commonality between most modern young Japanese women and every female-specific fashion subcultures (including lolita or kogal – Toga is a kogal): rejection of traditional gender roles and presentation.

Now, allow me to throw the parallel between these characters and Japan’s policy changes in your face. Mina was first to act when “foreign power with old loyalty” Gigantomachia threatened their classmates. She solved the confrontation – and solved other confrontations with her peers – nonviolently. Meanwhile, kouha-aligned (militaristic and masculine Japan) Kirishima was not only unable to act (aka did not have any military influence), but felt completely useless and superfluous in both of these instances. But later, when Gigantomachia re-emerges in a context that Mina cannot possibly solve on civil terms or with misdirection, he is able to defend her and do what she can’t.

Also, Kirishima’s key color is red. Hot damn, that’s flashy! It’s also the color of the sun on the Japanese flag! How fitting that Mina is represented by pink, or “light red”.

I need to confess that I’ve misled you readers somewhat, but I did it for a reason.

Kirishima-Deku Parallels; Mina-Bakugo Parallels

While I initially compared Kirishima to Bakugo, the truth is that he shares more similarities to Deku. Kirishima is not confident in himself, emulates his idol very closely, is very concerned with upholding the status quo (through interpersonal harmony), got into UA through his effort (let’s be real: even the richest and most well-poised in UA worked their asses off and the story takes the time to tell us so. While I admire Kirishima greatly for his accomplishments, the “hard work” angle bores the shit out of me because every character works hard) rather than because he has a well-suited quirk, is quick to act “heroically” and put others before himself, is quick to throw himself into danger on others’ behalf (he’s got a hardening quirk, so unlike Deku he doesn’t mangle himself repeatedly with these stunts), and has an I-won’t-admit-it-but-I-will-broadcast-it object of admiration in his childhood friend Ashido Mina. Also, Kirishima feels woefully inadequate when compared to Mina because she already has the appearance of a hero. It’s about the look.

When Mina uncovers Kirishima’s “secret” (he dyed his hair and changed his outward persona to make a good impression as a friendly and outgoing guy with his “high school debut” rather than come off as a shy fanboy), it’s analogous to Deku telling (albeit vaguely) Bakugo about One for All at the beginning of the manga. Both scenes even take place at the start of the school year with cherry blossoms in the background and stuff. Later in the series, after Bakugo figures out the full secret of OfA (much like Mina figures out that Kirishima wants to be popular), he even explicitly says he’ll keep Deku’s secret.

Also, both Mina and Bakugo are described as “amazing” and both imply significant discomfort over the generalized compliment. It’s a huge expectation to carry.

Kirishima’s outgoing attitude is a product of him pushing himself to be more like Mina in charisma and approachability. The horns of his hair are also inspired by her, too. While both of these things can be framed as parallels to Bakugo’s admiration of Deku as I did earlier, they are more on-the-nose for Deku’s penchant for intentionally talking like Bakugo when he wants to psyche himself out and copying all of Bakugo’s moves in order to best harness his quirk. And, of course, when Kirishima and Deku don disguises to go save Bakugo, they choose outfits with exaggerated horns and a Yakuza/delinquent persona respectively.

And a final parallel for your consideration: when Kirishima saves Mina in their confrontation with Gigantomachia, he does it without regard for his own safety (after initially hesitating and panicking like Deku did for the first part of the sludge villain incident). Gigantomachia is also, interestingly, a shared past foe of Kirishima and Mina much like the sludge villain is for Bakugo and Deku.

Bakugo’s relationship with Kirishima is an introductory course in how to have a positive relationship with Deku. For Kirishima, Bakugo is a proxy for relating to and helping the person in his life that he admires most: Mina.

The Bakusquad Isn’t a Thing

I’m going to step in real quick to address the phenomenon of the “Bakusquad” - a tight-knit clique composed of Bakugo, Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Mina Ashido, Hanta Sero, and sometimes Kyoka Jiro. It doesn’t exist in the BNHA story.

Outside of anime marketing materials’ penchants to show certain characters together, this isn’t actually a thing. Like, at all. Neither is the “Dekusquad.” It’s true that Bakugo, like Deku, is closer friends with certain members of his class than others and Kirishima is a great example of that, but they don’t hang out like a “squad”. They’re not that close. Not like THAT. This is a western perception that is deeply rooted in how social groups in North American high schools function. In East Asian schools, the entire class is seen as a sort of collective. I know that most Japanese schools don’t usually take individual photos, but they write essays (another manga example of this is in MP100 when Reigen is exposed as a fraud. The media unearths his student essay and throws it into the public eye as a way to sensationalize his character) and have class photos. This page doesn’t exactly mention the class photos versus individual photos, but it’s relevant.

There are tighter groups within that generalized class boundary, but the kind of clique the western fandom portrayal of the “Bakusquad” implies isn’t really comparable. (Anecdotally, I have been told that students tend to socially self-segregate by gender.)

If the “Bakusquad” members were ones who spent the most time with Bakugo in the story, then the group would include Fumikage Tokoyami and Momo Yaoyorozu from the A Band as well as Shouto Todoroki because of their time spent at the remedial classes together. It doesn’t.

KiriBaku as a Ship

Kiribaku’s portrayal as a ship is, much like the concept of the Bakusquad, primarily fueled by supplementary content for the anime and its marketing materials. Which is great! Kirishima is supportive and thoughtful and he cues Bakugo into ways to be the same. Fanon just tends to take it up a couple notches.

Western fans also have a tendency to make Kirishima significantly stupider than he is in the manga or anime, and not just for a handful of gags (which usually revolve around Kirishima doing regular teen boy stuff because he is a regular teen boy) like the manga does. While it’s true that Kirishima is not the most academically gifted and occasionally has thickheaded moments, he’s not actually stupid. In fact, he is likely one of the most emotionally intelligent characters in his high school class.

I don’t know how many of you watched the rebooted She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, but Scorpia is western fanon Kirishima. Catra is her Bakugo. With complete and authentic respect to Noelle Stevenson, I know what she did the moment I saw it and I didn’t even have to go online to see the thinkpieces and interviews, though I did snicker when I read them later and saw her make mention of BNHA and shonen series like it. For the record, I strongly agree with what she had to say about them in the context of the interview.

Kiribaku as a ship is Bakudeku without the stigma, emotional conflict, or All Might meddling involved. It’s about Bakugo growing past all the emotional baggage involved with his past and leaving it behind for someone who is very similar to Deku, but isn’t Deku and who lacks all the Bakugo-inflicted baggage Deku has. There. I said it. That’s it. It’s fluffy and sweet and just a little bit uneven. It’s also steeped in, like, fifteen levels of gym bro talk and masculinity discussions.

Thanks, everybody!

#kirishima eijiro #red riot #bakugo katsuki #mina ashido #kiribaku #kirimina #kirishima presentation #bnha meta #BNHA #japanese history #my hero academia #heroaca

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jekacatrina · 3 years

Text

Fate don't know you like I do

Hello, guys, have this super cheesy and self indulgent piece I wrote for Bakudeku day! I'm so happy to be part of this fandom and all the wonderful content creators out there, so here's my little contribution, enjoy! I wrote it super fast so sorry for any mistake or typo!

Also, the title is a song I love, please check it out, it inspired the whole thing!

Izuku wakes up to the sight of his bedroom ceiling, body aching and mind restless. He’s no longer wearing his hero suit, except for the undershirt and his pants, everything else is gone. Slowly, the yells of the crowd infiltrate his thoughts and he wishes to run away, to go to where he can’t hurt anyone he cares about.

He has to leave. He is being selfish. Izuku props himself up on his elbows.

“That’s the face of a rabbit ready to bolt,” the gruff voice startles him, and he turns to see Kacchan sitting on his desk, frowning. It adds up that they wouldn't leave him without someone standing guard.

Kacchan has changed out of his hero suit, and a dark grey long sleeved t-shirt hides the bandages on his shoulder and stomach, but Izuku is keenly aware of the wounds he was sporting as he flew around trying to keep him from leaving. By the end, his childhood friend was bleeding through them. That was Izuku’s fault; both Kacchan reopening his injuries and the fact that he has them in the first place.

“Kacchan, I'm so-“

“Save it, nerd,” he abandons the desk chair and shuffles closer.

Izuku takes him in; after weeks of agonizing over the state in which he left Kacchan, seeing him do a perfect arch in the air and stop a villain with a precise AP Shot, filled him with a relief so strong, it paralyzed him, and he was only able to stare in awe.

During the following fight, if Izuku can call it that when it was against his friends, Kacchan was everywhere; coordinating different maneuvers, and he even had a new move. Izuku told his friends they couldn’t keep up, and he remembers vaguely that he apologized, because in reality they’re miles ahead of him.

Still, nobody is like Kacchan: certain and absolute, pure will held together by his convictions. He never backs down, and he never gives up, only marches forward. Izuku never stood a chance against him, in more than one way.

Kacchan kneels by the bed, putting an elbow on the bed, close to his hips, and lazily resting his head on his hand.

“Kacchan, I can’t stay here,” he mumbles, trying to convey all his inner turmoil. He wants to stay, he is so tired and scared, but he will not risk anyone for his sake.

Kacchan frowns in response.

“You can, and you will, dumbass,” he states, surprising him by clutching his forearm. “I’m not chasing your sorry ass around anymore.”

“Then let me go,” Izuku turns his arm, grabbing him as well.

“You’re not going anywhere, Izuku.”

The name travels through his body, lighting him up on the inside, coursing through him with the violence of the first time he used One For All, equally exhilarating and terrifying.

It all comes back to him; the rain, his words, his bow, Izuku collapsing and Kacchan appearing in time to support him.

Izuku.

“You apologized,” he whispers, tears coming to his eyes. “You said all those things in front of the whole class.”

“I had to, asshole, you left before I could tell you in private,” he doesn’t look embarrassed or regretful. Kacchan doesn’t shy away from his decisions once he makes up his mind. “Only a shitty letter for explanation and that was it.” He shakes his head. “You didn’t even let me go with you, idiot.”

“You’re still dealing with the outcome of the last time I let you come with me.” The tears are running freely down his cheeks. “I had to watch how he almost took you away from me.” He scrubs his eyes furiously with his free hand, not letting go of Kacchan. “I can’t allow more people to suffer because of me.” He’s on his way to a full on breakdown, struggling to get air in his lungs, and blood roaring in his ears, the noises muffled.

Suddenly, Kacchan is hovering over him, shoving his shoulder firmly.

“Hey, Deku, scoot over,” Izuku only glances at him through his crying, baffled. “Give me some room to lay down, like when we were kids.” He’s already in the process of climbing on the bed, and Izuku manages to slide his body closer to the other end, grabbing the bed cover when the weight of his childhood friend laying down almost makes him roll over him. “Jesus Christ, you stink,” Kacchan complains.

“I know,” Izuku turns on his side, creating more space between them. Hygiene wasn’t that high on his list of priorities, not even eating or sleeping was, and he feels awful. He didn’t have the energy to shower before passing out.

“You smell like dirt and sweat.” Kacchan scrunches up his nose. “Worst of all, you reek of that goddamn martyr complex, and it pisses me off.” he turns too, and traps Izuku in his red gaze. “If you’re choosing to ignore all I said before, at least pay attention to the last part.” He’s not sugarcoating his words, he’s as brash as he always is. “We all want to fight, because we’re heroes and we want to protect everyone, including the fucking chosen one, whether you want us to or not. I’m not asking for your damn permission, and neither is any of the rest. So, you can either play nice and make it easy for us, or be a self-sacrificial idiot, making it all the more annoying. Your call.”

“I don’t know how to stop,” Izuku grimaces, reaching for him with a shaky hand, and awkwardly squeezes his arm. “I’m not ignoring all you said, Kacchan” he chooses to focus on that, gaze in his All Might covers. “I, I forgave you a long time ago, mostly because I wanted to focus on the good parts, so in a way I let go of it for me.” He forgets about his smell, and scoots closer, resting his forehead close to his shoulder. “But thank you, Katsuki.” He hasn’t said that name in ages, but that doesn’t come from any animosity on his part. Kacchan has always been and will always be Kacchan. Izuku feels him move as Kacchan places his chin on top of his matted curls, and they stay like that for a while, with their past laid to rest at last.

Kacchan speaks up first.

“Listen, Deku, everything is getting pretty fucking real,” he pauses for a moment. “Shit is really dangerous for any of us, but for you it is like a thousand times worse. Your ass is a fucking death magnet, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“One For All is a big responsibility, Kacchan, but it’s not yours.” He does his best to keep his voice low and soft, the weight of the legacy crushing him.

“The Hell is not!” Kacchan retorts vehemently. “You made it my deal the moment you told me!” Izuku winced. “What’s up with that? Wasn't that the biggest secret ever? Are you that much of a blabber mouth?”

Izuku clutches his arm harder.

“I wasn’t going to let you think I lied all those years.” He explains, and in a moment of bravery, he continues. “I’ve never been anything but honest with you, Kacchan.”

The anger in his voice disappears as fast as it came.

“I know that, idiot.” His bigger hand finds Izuku’s hip. “One for All is your responsibility, but you are mine.” Izuku is pretty sure he stops breathing. “Since we were fucking four years old, and you were this quirkless little shit that wouldn’t quit chasing after me, no matter how much I pushed you away.” Kacchan scoffs and his breath tickles him. “Well, congrats, dumbass, now you have me and I’m not going anywhere.” His heart flies to his throat and doesn’t let any word come out. Kacchan growls, clearly bothered by his silence. “All for One VS One For All is the fucking shit show for the ages, and of course you, Deku of all people, have to be right in the middle of that crap.” He talks through clenched teeth, and Izuku longs to soothe him, but there’s nothing he can say to fix the situation. “All those who fell against that fucking maniac and now you have to-” Kacchan chokes up, and punches Izuku on the arm. “Whatever, there's nothing I can do for those nobodies that came before you, but you have an advantage over them.”

“What’s that?” He whispers in a small voice, not believing he is having this conversation in bed with his childhood friend.

“You have me,” Kacchan utters, and Izuku feels like he hit him with an explosion, sweeping his feet from under him. “Just let me set something straight, Deku, I’m not going to be your fucking sidekick, you hear me? You watch my back and I watch yours. I don’t trust anyone to keep up with you.”

I don’t trust anyone else to protect you.

“Kacchan-”

“You deal with this crap once and for fucking all, Deku, and we come up on top.” Kacchan declares, Izuku can hear the smirk in his words, and he has to smile back. “I don’t settle for anything but the best, and taking down fucking evil incarnated, I’m in, Deku, I’m all in.” He disentangles them, leaning back with a vulnerable expression, and offers his hand for Izuku to clasp. “What do you say?”

Izuku wants to say no, push him away from danger and lock him somewhere where he is going to be safe, but he knows Kacchan. He is determined, stubborn to a fault, and braver than anyone he has met. If he sets his mind on protecting Izuku, nothing is going to stop Kacchan, not even him.

That’s why Izuku loves him like he does.

In this space, with just the two of them, Izuku can be honest with himself: He is scared, and he has been for a while.

Scared of not living up to All Might’s hopes.

Scared of never mastering this power.

Scared of letting down all the people that gave up their lives to take down All For One.

Scared of being the wrong choice.

At the end of the day, Midoriya Izuku is terrified of not being enough.

In the midst of all the fear and doubt, he sees Kacchan; the person Izuku admires the most, the hero he has chased since he was four years old, and the driving force behind his progress. Kacchan, who knows all of him, and understands him because he sees Izuku for who he is, all the good and bad parts.

His Kacchan, who is now offering to help him and ease his burden, risking his dream, his precious life in the process, to stay close to Izuku and protect him.

A part of him, the one that imitates All Might, is screaming at him that he has to reject the support, to do it on his own. He should hold the weight of the legacy by himself. However, the other part of him, the one that believes Kacchan is what victory looks like, tells him he isn’t All Might and he doesn’t have to be.

He is Midoriya Izuku, and he is allowed to live his life and fight his battles on his terms, just as Kacchan does.

He clasps his hand, and Kacchan smiles, without a trace of mockery or anger, just plain happiness and relief lifting the corners of his mouth. Izuku hasn't seen him smile like that in years, and he needs to say something. He means to say yes to his offer, maybe thank him, but what comes out instead is:

“I love you.”

The punched out gasp that Kacchan lets out shocks Izuku more than his confession does. He can’t believe the words he has hidden for so long in his heart escaped that easily. More shocking is the fact that he doesn’t want to take it back. Even if he is scared of many things, Kacchan isn’t one of them. Yes, Kacchan frustrates him, he worries him, and makes him nervous, but Izuku is not scared of him, never has been. He can die any day now, any of them can, and he is done with silencing his feelings.

Kacchan is not screaming or scowling, neither he is leaping out of the bed and running away from him, so Izuku would say he is mostly stunned, although he doesn’t see why. His feelings for him are a key part of the person he is. Izuku admires him, cares for him.

Izuku loves him.

“Do you mean it?” The question seems to pain him. He hasn’t released his hand.

“Yes, Kacchan.” Izuku is not hiding it, not anymore.

“After everything?”

The words strike his heart and cut deeply. Izuku doesn’t hold any grudge or resentment, and he can’t tolerate the idea of Kacchan thinking he can feel something for him despite their past.

“Because of everything, Kacchan,” Izuku replies, touching their joined hands with his forehead, shying from the red eyes. “The past doesn’t disappear, but that’s not our present, and definitely not our future.” He takes a deep breath to calm his heart. “You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t say it to get an answer.”

“Deku, you can do so much better,” Kacchan says, bluntly.

Izuku doesn't let the obvious rejection deter him from speaking with the truth.

“I don’t see how,” he stares at him, mustering a wonky smile. “You are you, Kacchan; you’re brave, honest, loyal, brilliant, and hardworking.” The words spill without filter, and he drinks the sight of his pale skin blushing. “It’s not about doing better, just who I choose, because when it comes down to it, I chose you a long time ago, Kacchan.”

Kacchan tips his head up, the blond strands cloaking his eyes. Izuku refuses to regret coming clean about his feelings, but as the silence grows between them, he starts to fidget. Little by little, he realizes the true weight of his confession, and the bridges he might be burning.

“This doesn’t have to change anything, Kacchan.”

“It changes everything, Deku,” he replies, not missing a beat.

Izuku curses his luck; it was just like him to confess his love right when Kacchan finally came back to him, something Izuku hadn’t dreamt in his wildest dreams. Dealing with these feelings much longer, when they are so powerful and consuming is not possible. Still, he should have tried, for the sake of their friendship.

A callous finger touches his chin, breaking his spiral of thoughts, and lifts his face. The fiery eyes are wide and defenseless, embers instead of the wild inferno Izuku expected.

The first touch of chapped lips is an awakening, and his first kiss is over before he can finish tasting it.

Kacchan leans back, and for the second time in his life, Izuku’s mind goes blank and his body moves on its own, chasing after him. Their second kiss is messy, they don’t have any experience, but Izuku is lost to it. He tries to commit to memory every brush of their lips and ragged gasps, how soft is his blond hair, and the feeling of fingers sinking in his curls, guiding the kiss.

They break apart, but stay close.

"You didn’t have to do that, Kacchan,” he says against his mouth.

“I never do shit I don’t want to do, Deku.”

Izuku grabs him again, bunching up his t-shirt, so full of love that he fears he is going to float away if he doesn’t get a firm grip.

“Deku, I-“ his voice quivers and Izuku kisses him again, softly and reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Kacchan, you don’t have to say anything yet.” Izuku told him because he wanted him to know, but he has had years to come to terms with it. He’s not expecting Kacchan to figure everything out right now.

“You better stick around after that, you damn nerd,” he touches their foreheads together. “Or take me with you. Two options, I’m magnanimous like that.”

Izuku giggles, the sound so foreign after the past weeks.

“Okay, Kacchan, for that I’ll stick around.”

“Or you’ll take me with you.”

Izuku is still terrified of anything happening to him, but he trusts him the most.

“I’ll stick around or take you with me,” he promises, and Kacchan nods satisfied, wrapping Izuku in his arms and hugging him closer. “I thought you said I stink.”

“You fucking do,” Kacchan says immediately. “When I think about this, the first thing that is going to pop into my mind is that my first kiss smelled like a wet dog.”

Izuku laughs until he cries, and Kacchan joins him.

At one point, his back is to Kacchan, and he’s playing with his hands. Izuku’s so relaxed his eyes are drifting close, sleep taking over.

“Hey, Deku,”

“Yes, Kacchan?” he says drowsily.

“You have magnificent taste.”

Izuku snorts, pulling his arm tighter around him.

“I’m going to sleep now,” he murmurs, and he jumps when Kacchan buries his face on the crook of his neck. “Wake me up if something happens.”

“You can trust me, Deku, nobody is going to pass through me.”

Izuku believes him with his entire heart, but he still chooses to only think and not say what crosses his mind before falling asleep in his arms:

I would die before letting anything happen to you.

#bakudeku #bkdk #katsudeku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bnha 322 #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #happy bakudeku day guys!

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margoshansons · 2 years

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Omg. You’re right. Edwina should have lost it on Anthony for putting her in this situation and she or Kate should have been angry with him for putting Kate in the situation too. Of the three of them, Anthony had the most power and options. Women had to marry or work, and as much as they acted like Kate had the option to be free, her independent life wasn’t going to be easy. Edwina needed to marry to be provided for, so there were realities the Sharmas had to deal with that weren’t concerns for a wealthy, titled, man.

I’ll always be angry that Kate suffered throughout her season and then got yelled at because she (in a misguided way) tried to put Edwina first.

I forgive Anthony because he was so deeply traumatized and his decisions were a direct result of that, but acting like Kate was the bad guy and ignoring Anthony’s culpability upsets me. CVD didn’t treat the Sharmas well and I’ll always be angry.

You're 100% correct anon and I wish more people had this take because a lot of the fandom seems to be firmly on either Edwina's side or Kate's side when really we should all be joining together to fight against the real issue here: Violent Misogyny (and Anthony Bridgerton's shitty shitty shitty behavior)

I understand how trauma can affect someone, believe me, I know all too well what Anthony AND Kate are both feeling, but Anthony's trauma shouldn't excuse his shitty behavior and I don't even think we see him apologize? To Edwina or Kate (although the latter might not be true I need to rewatch). Instead, the narrative simply pushes the idea that Anthony was so tortured with Edwina he's finally happy to be rid of her (which is...not the move CVD).

He should've been GROVELING to the Sharma girls after the failed wedding and instead the narrative forgives him along with Kate AND Edwina which...makes no goddamn sense seeing as he a) openly admitted to not wanting to find love when Edwina did, b) played with Kate's feelings and then GASLIT her about them, c) proposed to the woman he loved's sister because Daphne simply mentioned that he MIGHT be in love with Kate, d) TOLD HIS FIANCE'S SISTER THAT HE WOULD THINK ABOUT CHEATING ON EDWINA WITH HER UNTIL HE FINALLY SNAPPED AND DID IT, e) Proceeded to call Kate, Edwina's closest and only family outside of Mary, "a thorn in the blossoming flower of their lives" and then immediately ran to go eyefuck her in the closet, f) Kissed his fiancé's sister IN THEIR WEDDING CHAPEL, g) later tried to backtrack on his gaslighting and got upset with Kate called him out on it, h) never fucking apologized.

I've seen people compare Anthony to Mr. Darcy (which is a personal affront to me) but while Darcy actually reflects on the hurt he caused Lizzie AND her sister, Anthony never does, and instead the narrative rewards him for his bad behavior while pitting two women of color, two sisters, against each other. Anthony goes back and forth between Kate and Edwina so much during this season, it's no wonder Kate thought they could simply get rid of these feelings.

People liken this season to Pride and Prejudice because of the enemies to lovers vibe, but to me Anthony's story has always felt like Sense and Sensibility. Two souls sisters, both who wish to find love, one who is used to shoving her more romantic notions under the table to support her family and one who embraces the idea of love as grand gestures and poetry, who disagree with each other as those ideas come into conflict but never truly abandon or get angry with one another.

But because they never touched on Kate's trauma or the hefty expectations placed upon Edwina, both Edwina's breakdown and Kate's actions felt not only hollow, but contrived. It wasn't earned in any capacity and only served to turn people against each sister instead of realizing that this is a story about sisters who will stick by each other through anything. (And I will never forgive CVD for that half-sister line. Even if you're that angry with your sibling, once you see how that hurts them, you retract that shit immediately and apologize.)

CVD fucked over the Sharmas the minute he made Kate hide the Sheffield fortune deal from Mary and Edwina, because we had the chance to see them be a real family, a healthy family (which is quite frankly rare in the Bridgerton series) and he took it all away in favor of cheap drama and a love triangle.

And god, I would love to talk about the different ways women were forced to make their own living and how futile everything outside of marriage was for a lady but I'll just point you to Amy March's speech from Greta Gerwig's Little Women instead cause this is already quite long haha!

(also if you wanna read a fic about Edwina tearing into Anthony after the wedding, check out my fic give me love!)

#bridgerton #Anthony bridgerton #Kate sharma #edwina sharma #Please don't take this as me disliking Anthony he's one of my favorite romantic heroes #but he's such a dick in both TVWLM and The tv show #and people need to recognize that and stop making either Kate or Edwina the right one in this situation #there is no right one #there's only Anthony and how wrong he was for treating both sharma girls like shit

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tanzmajor · 2 years

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So… I’m not quite sure what you write, like if you do sadder stuff or not but I came up with this idea bc I’m currently going thru a loss (she took her life) and otto and Norman are two of my comfort characters, I was wondering if you could maybe do a lil fic with reader and otto and/or Norman where they comfort the reader because they/she is dealing with said loss? I completely understand if you won’t want to as it is sad, but if you do, I would honestly find some comfort in it 🤍 xx

of course! i hope this helps you a little bit. xx

fandom: marvel

pairing: otto octavius/reader (not specific, can be read as romantic or platonic)

warnings: death of a loved one, mentions of a parents passing, angst

word count: 667 words

It feels odd to go back into work.

The lab feels so much more empty now – without your friend by your side. It’s been quieter – the air in the lab uncanny to the touch. You were still determined on finishing your work, of course – but you couldn’t help but notice the decline of speed in your coding.

You couldn’t give yourself a break. You didn’t want that. The thought of asking for a few vacation days made you feel more uneasy the more you thought about it – alone in your apartment, with no one to call.

No thank you. You’d rather have the lab eat you whole.

“Y/N? What are you still doing here?”

You look up from your hunched over position at your desk. The difference between the lighting from your monitor and the usual fluorescent lamps that illuminated your place of work making you furrow your brows – eyes straining as you look for the source of the voice.

“Dr. Octavius? What are you still doing here?”

It was a little past midnight, so the question was redundant. You knew why he was here – you were on his team and this was his lab. But for some reason you didn’t think about that in this moment. It just didn’t register in your mind. You take your glasses and take them off of your face, and rub the bridge of your nose.

Octavius closes the door behind him. He crosses the room to take a look what you were doing. He then places a hand on your shoulder to make you shift your attention towards him – away from the troubles that the current state of code was giving you.

“Norman told me to not be so hard on you.”

He starts, and you tense up – which he notices. You were hoping that he would get the hint, to leave you alone with the topic – but unfortunately he had other plans. He takes the moment to grab a nearby chair for himself, to sit next to you, but at an arm’s length.

“How have you been dealing?”

You turn to him briefly, trying to look confident about what you’re about to say. You failed, and you know that you will always fail. He always has been able to read you like an open book.

You shouldn’t even try to lie to him.

“I’ve been doing alright. Really – don’t worry about me.”

You try, a smile on your face that speaks anything but honesty to him. He decides to play a long, the expression on his face is one that you’re familiar with – he’s thinking about what to say next. He had his way with words, but even sometimes, he had to dwell on them. Even if just for a brief moment.

“When I lost my mother, I was around your age.”

Now why did he have to say just that?

He leans an arm on the desk, and looks to the side, just so you’re not stuck with being watched.

“I felt like my entire world fell apart around me. She left a hole that nothing could fill or mend.”

It hit hard, right were you needed it, and you averted your eyes from his face. You were trying hard to not breakdown in front of your mentor, and he didn’t mention a word about it.

“She’s still there, you know? I will forever grieve her,”

He places a hand on your arm that’s leaning on your desk.

“I’ve gotten to accept that she’s no longer there. Some people can’t be replaced and that’s okay. You can learn how to live without their guiding hand.”

He smiles at you now.

“It helped that I had people around me that cared for me.”

A tear spills across your cheek now, and you wipe it away with the sleeve of your lab coat. You lean back into your chair, you expression falls and you meet his eyes again.

“I just hope you know you’re not alone. I’m there for you.”

#requests #tanzmajor speaks #doc ock x reader #otto octavius x reader

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fictionissocialinquiry · 3 years

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FISI’s Favourite Zutara Fics

A lil late for ZFAW’s Saturday prompt, sorry about that! Haven’t had any internet over the weekend. But better late than never!

I’m not gonna lie… a lot of these are angsty af. But I promise you they’re not gratuitous angst! They’re well written, beautiful stories that will make you feel like a better person for having read them. These are my favourite all time fics, ones I’ve read more than once and will continue to read (even though I’m taking a week break from fandom and fic).

Multi-Chaptered Fics

The Sparrowkeet Series by audreyii_fic

To be honest, this story’s summary doesn’t do it justice so I ain’t including it. Originally a one shot, Sparrowkeet is headcanon for me now. Move over canon, this is where it’s at. Audreyii_fic’s characterisation, world building, and writing is exquisite. It’s incredible. She manages to channel the same fun and whimsical energy from the show while allowing the characters to grow and develop to places I wish they had actually been taken.

This one is a fandom Must Read and one I return to regularly.

Clothe Me in Seasons, Dress Me in Snow by sadladybug

It is not the memorial she deserves, nor the one she would want. But it can't be helped. He owns no property in the other nations, and he needed to keep her close. Closer than she was in life, anyway.

Zuko's reflections on a life lived and a life that could have been.

This is one of the best written fics I’ve ever read. It’s tragic and deep and will hurt you in all the tender places but you would be doing yourself a favour if you read this. There’s a real bittersweet feeling to it and the love between them is just… urg, visceral.

Lovable by LadyCharity

Zuko knew that he could not save Azula. He could only try to forgive her. Fittingly enough, those two were one in the same.

I love stories that make Zutara their centerpiece but every now but then a story like this comes along. A story where their relationship builds almost incidentally because the plot and character development straight up hijack your emotions. I got so invested in this story. Zuko is amazingly well characterised and his complicated thoughts and feelings around his father and Azula are incredibly well written!

One Shots

Lunar Ephemerality by @formerlygoldilocks (goldilocks23)

After multiple failed attempts on his life and years of self-set expectations, Fire Lord Zuko is a shell of the man he used to be. But Katara won't turn her back on those who need her.

I really didn’t expect this to hit as hard as it did. This straight up snuck up on me, fly-kicked my feelings, and by the end I had written an 800 word comment that was too big for AO3 and I had to contact the author directly to send it to her. Awkward. I couldn’t help myself. The side to Katara we see here is so good, her empathy and love for her friends are one of the things I love seeing most in AtLA fanfic. I’m a sucker for Zuko having complete breakdowns and having to piece himself back together too. So sue me. I like it when they suffer a lil bit. The writing is absurdly good and I will be keeping an eye out for any new stories by goldilocks23!

31 Minutes by @ifyouwereamelodymeg

It's quite astounding, really, how quickly she's learned to translate him. They've spent a grand total of zero time together outside of training, and he's hardly big on chat so she knows next to nothing about his life.

But she knows him, probably better than she knows anyone at the moment – with every tap of his fingers, every crook of his lips, every turn in his voice, he just...

He makes sense to her. It's weird.

I’m a sucker for fic writers playing with style to make the story pop and boyo does this fic deliver. This is one of the rare times that I’ve been dumbstruck at the end of a story— I just couldn’t accept the ending. Because I’m a sucker for pain, (and this story will bring The Pain) I loved it. The ease of Zuko and Katara’s growing relationship in this bowls you over, it’s absolutely beautiful and you find yourself nodding along emphatically when Zuko calls himself an idiot for waiting… “Life’s short, kids, live each moment as though it could be your last,” says this fic as it pulls my heart out and dropkicks it off a cliff.

i count to five (and life passes by) by @markedmage

Five heartbeats.

I still haven’t forgiven Mage for this one. I think it’s the best thing she’s written to date! I mean, tragic and painful and heart-rending but holy shit is it powerful <3

The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by @thewhiitelotus

Spook af. Spook (horror) is real hard to do well but thewhiitelotus is coming for your goosebumps and those shivers down your spine. She has a way of balancing beautiful, evocative imagery with action (in this and other stories of her) that just keeps you reading!

Calloused by @rideboldlyride

Iroh hadn’t been able to watch. The pure horror of a man - a father- burning their child for a slight infraction... He couldn’t do anything to stop it, but he will stop his brother from destroying entirely the kind boy he knew Zuko could be.

This is a painfully underappreciated fic for how great the characterisation is. I know we in the zutara fandom tend to not read stories that aren’t Zuko/Katara centric as often but do yourself the favour of reading this (or listening to it: RideBoldlyRide has done us the gift of recording a podfic for this and it’s stupidly *good*). This story is Iroh confronting Ozai just after he burns Zuko’s face and it kicks.

four days and three nights by @hinaoyamas (lettersfromnowhere)

Zuko discovers firsthand that nothing is more fleeting than happiness, or more enduring than memory.

Do you like reading stories with a distant, omniscient narrator? The kind that read like a myth from the ancient world? Welp, hit the hyperlink, friend, cause this one’s for you. Not only is the writing exquisite but the characterisation and painful inevitability of the plot is grade A.

For the Fire Nation by tullyblue12

He falls in love with her for his country before he falls in love with her for himself. A Zuko/Katara AU that explores how love and duty aren’t always mutually exclusive.

There are about 40,000 exquisite lines in this story but here is just one of my favourites: “He falls in love with her for his country first. That’s what his people never understand.” This fic says a lot with so few words, which is something I really look up to! In 2,800 words, tullyblue12 does what some 100,000k fics cant: They make you feel.

Guide Me Home by Rashaka

To sleep, perchance to dream. Katara and Zuko find a friendship they never expected in a place that seemed impossible.

This is a one shot I will forever wish for a continuation of. The setup is just… so juicy. There’s a real sorrowful innocence to this story that the unique short, dialogue only scenes really punch home. I know some people don’t like dialogue only fics but when done well like in this one, it leaves you with the impression of something deeper than a 1,185 word fic has any right to!

Other Favourites!

Hopeless by tullyblue12 — Kids grow up fast when a cruel world awaits them. In times of hopelessness, Katara and Zuko grow together. In times of separation, they hope to see each other again.

Speechless by goldilocks23 — Zuko has a medical condition. Or: Zuko speaks in haiku at inappropriate times.

Don’t Follow Me Down by eleventy7 — Katara is the dread queen of the underworld, ruler of the dead, destined to reign her cold kingdom alone. Until a sun god catches her eye. A Hades/Persephone retelling with incredible writing.

I Don't Speak Meow Language by @botherkupo (Boogum) — In which Zuko adopts a cat and Katara just wonders what spirits she pissed off to deserve this fate.

I have the privilege of being friends with some of these authors (they know who they are) and am in near daily awe and gratitude for the works of free fiction they provide us, the fandom. And not just any old stories: Guys... Really good ones!! Can I ask that if you go check out these fics, can you just drop a kudos or a comment their way? If you’re feeling shy just copy and paste this into the comments box anonymously: “WOW! Loved this! Thank you so much for writing it!”

I know it would mean the world to this talented bunch <3

#ZFAW #Fic Rec #favourite zutara fanfics of all time #zutara #atla

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messyspacespades · 2 years

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Cuddling Will Protect Me From the Monsters!

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Category: M/M Fandoms: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime Relationship: Breakdown/Knock Out Characters: Breakdown/Knock Out Additional Tags: kobd - Freeform, Fluff, Oneshot, Cuddling, just pure fluff, They're in love and nobody can tell me otherwise, God Hasbro just let them be in love! Movie Night Language: English Posted: 2021-02-09

"Knock Out and Breakdown decide to watch a movie. Breakdown wonders if it was a good idea to let Knock Out pick."

Decided to post some of my ao3 fics here for.... reasons. I’m posting my older fics and oneshots to see how they’re received before posting stuff like my feralscream fic. I had to change a word in this version bc originally this was posted BEFORE I knew said word was bad. Just a word of warning before u click on the link.

Mechs, when first meeting Knock Out and Breakdown, would often say that Breakdown was the fearless one while Knock Out was more cowardly. Maybe it was because Breakdown seemed like a brick wall when compared to Knock Out, maybe it was because of Knock Outs more… flighty tendencies. Whatever the reason, Breakdown could understand why they would think such things, but at the same time, the large blue mech knew how very, very wrong they were! While Breakdown may have been a former Wreaker, there was a big difference between fearlessly whacking someone with a 20-ton hammer in battle, and practically everything else. Breakdown, sometimes, wondered if he just lacked self-preservation instincts and wasn’t actually fearless. However, the current situation made him think the opposite.

They were watching a human horror film, their shared hab completely dark except for the almost-blinding light coming from the console screen. The two grounders where cuddling on the berth, opposite the screen, and Breakdown was clinging to the smaller red racer for dear life.

‘I’m pretty sure Knock Out’s the one that’s fearless!’ Breakdown thought, clinging to his conjux a little tighter. He was absolutely **terrified **right now.

Knock Out, meanwhile, was having a great time. He was munching on rust bunnies and watching the movie intently. He was, well, on the edge of his seat. Or on the edge of the berth. He found these slasher films, especially the ones that were considered “older” by human standards, to be quite cheesy. Not at all scary. He had certainly seen and experienced far more horrifying things during his time as the Decepticon CMO. He let out a little silent, breathy chuckle as Breakdown started hugging him tighter, patting one of his arms gently. It was one of those scenes where it was all quiet, yet you could tell the character wasn’t alone in the building. There were tense, yet quiet, strings playing, a low droning sound for added suspense and anxiety, thrill and fear. Knock Out had to admit it wasn’t that bad of a scene.

When the character heard a strange noise down the hall, and started walking towards it, Breakdown hugged Knock Out a bit too hard. “Ohhhhhhh no, you aft! Don’t be stupid! Don’t go in there! Oh Primus, they’re fragging dead!” He exclaimed, as Knock Out wheezed and pushed a little bit on the bigger bot’s chest.

“Breakie- ow- You’re kind of crushing me here!” Knock Out complained gently with a tense smile. Breakdown relaxed his hold a little bit, allowing Knock Out to not be in pain.

“Sorry…” Breakdown replied sheepishly. Knock Out just gave him another pat on the arm.

“I’m just surprised that you’re so scared of this. I mean- come on! It’s a cheesy human horror film! Nothing about this is scary!”

“How- Knock Out, this is terrifying!”

Knock Out actually snorted at that. “We’ve been at war for millions of years, seen so many things, and you’re scared of a human in a weird looking mask with a knife?” He ribbed with a smile.

“I- Glowworm, that human is a convicted murderer that escaped from a MENTAL HOSPITAL! Of course I’m scared!”

Knock Out had to hold back a snort. “This… This isn’t real Breakdown! It’s just fictional!”

“Still doesn’t mean I can’t be scared! What happens if this was real? I could still be hurt, even if it just a human!”

Knock Out let out a gentle laugh. “Like I would let anyone hurt you.” He purred, moving to sit in Breakdown’s lap, leaning against him as he munched on another rust bunny.

Breakdown smiled, opening his mouth to retort, when suddenly the murderer popped onto the screen with a awful noise. Knock Out shrieked loudly, dropping the bucket of rust bunnies as he latched onto Breakdown. His claws were latched onto Breakdown’s plating like his life depended on his ability to hold on. They sat in silence for a while, Knock Outs panicky invents beginning to slow down, before looking at each other. Their faceplates twisted in a very poor (and very futile) attempt to not smile, before one of them snorted. Then they started giggling. Then it turned into full-blown laughter. Breakdown didn’t know why they were laughing, they just both found it funny.

Knock Out wheezed. “Oh… oh man… that was… that was pretty dumb of me!” He smiled, wiping some coolant from his eyes, “I was poking… poking fun at you… for being scared…” it took him a while to continue because of how hard he was laughing, “and then I get scared from a fragging… a fragging JUMPSCARE!”

Breakdown could barely invent enough to talk. “Yeah… yeah… that was.. That was pretty… pretty dumb!” He grinned.

After a few more minutes of laughing, both mechs calmed down. Soon, they were cuddled up with each other, the bucket of rust bunnies (which was now all over the floor) forgotten. Knock Out was resting his head against Breakdown’s chest, listening to his spark beat.

“Hey, Breakie?”

“Yeah?”

“I just want you to know… if something like this did ever happen… I would protect you. I wouldn’t let… let the crazed psychopath,” he couldn’t help but smile at that, as the mental image was a bit funny, “ hurt you in any way…”

Breakdown sat in silence for a little bit, before leaning his helm against Knock Out’s. “I would too, Glowworm, I would too.”

#maccadams #maccadam #transformers prime #tfp knock out #tfp breakdown #transformers #tfp knockout #knock out #knockout #breakdown #KOBD #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #messywrites #tfp kobd #transformers fanfic #writeblr #Cuddling Will Protect Me From The Monsters

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lesbianlotties · 3 years

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Journeys end in lovers meeting - Sam/Deena - Fear Street x Bly Manor AU - Chapter 2

Chapters: 2/10 Fandom: Fear Street Trilogy (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Samantha "Sam" Fraser/Deena Johnson, Sarah Fier/Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Christine "Ziggy" Berman/Nick Goode, Samantha "Sam" Fraser & Deena Johnson Characters: Samantha "Sam" Fraser (Fear Street), Deena Johnson, Kate Schmidt (Fear Street), Simon Kalivoda, Josh Johnson (Fear Street), Constance (Fear Street Part 3: 1666), Christine "Ziggy" Berman, Nick Goode (Fear Street), Alice (Fear Street Part 2: 1978), Sarah Fier (Fear Street), Hannah Miller (Fear Street), Solomon Goode (Fear Street) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, The Haunting of Bly Manor AU, Not Canon Compliant, Haunted Houses, Ghosts, Character Death, Minor Character Death, Canon Lesbian Relationship, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Au Pair Sam, Gardener Deena, Housekeeper Kate, Cook Simon, Josh and Constance as troubled kids, Ziggy and Nick in an unhealthy relationship, minor Cindy/Alice, Martin cameos, special appearances of all the Shadyside killers as ghosts, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, The Rest Is Confetti Summary:

The year is 1994. Samantha Fraser recently moved to Shadyside, and she desperately needs a job that will help her leave her troubled past behind. She starts working as au pair at Shadyside Manor, where she is not the only one tortured by ghosts. Grief, regrets, guilt, innocent victims, and an ancient curse. At the center of all of it... love.

Chapter 2:

Sam hadn’t been kidding when she said she would deal with the kids by herself. About nine years as a teacher were worth it. She knew exactly how to balance patience and authority, and exactly when to crack a smile. It wasn’t time for smiles though. It was time to let the kids of Shadyside manor know that their days of self-government were over. Sam was brought there to bring them an education, and that included rules, discipline, and consequences to their actions.

So, if they locked her in a closet, there would have to be a sort of punishment. If they were responsible for the muddy footprints that appeared on the staircase of the house, there would also be a punishment. Nothing too severe, of course. Sam knew even the word punishment seemed too hard for kids. But she knew this would be her only chance at asserting her position in that place.

That was how, after breakfast, Sam found herself with nothing to do while Josh and Constance worked on cleaning up the stairs. Luckily, she was quickly approached by two of her coworkers.

“So, since you have put the kids to do my work,” Kate said. “Why don’t you come hang us for a bit?”

Simon pulled out one of the chairs from the table and with a flourish offered it to Sam, “Miss Fraser, would you care to join us for a mid-morning shit-talking session?”

“Oh, sure,” Sam chuckled nervously and accepted the seat. “And you can just call me Sam.” She couldn’t help repeating herself. She didn’t exactly have good memories attached to her name. She only ever wished to be just Sam.

“Don’t creep her out, please,” Kate told her friend and two of them took a seat as well. “So, Sam, what do you think of the house so far? And the kids?”

The new au pair took her time to answer. “The house is… big. It’s uh, I mean, sure, it looks scary. But once inside, it doesn’t feel as bad as the rumors make it out to be, you know?”

Kate nodded firmly, seemingly satisfied with that answer. Simon grinned playfully and leaned forward on the table as if about to discuss a secret, “You don’t have haunted houses in Sunnyvale?”

Sam chuckled bitterly at that. Apparently, it wasn’t a secret for anyone the place she came from. If only they knew the full story. “No we don’t,” she looked down and shook her head. “Sunnyvale has its different types of hauntings though.”

“What about the kids?” Kate blurted out.

“The Sunnyvale kids?”

“What? No! Constance and Josh,” Kate scoffed, and sent an unimpressed look in Sam's way.

“Oh, right,” Sam laughed nervously. She desperately hoped she wasn’t blushing in embarrassment. Kate was staring at her very intently, studying her. But it was, somehow, not getting exactly the effect she was hoping for in Sam. Because yes, maybe Sam was deeply intimidated. But she could also tell that Kate’s harshness came from a place of being protective of the kids and caring about them. “They seem great, really,” Sam eventually replied. “Constance is bold and Josh is an introvert, but I’ve dealt with kids like that my entire life. I’m going to try my best with them though, that’s for sure. I just… have to get to know them.”

At that moment, Kate and Simon exchanged a look. Sam had no doubt it was true that those two had been best friends for a long time. It seemed like a really important conversation was silently happening between them. Finally, Simon spoke up.

“No, you haven’t worked with kids like them,” he replied, suddenly very careful with his words. “No offense, you know? But, bold and introverted mean different things in Sunnyvale and Shadyside. Here they mean something more along the lines of survivor and traumatized.”

A not completely discreet cough from Kate got him to stop talking. “No, I know, I’m sorry,” Sam was quick to apologize. They weren’t completely wrong. “I know, it’s just, well… I don’t know anything… I mean, what, uh, why…” She ended with a sigh and slumping in her chair, knowing there was no right way to ask the questions she had in mind.

“Constance’s parents died two years ago,” Kate said. She was speaking almost in whispers, but it nearly startled Sam, who didn’t think she’d get any sort of explanation. Afterward, she would hope she hadn’t. “Cindy Berman and husband. Plane crashed. Then, last year… her aunt. Christine killed herself here on the property. Really gives you some perspective into all the fucking rumors, doesn’t it?”

Afterward, Sam was beyond speechless. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t find a thing to say. That’s when Simon joined in.

“And Josh, he… uh, well, he is not one of the Bermans,” Simon was struggling to explain. “Look, he has his own fucked up past, okay? But I can’t tell you more because Deena would totally kick my ass. It’s their story to tell, you know? The past is the past anyway.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. At least, she hoped she appeared thoughtful. Not too thoughtful though. Just thoughtful enough for someone that has perfectly normal reactions to hearing the name of a very particular co-worker. That momentary panic at least gave her an idea of how to reply to the tough conversation. A change of subject.

“What about you guys?” Sam asked. “How did you end up working at the manor?”

Instantly, Kate seemed to relax. “I just like bossing people around,” she grinned, earning laughter from the other two. “My aunt used to work here. Alice pays well enough. And if you don’t get scared easily, it’s not a bad place to live in.”

Sam smiled at her and then looked at Simon, noticing how he didn’t look half as relaxed as Kate this time. “What can I say?” he smiled in a way that kept a lot hidden. “It pays the bills. It’s close to home. And I fucking love food.”

The au pair decided it wasn’t time to push for more information. Instead, in that brief moment of silence, she turned her head to look through the door at Josh and Constance working on the stairs. They were doing well, but their day was far from over. From her point of view, she had no way of seeing the man standing on the other side of the stairs. Tommy Slater had been standing there for longer than he could remember. He was still wearing his red flannel shirt, still holding on to his axe, still looking impossibly sad, cold, and lonely.

As she made her way to the greenhouse, Sam tried to convince herself she wasn’t nervous at all. She had no reason to be anxious at all. Deena Johnson was another one of her coworkers. Sure, maybe she pulled Sam out of a pretty embarrassing breakdown the previous night. Yes, maybe she had an incredible smile that almost painfully reminded Sam of feelings she had spent a lifetime running from. But… she reached the greenhouse before coming up with a reason not to be on edge.

“Hi?” she called out, tentatively stepping inside the place.

“Over here,” a voice replied from the back of the greenhouse. A voice that was like no other Sam had ever heard.

“Um, hi, Deena,” Sam approached her slowly. “It’s me, uh, Sam.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Deena replied, a small smile on her lips. She stood up from the ground, where she had been kneeling down to work on one of the multiple plants that filled this space. “What do you have there?” Deena asked, nodding toward the plate Sam was holding in her hand.

Sam looked down, as if she had forgotten what it was she was carrying. “Simon,” she blurted out.

“Oh. He looks a little bit different than I remember.”

That made Sam laugh nervously. “I mean, it’s your breakfast,” Sam said. “You didn’t come down for breakfast and Simon asked me to bring it to you.”

Deena nodded slowly, and accepted the plate from Sam’s hands. Then she moved to one of the two chairs at the back of the greenhouse and sat down, inspecting her breakfast.

Afterward, Sam might chastise herself for it, but at the moment she couldn’t help but blurt out, “You’re welcome.”

That earned her an annoyed sigh from the gardener. “Listen, you don’t have to do this,” Deena said.

“Do what?” Sam wondered, taking a seat on the spare chair.

“Play nice with us, with me,” Deena explained, nearly whispering the last part.

“I…” Sam stuttered, she was definitely taken off guard. “Well, we are coworkers now, we live under the same roof, I think-”

“I think you have no idea what you got yourself into. This place, and everyone here, is doomed,” Deena interrupted her. “You’re Sunnyvale, we are Shadyside trash. I know your type. I only hope you’ll run away before the kids get attached to you.”

For a moment, all Sam could do was stare, frown silently at Deena, as the other woman nonchalantly got started on her breakfast, as if she hadn’t just put Sam’s entire mood upside down. It was interesting though, the way Deena chose not to mention the fact that she skipped breakfast just to avoid a set of blue eyes that were too dangerously pretty to wander into Shadyside.

Sam jumped out of her seat, and took a deep breath to reign in her feelings. “You don’t know me at all,” was all she said before walking out of the greenhouse.

The rest of the morning passed by in a blur of hard work, mostly for the kids. Surprisingly though, at one point they stopped looking so bothered about it. Josh wasn’t the kind to complain out loud, but Sam noticed from the way his shoulders relaxed and his lips almost started to smile. Constance, on the other hand, was pretty content complaining as much as possible, but she seemed happier doing something new, entertaining, and different from studying. They especially seemed to enjoy working outside.

Sam had wanted to avoid the unkind gardener as much as possible, but she had already planned this, so there was no turning back. This was part of the kids’ education, hard work, and Sam was proud of her methods. The one thing she wasn’t proud of was the way the gardener was making her feel. Her plan to avoid Deena had backfired. Deena, Kate, and Simon were lounging in the garden, while Sam guided Josh and Constance on their work.

As hard as she tried, Sam couldn’t stop herself from second-guessing what her new coworkers were talking about. Were they talking about her? Good things? Did Kate and Simon feel the same way as Deena? Were they criticizing her? Those smiles on their faces, was that a good or bad sign? Deena’s posture on that chair, the way she held a cigarette, played with the delicate chain hanging from her neck, teased her young brother, locked eyes with Sam precisely once… did it mean anything at all?

The rest of the morning went by easily. Sam dragged Josh and Constance back to the house to continue cleaning, and they had to comply. Tragic as it seemed, they couldn’t complain to anybody. Kate, Simon, Deena, even Alice in the safety of her own home, they all would have supported Sam’s teaching methods at best, would’ve laughed in their faces at worst.

Things couldn’t be perfect though. Sam would scold herself for letting her guard down at all. She had been in one of the bedrooms, assisting Constance with cleaning the windows, when it happened. One second it was just a window, showing the green grounds around the property, nothing more. Then the next second, all Sam could see was his face. Dark. Just a shadow. Furious. Disgusted. Head tilted. Observing her. Unforgiving. Horribly familiar.

Sam let out a yelp of surprise and stumbled backward. She caught herself before falling down to the floor, but not before Constance saw her. At first, the girl chuckled, but she sounded somewhat genuine when she asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m- uh, I’m okay,” Sam replied, voice trembling. “Give me a minute.”

She was out of that room before hearing the girl’s reply. She couldn’t move fast enough, but her legs were trembling. She couldn’t shake that image of her mind. Her own particular ghost. The monster that she hadn’t been able to leave in Sunnyvale. Following her reflection everywhere she went.

Sam stumbled down the stairs and out of the house. She finally found refuge behind one of the big bushes on the sides of the entrance. A place where she could break down in peace. She couldn’t stop the tears, and she could hardly breathe, and she was so scared.

“Are you okay?”

The question makes Sam choke one of her sobs. Of all people that could have caught her at this moment…

“I get it,” Deena cautiously added, from a safe distance away. “I swear I had the same reaction after I met Constance.” She could barely see Sam, hiding behind the bush, but she guessed that privacy was exactly what the blonde wanted. “If Josh’s the problem though, just let me know. You aren’t allowed to, but I can totally kick his ass.” That earned her a tearful chuckle from Sam, which was a very good sign. “Just so you know though,” Deena added, “That’s usually my spot for having an emotional breakdown. Now I have to go to this other corner and there are spiders and shit in there, no privacy at all.”

This time, there was a genuine laugh coming from Sam. The tears had stopped, and she managed to find the strength to look over her shoulder, show her face to Deena and say, “Thank you.”

Deena softly shook her head, dismissing Sam’s need to thank her. “You’re doing better than most people could,” she said. Seeing Sam smile sadly, acknowledging her tear-streaked face, Deena insisted, “I mean it.”

There was a pause then. Sam opened her mouth, desperately wishing she could say something else. All she wanted was to ask Deena how she could be so kind and so cruel as if a switch was flipped inside her. But Sam feared that saying more than two words would make her cry again. Deena took that as her cue to go on with her day.

“Back to work then,” Deena said, starting to march back into the house. “Stay strong, Sunnyvale.”

Definitely done with her tears, Sam was having trouble holding back her smile. She tried to sneak another glance at the gardener, but Deena was gone, leaving behind only a pleasant warmth in Sam’s heart and a firm smile on her face.

Nine years of teaching had taught Sam a lot. She knew how to handle kids, that was for sure. The unruly ones, the proud ones, the ones that struggled, and the ones that shined brightly. Simon had been right when he said she had never worked with kids like Josh and Constance. Still, she was prepared to deal with Josh picking up spiders from the garden, and trying to scare her. She didn’t lose her ground even when Constance’s attitude sometimes made Sam feel like she was the teenager out of the two of them.

What she did that day wasn’t the worst Sam had to do for one of her students. Still, it was pretty awkward explaining to Deena how her younger brother had massacred the rose bushes to give the flowers to Sam.

When the two women arrived at the scene of the crime, it was a huge mess. Josh had picked a few roses for Sam and destroyed the rest. He must have been pretty aggressive to earn that small limp he had when he walked toward Sam a few minutes earlier.

The teenager fell to second place in the forefront of Sam’s mind though. She was slightly more preoccupied about the furious gardener gripping the broken stem of a rose as if it were a knife.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Deena yelled, not for the first time in the past minute, and tried to walk away.

“Hey,” Sam stopped her with a firm tone and a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll deal with him, it’s my job.”

Deena took a deep breath. She was pretty much shaking with anger still. She pursed her lips, suddenly aware of the way she had been yelling at the innocent au pair for god knows how long now. She wasn’t good at apologizing though. She slumped her shoulders and exhaled.

“It’s just… he should know better than this,” Deena said bitterly. “We are lucky to be living here. He knows he has to stay out of trouble.” She looked up into Sam’s blue eyes and the careful attention she found there nearly turned her breathless. “That was the deal,” Deena added softly, taking a moment to gulp nervously. “I made a deal with Cindy Berman years ago, when we had nothing. Josh and I could live here, and I’d pay her by working on the grounds of the manor.”

Sam nodded slowly, with a barely-there smile that let Deena know she had listened, and understood. “It’s okay,” Sam said. “I don’t think it’ll be a big deal. I won’t say anything if you don’t.” The two women exchanged a smile. “It’s just a few flowers-”

“It’s not just a few flowers,” Deena protested immediately.

“I know, I know,” Sam quickly said. She was tiptoeing the line between fearing Deena’s temper and being endeared by how protective she was of her plants. “They’re also a weapon, apparently.”

Deena tilted her head in confusion. “Ah,” she said when she looked down at the rose’s stem she was still holding in her hand. She couldn’t say anything else though. Sam had taken the initiative to reach out and gently pry open Deena’s fist to take the stem away. That’s when they both noticed there had been thorns involved. “Shit,” Deena cursed.

“Um,” Sam mumbled pensively as she stared at the couple of red spots on Deena’s hand. “You know, to be a teacher, you have to learn a thing or two about first aid. Do you want help?”

Deena was already shaking her head. Her wild curls shook with her movement. “No, it’s okay- fuck!” She exclaimed in pain the moment she tried to close her hand again. Now there were a few drops of blood on her palm. “Fine,” she grumbled.

Deena was so upset about having someone bandaging her hand, that Sam found the whole process much easier than she had expected. It was a little bit like dealing with a kid, not that she would ever admit such a thing to the gardener.

“So, you really like those roses, huh?” Sam asked while cleaning up the little wounds in Deena’s palm.

“They’re some of my favorites from the entire property,” Deena shrugged. “I like all these plants more than most people, that’s for sure.”

Sam nodded, picking up the bandages. “Why would he do this?” she asked. “Josh, I mean. He doesn’t seem to be the type to vandalize the gardens.”

“He isn’t. There was one bad fucking influence and…” Deena replied. Her words were hiding a lot, but her resentful tone warned the au pair against making any further questions. Instead, Deena looked up and added, “or maybe… he just really likes you, Sunnyvale.”

Sam laughed at that, and ducked her head to avoid those gorgeous brown eyes. Surprisingly, she decided to admit something right then and there in the otherwise empty kitchen of the manor while holding on to Deena’s hand. “You do know I’m not even from Sunnyvale, right?”

“What?” Deena asked. She looked caught off guard for the first time since Sam met her.

“You guys don’t fact-check your gossip, huh?” Sam chuckled. “I was born here, in Shadyside. I moved away when I was little, after my father died, but… I guess, now I’m trying to find my home, you know?”

“Right,” Deena replied.

She blinked slowly, and her eyebrows furrowed into a small frown as she took in the information, the significance of Sam sharing it with her, and the unknown reason why the word home sounded so perfect coming from Sam’s smiling lips.

After a brief silence that felt like it stretched for hours, Deena cleared her throat. “Well, uh, thank you, for giving me a hand,” she said. The mention of her hand made both women realize that this entire time they hadn’t let go of each other’s hands. They pulled away from each other quickly, but nothing could have wiped the smiles off their faces. “It’s not the worst I’ve dealt with so I better get back to work. I guess I’ll see you around… Sunnyvale.”

Sam didn’t even attempt to hold back her grin. Distantly, she wished she wasn’t blushing too much, but that was it. She turned around to watch Deena walk away from the kitchen. Then she was rewarded with the sight of Deena looking back at her once before crossing the doorway.

When she was alone again, Sam leaned her back against the counter and sighed. It was a mixture of contentment and exhaustion. She had tried her best to maintain a good impression in front of Deena, and now she could finally relax. She was starting to understand her better too, how Deena’s boldness came from a good place of being protective over her brother, and maybe even over the whole property. Sam’s exhaustion though, didn’t come from anywhere near Deena, the teens, or the house. She was only realizing how absurdly debilitating it had been to keep up a false version of herself at all times during those years in Sunnyvale. Slowly but surely, she was leaving all that behind.

Sam took a deep breath and straightened up. Then she started to walk out of the kitchen following the path Deena had walked a minute ago. She didn’t have to look back before crossing the doorway, she just kept walking. This way, she missed Ryan Torres’s presence in one corner of the kitchen. Lonesome, unknown, fumbling with the knife he still carried at all times.

“Josh! Constance! You guys are way too old for this kind of game!” Sam was yelling as she walked around the house. She didn’t understand how Kate hadn’t heard her yet.

She wasn’t scared. Just because they had turned off all the lights and she was only barely familiar with the house didn’t mean she should be scared. The kids wanted to improvise a game of hide and seek to avoid going to bed? Fine. Sam wasn’t scared of the dark. In the darkness she couldn’t see her reflection and whatever cursed company she would find there. If she had to drag a couple of teenagers to their beds from their ears then so be it.

When Sam caught sight of the curtains of one room moving strangely, she hurried towards it and pulled at it, but there was nobody there. She sighed, disappointed, stressed, but not scared, not yet. She heard footsteps behind her, and when she turned around, she distinctly heard the front door of the house open. Chills ran through Sam’s spine. It was unsettling, but not too bad, right? She would be deeply upset if she had to chase a pair of teenagers out in the middle of a storm, but it could be worse.

It could be worse… Maybe it was much worse than she imagined. That was the thought going through Sam’s mind when, very slowly, she turned back around to face the window again. At first, it looked like a blur. Then, she feared it was that same ghostly silhouette that followed her everywhere. Somehow, it was worse. Somehow, the figure moved closer and it became clear. There was a man standing on the other side of the window. Tall. Dark hair. Hazel eyes. Smile that never, under any circumstances, would have been mistaken for friendly.

Sam took a step backward, so did he. Then she took off running. Not in the direction some might have expected. She wasn’t running away to hide. She ran out of that room, taking the fireplace poker from its stand and gripping it with force as she rushed out of the house.

“I’m going to call the police!” Sam yelled while the rain poured down on her. “I’m going to call the fucking police!”

She ran toward the window where she’d seen that man. He was nowhere to be seen but, as if it was all part of a pattern, she stumbled across the worst possible scenario.

“Sam?” Josh mumbled. He was just standing there, shaking with cold, drenched from the rain… then he just crumbled down, falling to the ground, unconscious.

#update!!! please read and share and leave comments and i'll love u forever!!#fear street #sameena #sam x deena #deena x sam #sam fraser #deena johnson #fear street fanfiction #my fic

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macgyvertape · 3 years

Text

So how’s Trials of Osiris now?

I’ve been wanting to do a follow up to on my essay “Trials of Osiris has been corrupting Guardians with Darkness“, and I figured no better time than when Bungie made a lot of changes to Trials gameplay.

No leak info or spoilers beyond week 1 of s15, this season’s Trials weapon is available in game from turning in last seasons bounty. I’ll cite like (this) the name of the lore, it can all be found on ishtar-collective since I’m having issues with links.

to recap: before Stasis and before Savathun!Osiris, Trials was a corrupting influence related to the Darkness, affecting both Ghost and Guardian, and driving them try to perma-kill each other.

What I find fun about this storyline, is that it has shifted from being about creepy unknowable Darkness into a story about the clash between Guardian’s use of darkness powers vs faith in the Light, that’s clearly meant to continue the themes from Seasons of the Drifter and Opulence. Bungie isn’t going to put this plotline ingame, so IMO it’s fine all the lore implications are obscure.

thesis: in universe characters directly list the obvious parallels for Shayura “"You're no better than the Dredgen ," he says ... "…or Malphur ."” (SW, Shayura's Wrath) but also Shayura is set up as a foil to Aunor Mahal.

Since Season of the Chosen where the Trials Armor lore detailed Shayura’s descent into some degree of madness from 3 points of view; the lore has mentioned that while Savathun!Osiris is interested by guardians being corrupted by Darkness they aren’t the cause of it, and didn’t know of it till Saint-14 brought it up (In Memoriam Shell) (IH, Igneous Hammer).

Basically Shayura’s belief that the Traveler wants her to do this, and her willingness to kill Guardian is her own (PAB, Pyrrhic Ascent Bond) (Shayura's Wrath). Although there is confirmed final death for a Hunter in Shayura’s Wrath lore, it is implied that she has killed an unknown amount of Stasis users “Fragments of Ghost shells are scattered atop the console” (PAB)

There is an additional trophy “the Human skull sitting in the middle of her command console. Its hollow eye sockets stare back at her” (SW) following Shayura’s attempted murder patterns, I’m guessing that skull was her fireteam member Aisha who is one of the few humans mentioned in the context of Shayura’s breakdown, and who “betrayed” her by using stasis. Further evidence would be that Shayura’s story was told from the 3 points of view of her fireteam: the only point of view since the Shayura Wrath lore has been from that of Reed-7(Reeds Regret).

side note: it doesn’t seem like Shayura is treating her Ghost well either. “A Ghost reduced to little more than a bare sphere of metal, deprived of a shell” (SW)

Dredgen Yor:

It’s hard to make direct comparisons with Dredgen Yor, most of his lore is from D1, and contradicts in points where it seems like it was handled by different writers. The other point of similarity besides being infamous and reviled for murder of other Guardians is the lore being clear that they suffer from the emotional toll of endless war.

Shayura:

"Can Guardians be unfit for duty?" Shayura wonders aloud, her voice muffled by the tabletop.

"I mean…" Aisha replies. Her hesitation has a palpable sting. (PAG, Pyrric Ascent Gloves)

Yor:

To Rezyl, the Captain was already an afterthought. ... Rezyl’s attention had shifted to the unknown, but inevitable, battles to follow.... Rezyl was growing tired of small wins, however meaningful. (Rezyl Azzir - War Without End)

It’s not the same emotion, but it’s not often Guardians doubts in their role in such a way. You could say Shayura is the Light version of what Dredgen Yor was, but while the Darkness encouraged Yor (Ghost Fragment: Darkness 4), I HIGHLY doubt the traveler is encouraging Shayura the way she thinks it is. (Pyrrhic Ascent Boots)

Taking the the ending words of "I killed an agent of the Darkness," Shayura says, ... .Bile rises in the back of Shayura's throat."They come in many forms." (SR). I don’t think its much of a stretch to think the lines refer to her as an agent of darkness as well.

Shin Malphur:

Shin Malphur and Dredgen Yor, have a fair amount of parallels, especially considering Shin Malphur = Dredgen Vale twist, but it’s unclear how widely known that twist is in universe and if that is what the dead hunter was referring to.

Shayura’s Wrath item text “"But here you are. This is truly a beginning…" —Shin Malphur” (SW) parallels Dredgen Yor’s last words “But here you are. This is truly an end” (Ghost Fragment: The Last Word 4)

it’s heavily implied Shin is speaking to Shayura, but do I think Shin Malphur would be helping Shayura? Not unless Bungie is planning on changing his characterization yet again. There are obvious surface parallels: two solar wielding vigilantes who hunt Guardians who wield Darkness and love extra-judicial murder (Source: too many pages to count where Shin talks about culling those who have gone too far into the darkness). But Shayura’s zealot belief in the Traveler and her crusade against darkness wielders are the opposite of Shin’s beliefs of using both Light and Dark:

“the building of a new world, one where absolutes cower to the might of compromise, where Light tempers dark and the dark opens new insight into the Light's many undiscovered gifts.” (Nothing Ends: The Long Goodbye)

“the shadows of dark power that tempt us are not inherently evil. In fact, they are simply another tool to be used if we hope to bend the unknown to our will, an impossible feat we must learn to master if we wish to push back the ever-aggressive tide of extinction.“ (Nothing Ends: The Liar's Trap)

I think in the end Shin Malphur is more of a contrast than a comparison to Shayura, I’d also be suprised if Bungie brings him back as they’ve had him give his retirement twice now (Letters from a Renegade, Nothing Ends)

Aunor Mahal:

both are/were members of the Praxic Order, both strongly oppose Guardians using power of darkess.

A key difference is Aunor still has faith in the Vanguard while Shayura does not (Pyrrhic Ascent Hood). Shayura is what the fandom who only listened to Drifter’s side of the story thought Aunor was, someone more than ready to kill Guardians and Ghosts.

While Shayura only consideres execution, Aunor has faith in rehabilitation

“You're costing us Ghosts—means to fight enemies of humanity. These Guardians represent more than potential Dredgens” (The Warlock Aunor: The Salt Mines).

Following the Trend of other corrupted Guardians like Sola or Trestin, whom Aunor confrots; I’m expecting to see Aunor eventually confront Shayura, it seemed implied in the Igneous Hammer lore.

Side note:

Even before Guardians used stasis, its clear there was a ramp up from when Gambit appeared with Guardian’s going too far with the darkeness to the Guardian and ghost corruption seen in Trials

“will face Praxic justice. Perhaps exile. We haven't had to lock anyone up in decade“(Message from Aunor VIII)

"It's affecting Ghosts now too. We should bring them back to the City. This makes five." (Temptation's Hook). “ You think she'll be lucky number… how many are we up to now? At this point, the only chance I'm giving them is the chance to kill me first” (The Messenger)

Shayura mentions she was locked up and escaped (SW), and it’s clear that the Praxic Order is stretched thin

“Aunor scowled. She was perhaps the most diligent of the Hidden ...Each time they met, she seemed a little gaunter than before. A little testier" (IH)

Aunor’s morals and loyalty to the Vanguard are some of her defininging characteristics and I don’t see that changing. But if this storyline continues in Witch Queen then I see things hitting a breaking point.

#destiny 2 #destiny lore #trials of osiris #shayura #aunor mahal #dredgen yor #shin malphur

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saffron-nova21 · 3 years

Text

XII. Rings and Stuffed Animals

Remember Me Masterlist

< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >

Warnings: Strong language, Suna is an asshole, manipulation/blackmail.

You know you were beating the metaphorical dead horse, trying to convince Sunarin that you two had been happy. But you couldn’t help it. You had to try, at the very least.

But you wanted your boyfriend back. You wanted him back. You wanted to be happy with him again. Though, you also knew that you needed to put your foot down at some point. You couldn’t put yourself through the prolonged heartbreak that would surely come.

As you walk down the sidewalk, you can feel a drop hit your head, looking up to notice that it was beginning to rain. How fitting.

Pulling the hood up to cover your head, you let out a quiet sigh, continuing the short walk to your home, soon reaching it. Opening the door, you slide out of your shoes, before walking towards your room, silently entering and shutting the door behind you.

The first thing you did was shower, mostly looking to warm up. Though, as the water hit you, and you were left away from prying eyes, you begin to feel your chest tighten, making it hard to breath. Then, you notice the lump in your throat and the way you’re gasping...

... Or, rather, sobbing. Choking on each breath, you realize you’re crying. Silence fills both your room and bathroom, all except for the water running.

No one knew that the person, just beyond that shower curtain was scared... And hurting... And sobbing silently into their palms as they sunk to to floor of the shower.

No one knew that despite holding your head high as you walked through the school hallways; that despite your polite smile and nod, even to those who you knew were speaking ill of you; that despite you saying you were quitting volleyball to focus on your studies; that despite your hope that Rintarō was going to be himself again and make everything right... You were hurting. You were in a lot of pain. And no one knew. No one cared.

...

It took you a few minutes to collect what you dubbed the most important items from your relationship.

The stuffed silver and melanistic fox he’d gotten you, the first time that you two had to spend more than a couple of days apart. The rings that you both had gotten: silver ones to decorate your hands that matched. The nail polish you guys always painted your nails with. The small box of notes that he had written you, during your time dating.

That seemed to be all you could carry, though. Except for a framed photo of you both, kissing under the mistletoe at the gym, during the Volleyball Club Christmas party.

So, you walked from your home, only pausing briefly to make sure the evidence of your breakdown was gone. Walking along the sidewalk, you glanced at the sky. It had stopped raining, briefly. Though you wondered how long it would be, before it started pouring.

With your gaze on the darkening sky, you don’t notice your childhood friends pausing momentarily at the sight of you, causing you to walk right into a particular blonde’s chest. Your eyes move to his and you take a step back, quickly avoiding the gaze of the two, nodding. “Miyas.”

You move to step around them, though Atsumu throws at an arm to stop you. “Y/N, please. Just talk to me...”

The pure desperation in his voice makes your heart hurt. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you both around.”

Your curt voice makes Atsumu frown. You’d been crying. You might have thought he didn’t notice, but he did. He knew all of your tells. After all, he had been your best friend for nearly twelve years. He had fallen in love with you. He made it his job to know your tells.

And the way your brows were slightly furrowed, when still glistening with the slightest red tint to their corners, the way your hands unknowingly trembled, just talking to him... You’d been crying. And unlike every other time, he wasn’t there to help you. To hold you, while you sobbed.

As he watches your form fade from his sight, his shoulders slump. Before Osamu can say anything, Atsumu shoots his twin a withering glare. “I don’t want to hear it.” He spits, before beginning to trudge back in the direction of his home.

Bubble tea didn’t sound so good, anymore. Not when all he could remember, with every sip of the drink, was your smile and all the days you both spent together in the shop.

...

Rintarō raises an eyebrow as his eyes narrow at the bag, “What’s that?” His voice is wary, beckoning you onto his bed with him.

“They’re... They’re some thing from when we were dating. I thought maybe if you saw them, you’d remember something.” You try, wearing a weak smile as you crawl on top of his comforter with him, sitting with your legs crossed.

Surprisingly, he shrugs, “Alright, then show them to me, why don’t you?”

You nod as you begin to pull some of the items out. First, the fox.

You hand it to him, watching as he looks it over, a sense of familiarity washing over him, in the situation. “I gave you this...” He furrows his brows, before glancing at you. “Because you for upset that I had to leave town for a few weeks, for the training camp. You sure do whine a lot,” he grumbles as he carelessly attempts to toss the stuffed toy away, only for you to snatch it from his hands, before he could.

“We named him Winter. And we said if we ever had any kids, we were going to name them the same thing. Unless we adopt and aren’t able to pick one out.” You tell him, bringing the stuffed animal into your lap.

Rintarō shakes his head. “I’ve never wanted kids.” He mumbles.

“You started wanting them, after you helped me babysit. Because yeah, they’re a handful, but we’d get through it, together.” You explain.

“You must really think you’re something special, huh? Y/N, darling, if I said I wanted to run away and get married right now, you’d follow. Because you love me, even at your own expense. Even if you knew I didn’t mean it. So how do you know I meant it?” He crosses his arms and leans back a bit.

You frown, shaking your head, “Fuck you, Rintarō. As if it’s not enough for you that you lost your memories and I’m hurting because of it, you have to sit here and tell me that you were probably lying to me, the entire relationship.”

You stand up from his bed, jerking the jacket from your frame and throwing at it. “Call me when you take your head out of your ass.”

As you exit the room, you boyfriend — ex-boyfriend? Whatever it was going on between you two, reclined, not catching sight of the picture frame, until you’re gone. As he lifts it to examine it, he tilts his head to the sight.

He hated that he enjoyed your presence. He hated the feelings to wrap you in his arms and tell you it was all going to be okay. Because he didn’t know why he felt the way he did about you, all he knows is he feels them.

You got a cold from walking home in the rain, without a jacket.

You love Suna. But it’s been days of gaining the same bland, disheartening answers, and his expecting you to just fall into his arms whenever he wanted.

After sobbing to yourself in the shower, you realized that you didn’t deserve everything that was happening. You’re not going to prolong your heartbreak and worsen things.

I hope you guys are enjoying!! 🥰 And not too heart broken! 💕💕 Poor Atsumu and Y/N, though 😔

You guys better be getting something to eat, drinking some water, and taking care of yourselves mentally and physically! Remember, no matter what, I’m proud of you and I love you! You’re doing wonderfully, love! So keep it up!

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blackjack-15 · 3 years

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Two Can Keep a Secret (if the Family Tree is Dead) — Thoughts on: Ghost of Thornton Hall (GTH)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK, TRN, DAN, CRE, ICE, CRY, VEN, HAU, RAN, WAC, TOT, SAW, CAP, ASH, TMB, DED

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with my list of previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: GTH; SPY; mention of ASH (and the ASH meta); mention of Nik/HER’s spoilery hints about GTH.

NOTE: THIS META CONTAINS DISCUSSION OF AND REFERENCE TO SEXUAL ASSAULT. MORE DETAILED SECTIONS ARE MARKED, BUT THIS WARNING STANDS FOR THE WHOLE META.

The Intro:

It’s time to get our Spooky on, lads. And we’re gonna do it in a meta of truly staggering length, so maybe go to the bathroom and get a snack before you start. My apologies.

Due to the (to be quite frank) absence of nostalgia surrounding them, there’s not really many games that are post 2010 that the fandom tends to agree on, but Ghost of Thornton Hall happens to be a standout in that pretty much everyone has found something to like about it. It often tops the charts of “best newer game” polls, and puts in a valiant effort against the more nostalgic mainstays.

There are a lot of reasons for this, in my mind – the quality of the writing, the choices that Nancy can make that actually affect the outcome of the game and especially affect Nancy, the fabulous voice work, the purposely-unanswered questions that give a deeper sense of horror — but if you ask me, the love for GTH really boils down to one thing:

Atmosphere.

Nancy Drew game fans (and I’m including myself in this) tend to prioritize atmosphere in the games, probably because without good and proper atmosphere it’s easier to pick apart the formula as you’re playing and to avoid being immersed in the game’s story, and GTH has it thick on the ground (figuratively and literally). The fear, unease, and overall sense of being an Intruder in this story comes from the overwhelming atmosphere provided by the grief of the characters, the time-sensitive nature of the crime, the secrets of the house and family, and, of course, the rather stellar visuals and locations.

The Thornton’s house and grounds really feel alive, but dead — in fact, they almost feel alive in the way that a zombie is, where they function and feed but have no heart. The gloriously (and meticulously) decorated walls are cast in shadow and grime; the portraits feel ominous and disapproving rather than lifelike and nostalgic; even the graveyard, as spread out and opulent as it is, feels claustrophobic and unwelcoming.

In a word, the game is – visually, thematically, story-wise, and atmospherically — haunting. And I think that overwhelming feeling of being haunted is, in large part, what draws fans back to this game again and again.

It should come as no surprise, then, that the scariest parts of this game are the things that you, as the player, do not see. Sure, the apparitions of Charlotte, the ghostly figures, the appearance of Harper — these are all scary, but the fear is gone after a moment, leaving the player unsettled but not running to hide under a blanket. The deaths of the fifty-four souls, the secret behind Clara’s birth, Harper’s breakdown — all these things that you don’t see, that you can only hear about or have hinted at are where the fear of the game kicks in, especially for older players.

It’s no secret that, despite the games being labeled for ages 10 and up, that the actual age of the Nancy Drew games fandom hasn’t been around 10 for some time — most people playing these games are in their 20s or 30s, or have siblings who are in their 20s and 30s and got into the games through them. Sure, there are some outliers, but the Clue Crew is much closer in general to the ages of the River Heights crew than they are to the age that that box says.

Because of this, the writers (and I’m going to especially hat-tip Nik here) behind the games have been able to slowly graduate the topics of the games to be a little bit older, hiding the true horror behind things that younger kids just won’t think about. This is especially the case with GTH and SPY, but you see it in a lot of the newer games, where the implications of events are normally scarier than the events themselves.

GTH takes that and runs with it, choosing to hint at and dance around truly upsetting — for any age — topics, presenting a mystery and a story that only get scarier once you’ve finished staring at the screen. The characters’ emotional problems and issues — loss, abandonment, anxiety, guilt — are like this too; while they’re present in the game itself, when you take a step back after finishing the game you realize just how badly scarred everyone is in the story.

Because answers were purposely left vague in order to 1) make the player work for it and 2) keep the 10+ rating, pretty much everyone who plays GTH has a slightly different opinion on what went down at Charlotte’s party, who the Thorntons really are, the circumstances of Clara’s birth, why the children of a female Thornton take their mother’s name — you name it, and there’s around 10 distinct opinions on it, and many more offshoots of those opinions besides.

I’m going to talk a little bit here about a couple of the “biggies”, since I don’t want it cluttering up the Suspect portion of this meta, so bear with me. I’m not so much interested in “this is the Correct answer” as much as just presenting the information from the game and wondering about its conclusions…but I (like everyone else) have my little pet theories, so what follows will be a little bit of reporting, a little bit of inference, and a little bit of supposition.

What follows is a frank discussion of topics such as rape and incest as they apply to GTH. If this is something you’d rather not consume, skip down to the next bolded line.

The most talked-about question left hanging in the game is, of course, who Clara’s father was. I think this question is best addressed from a two-pronged approach, however, because to figure out who Clara’s father could have been is a question that requires another question to be answered: why would Clara’s mother not tell her, even on her deathbed.

The most popular — and horrifying — answer to this is that Clara’s father is Jackson, and that she was a product of rape and incest. Now, just looking at the timeline, this theory adds up; Rosalie (Clara’s mum) would have been 25 when her father was 51 and would have raped her — young enough (especially in relation to her father, a middle-aged man of a lot of power in and out of the family) that she would have been scared to tell anyone anything, but old enough to not have it be super out of the ordinary that she got pregnant and had a baby — especially in 1968.

To add to this theory, there’s the note in the cellar that asks “who was this Jackson?...what’s he hiding, and who put it there? Was it Charlotte?”. If you’re looking for clues with the incest theory in mind, this seems to point directly to it — “who was this Jackson”? both Rosalie and Clara’s father. “What’s he hiding”? his crime of raping his daughter and impregnating her. The mention of Charlotte alludes to the supposition that Charlotte found proof of this crime — tangible proof — and put it somewhere; this pretty much supposes that there’s a document somewhere that names Jackson as Clara’s biological father, such as an admission of guilt or a paternity test.

The final “proof-positive” to this theory is that Rosalie refused to tell Clara who her father was even on her deathbed. We know from the family tree and Wade that Clara was between 5-10 when her mother died (I’m inclined to believe the family tree, and chalk the discrepancy up to either the writers not being concerned with math or, more likely and more charitably, to show that Wade isn’t a Perfectly Reliable source, just like everyone else), and Rosalie’s protection of Clara from the truth makes sense with a child in that age span. It’s one (horrible, horrible) thing to be forcibly impregnated by your father, but to have to say it out loud, and to say it to your child — that’s something that no one can even remotely blame Rosalie for not being up to, especially when weakened by sickness.

There are smaller points — like pointing out that this might be why Virginia (Wade’s mum) was skipped over in inheritance — but these small points have dozens of explanations, so they’re not really good for bolstering a theory unless you’re already dedicated to it and are looking for crumbs to shore it up.

End of frank discussion. The previous topics may be alluded to and/or mentioned, but not discussed in detail from this point on.

Now, let’s talk about another explanation. I think there’s a tendency to jump on the “Jackson Theory” because 1) there are clues that support it, but more importantly 2) because it’s horrifying, and it’s natural to leap to the scariest thing you can think of when considering a game that relies on fridge horror in the first place.

In the “Jackson Theory”, Rosalie would have hidden Clara’s parentage because of shame, horror, and trauma, and probably to (at least momentarily) spare Clara’s feelings — but Jackson isn’t the only explanation for her reticence.

Generally, we can break apart the reasons for Rosalie’s silence into three distinct emotions or emotional states: shame (supports the Jackson Theory), trauma (supports an assault by a known wolf), or, often overlooked, ignorance.

Clara is mentioned repeatedly as being outwardly and obviously scared about her place in the family — a fear borne from and exacerbated in her childhood, as Nik plainly states (“her insecurity wasn’t just a personal flaw, it was a response to her uneven upbringing,” emphasis mine).

An easy way for Rosalie, worried as she must have been about leaving her daughter alone, to fix this if Clara really was a product of incest, is to name a distant Thornton cousin, preferably one who was already dead or out of the picture, as the father, which would assure Clara’s place in the Thornton line by both blood and her future adoption. This way, if Clara’s parentage was tested, she’d show up as a Thornton from both sides in a way that wouldn’t be suspicious, and her daughter would have an easier life.

But Rosalie didn’t do this — she never even hinted at the identity of Clara’s father. As a woman known primarily for secret keeping — not just about Clara, but about everything (“She loved her secrets,” Wade says), Rosalie would have been adept at hiding things through various means, including through lies and subterfuge, not simply staying silent. Given the little we know of Rosalie’s character, then, let’s consider why she wouldn’t have said anything — even something false — to ensure her daughter’s safety when she died.

Looking outside of Jackson (and with any other known Thornton being quite unlikely), the vast majority of assaults are committed by those known to their victim — friends, acquaintances, classmates, etc.

The Thorntons were — and are — an incredibly powerful family, both monetarily and socially. Having dealt with families such as the Thorntons before in matters like this one, it is frankly incredibly unlikely that, had Rosalie been assaulted by someone she knew, that the truth wouldn’t have come to light through another source, and that the perpetrator would have been punished in every way possible.

BRIEF DISCUSSION OF ASSAULT STATISTICS AS THEY RELATE TO ROSALIE’S POSSIBLE CASE.

Some people familiar with only the post-20th-century world as “the modern age” and with a less stellar grasp of the pre-tech-boom world might raise an eyebrow at this supposition of punishment, but this is Exactly what would have happened — and did happen with regularity — even as “far back” as ’68 — especially when the crime was committed against a young, privileged, wealthy woman of the community.

Note, this is after the USMPC adjustment to the definition of rape in ’62, but before the adjustments in the early 70s; in 9 years, forcible rape rates (this number includes only female victims, so the true number of victims is indisputably higher, given the enormous jump in rape statistics in 2016-present as male cases have been included) had soared in the United States from around 17,000 per year in 1960 to, in the year Clara was born, 31,000 reported cases (source: DisasterCenter). With these soaring numbers came soaring awareness, and combined with Rosalie’s identity as a rich, powerful young woman in a rich, powerful family, it’s on the outside of belief that, had her attacker’s identity been known or suspected, that it could have remained a secret and gone unpunished.

END OF BRIEF DISCUSSION OF ASSAULT STATISTICS AS THEY RELATE TO ROSALIE’S POSSIBLE CASE.

Given this historical and social backing, the simplest and unavoidable potential answer to why Rosalie wouldn’t have either told Clara who her father was or made up a “brief love” who abandoned her Dishonorably, is this: she didn’t know.

(I’ll spare a mention here to say that, ignorance because of being a “wild child” in the 60s and having had multiple partners would be a possible theory, but it disregards everything else we know about Rosalie and her behavior, and that her reputation as a party girl would have been common knowledge, unable to be hidden from those who were alive at the time. So let’s move on to what else would cause ignorance.)

Though attacks by a person unknown to the victim are, in relation to known assailants, rare, in the absence of other evidence, the simplest answer to Clara’s parentage was that Rosalie was assaulted by someone that she did not know and had no way of knowing — and who had no idea of the social power of his victim.

Rosalie truly left nothing behind that points to her daughter’s parentage, even for later discovery or for Clara’s private eyes in a bank lockbox when she came of an Age that Rosalie deemed appropriate — so the conclusion to be drawn is, in the absence of evidence, that Rosalie didn’t answer Clara’s question because she simply couldn’t.

This ties into the other theory/mystery I want to cover here — that of what happened the night Charlotte died, and how (and in what way) Clara was culpable and responsible for Charlotte’s death. We know that, according to her, Clara went there simply to “scare” Charlotte — and given the circumstances that Clara gives this confession in, I’m inclined to believe her — and it’s my opinion that the reason didn’t have anything to do with the truth of the identity of Clara’s father.

My stance here — and it’s here that I take a solid stance, rather than presenting options — with Charlotte (and I’ll talk more about her general character in the Suspects section) is that Charlotte found the same breadcrumbs as the players did and came to the same conclusion — that Jackson was Clara’s biological father. The difference, however, is that I believe Charlotte’s conclusion to be understandable, but ultimately incorrect, and that Rosalie’s assaulter was a stranger.

Horrified, this is where Charlotte’s “cryptic obsession with Jackson” (mentioned in the note in the cellar) began, and what led to her changing the beneficiary of her will from Clara — poor, pitiable Clara, already a victim of so much, whose insecurities would be compounded by this truth — to Harper.

An important part of this theory — and of really any theory — is the consideration that Clara was pregnant with Jessalyn at the time. Not only does this partially explain why Clara’s thought was to save herself (and her baby) rather than dragging Charlotte out with her (regardless of any other factor), but it also brings a potential answer as to why Charlotte would change her will to favor Harper, rather than Clara. Just as the cellar note asks “Who was this Jackson?”, I find myself asking a similar, but no less important question:

“Who was this Austin Neely?”

Listed as Jessalyn’s (still living) father on the family tree, Austin Neely isn’t present anywhere else in the game — not by name and not through mentions of “Jessalyn’s father” or “Clara’s ex-husband/ex-boyfriend” or anything like that. There’s not even a mention of Clara contacting him as a guest for the wedding or to help search for their daughter. His absence is glaring, especially in a game so focused around family — so the question of who is Austin Neely is a question that seems incredibly important to me, given that Clara was pregnant at the time of Charlotte’s death.

In mentioning this theory, I do fully acknowledge that I have only some circumstantial evidence — mostly emotional, and based off of who the characters are/were — to support it, but given the total lack of information on Austin Neely, my guess is as good as anything else.

So here’s my theory: Austin Neely is not Jessalyn’s father, and Clara, like her mother, became pregnant via some type of assault (and given that this was the late 80s and given Clara’s age at the time, I would say the most likely culprit is date rape). When Clara became aware that she was pregnant, given her insecurities about her place in the Thornton clan and her lack of knowledge of her own father, would have come to this conclusion: she was not going to let her baby go through what she herself went through. So she did what her mother could have — and honestly speaking, probably should have — done, and lied.

Austin Neely was probably a friend or an acquaintance of Clara’s — someone her family didn’t really know, but that she could make up a story about dating/being engaged to and became pregnant by before it all fell apart. He would have likely received a payout (probably a rather large payout, given the Thornton’s money and influence) and disappeared from the area and the Thornton’s lives, signing off any responsibility or claim to “their” child before he left.

As a result of this, her child now has a father and doesn’t have to grow up wondering, and Clara avoids the stigma, court case, and general Uproar that would come with attempting to find her attacker. She also, importantly for her, avoids that mess for her child, who will grow up in a semi-normal atmosphere, surrounded by family, not doubting her place in the world — and no one has to know.

Except, of course, one person would know. The head of the family: Charlotte Thornton. From then on, based on this series of events, the story behind Charlotte’s death becomes quite straightforward.

Clara’s paranoia and general cleverness clue her in to the fact that Charlotte has changed her will in Harper’s favor, and is scared out of her mind; having recently experienced a trauma and being pregnant with a child, she’s afraid that she will be left with absolutely nothing, that her machinations with Austin Neely and all her striving will have been for nothing, and she will be cast off, unable to give her child the life she wants to give her.

Compounded by her ground-in fear that she does not belong, she decides to try to settle it with Charlotte — she’s going to scare her, to punish her, and make Charlotte rethink the changed will.

And Charlotte, bearing the weight of the family name and business, not to mention its continued propagation on her shoulders, sees a woman who has been — like her mother — assaulted and left pregnant, whose mental state is already fragile, and who the “revelation” of who Charlotte thinks her true father is would topple her completely — sees poor, pitiable, emotional, suspicious Clara, and refuses.

I think that, more than anything else, would have set Clara off. Remember what she yells at Charlotte’s ghost?

“You had so much, so much, and I had nothing.”

In answering some of the questions about the game, Nik/HER’s response is to say that Clara did not literally light the match that burned Charlotte alive — but we know that Charlotte burned all the same. In the video of her birthday, there are candles; in the dust and soot on the floor where Charlotte died, we see candlesticks. And in the response, again, we know that Charlotte lit the candles for the celebration.

In my ASH meta, I discussed the many meanings of the word “fire” and the term “setting the fire” — and that’s important here too. In this case, the fire was set by Charlotte refusing to reconsider the terms of her will; in her refusal, she probably touched on the same point that she makes in the note in her room — that Clara isn’t stable enough to take over the company. Now, I doubt she would have said that straight to Clara’s face, but even framed as a “you have enough to be going on with and I don’t want to burden you” sort of thing, that just would have reaffirmed all of Clara’s fears — that she was unwanted by the Thornton clan, that her child would be unwanted as a matter of course, and that she would truly have nothing.

And so my guess would be that Clara shoved her. Not hard enough to break anything, not even into a direct flame, but shoved her, and Charlotte jostled the table, and a candelabra fell to the floor, where we see it still in the modern day.

When Nancy sees Charlotte’s ghost out in that house — and yes, I’m firm on that being Charlotte’s actual ghost, as she’s out in the open air so carbon monoxide doesn’t figure in, and there’s no way for that to be Harper/Jessalyn — she burns from the skirt up, which follows with a candle falling to the floor and lighting that incredibly flammable dress on fire.

The last thing to note from HER/Nik’s response is that at the end of the game, Nancy faces the exact same choice that the Thorntons have: to help, or to save herself. In this, we have to look back to Clara and Charlotte, and conclude this: Clara chose not to help. It’s debatable how much help she could have really been — we’re not sure how pregnant she was at the time — or if it even occurred to her until she was already out and chose not to go back in — but at the very least, Clara’s guilt comes not only from the fact that she quarreled with Charlotte right before her death, but that she could have tried to prevent it, and didn’t.

Given the supposition that Charlotte was literally on fire, I really do doubt that getting her out or finding water to throw on her would have been successful, but it doesn’t matter — because Clara looks at it as a choice, and Clara (more importantly) looks at it as the wrong choice, and a choice that she’s been punished for since the day it happened. That’s why, when speaking to Charlotte’s ghost, she says this:

“Haven’t I suffered enough for you?”

The last point I want to make in this OBSCENELY long introduction is about GTH’s place in the pantheon of “Haunting Games”. When you look at the bare-bones (heh) circumstances that make up GTH, you’ll start to see shades of other games.

A relationship/marriage gone a bit wrong, a family secret, an ancestral home, a relative/ancestor whose spectre looms over the story, mysterious apparitions and appearances, and Nancy’s status as an outsider and a skeptic — yeah, both CUR and HAU should come to mind immediately.

Having said my piece about, well, the badness of CUR and HAU and their unsuccessful approach to their basic plot points, it delights me that GTH takes a good hard look at them and says “well, what if we did this well this time? What if we gave our characters the complexity, the emotional resonance, the secrets and lies that we should have the first time?”

Like CUR and HAU, the Family is at the center of the game — except this time we believe in this family, in their relationships to one another, and we feel the effects of the family and their choices, not just hear about it from a diffident 9-year-old or a cranky caretaker. The history of the Thornton clan comes alive through the house, the graveyard, the books and journals that we have of them. We understand what this family is and the choices that they make — even if we don’t approve of them — and they feel real, not just like a background chucked in to Make The Spooky Things Happen.

Also like CUR and HAU, we deal with a central relationship and the complexities that come over two people deciding to get married. Happily, this game (unlike CUR and HAU) treats the central relationship as a thing of Import, and comes to the conclusion that it’s the happiness and well-suitedness of the couple that matters, not the family that surrounds them or anything else. It asks the question “what happens if one person runs away from the relationship?” and answers it, quite satisfactorily, with “there are probably some issues that need ironed out before anything else should happen”.

Interestingly, GTH also takes the good points of CUR and HAU – especially HAU’s atmosphere and CUR’s love of family tidbits — and improves upon them as well. Instead of Jane showing off her studies so that Nancy can solve a few puzzles, Wade walks her through the Thorntons were (at least in his eyes) and helps her get to know the people she’s helping. Instead of being duly impressed at the atmosphere in a bombed-out castle, everywhere on the island is teeming with fog — literal and figurative — as Nancy tries to decode the past to help the future.

Now then, let’s leave the general behind, and focus on the specifics of GTH.

The Title:

Ghost of Thornton Hall is a great title in the way that Secret of the Scarlet Hand is a great title – moody, evocative, gives us our location/focus right away, but not in a way that spoils anything, etc. If anything, it’s a little more flexible – are we dealing with The Ghost of Thornton Hall (Charlotte), the ghost(s) of the Thornton family, the ghosts of those who died on the island, or — in a very fun way — are we talking about the ghost of Thornton Hall — the spirit of the building where so much life and death has happened?

As a title for a Haunting game, you really don’t get much better than GTH, and it centers the player’s attention right where it should be — on the messed up family that the game centers around, and how their past impacts their future.

The Mystery:

Nancy’s phone rings in the middle of the night, with Savannah Woodham’s drawl on the other end, informing her of a kidnapping that’s taken place. She’d go herself, but believes wholeheartedly – and is frightened by — the ghost that’s taken up residence on Blackrock Island, Georgia, and doesn’t believe she’d be enough help.

Of course, this isn’t the whole truth, but we’ll get into that later.

Armed with both her detective skills and her inherent skepticism, Nancy sets off for Georgia to find the missing bride-to-be. Of course, when she gets there, she quickly discovers that the family — and family history — is even murkier and laced with tragedy than the presence of a ghost would suggest, and that, even with everyone searching for Jessalyn Thornton, she is nowhere to be found.

To find her, Nancy has to delve deep into the Thornton family lore, Jessalyn’s relationships with her family and friends – not to mention her preoccupied fiancé — and figure out what really did happen to dear, sweet Charlotte Thornton nearly two decades ago…

GTH, as a mystery, is chock-full of hints, clues, red herrings, and background facts that make figuring out the truth behind everything a joy and a delight — not to mention a task that will take more than one playthrough. GTH is also unique in that its mystery can end in more than one way, and that Nancy’s choices actually have more of an impact than just what souvenir she sends home to her erstwhile boyfriend. Choosing to save herself, to save just the “innocent” (for a certain value of innocence), or to save everyone leads to different endings not just for Nancy but for everyone involved with the Thornton Clan, from its matriarch all the way down to a certain spook-hunting ex-girlfriend.

Underpinning the mystery is this question: did Charlotte really come back as a ghost to haunt Blackrock and the Thorntons, or are her appearances just the result of sneaky relatives and atmospheric maleficence? Can all of the sightings be explained by a mixture of carbon monoxide poisoning, a few relatives playing dress-up, and huge amounts of suggestion and guilt? Is it the case, as Rentaro posited a few games earlier, that a ghost doesn’t have to be real to haunt you?

In a word, no. In a few more words, of course not.

Tying the whole of the ‘haunting’ mysteries together is this (previously mentioned) fact: Nancy is not remarkable for being a Skeptic, she is remarkable for being a Skeptic in a world where ghosts exist. The moving wood (and possibly the silhouette) in MHM, Camille’s ghost dancing along in TRN, the reflection of Kasumi in the water in SAW, the ghost of the Willow in GTH — these are all real, unexplainable-by-tech-or-imagination ghost sightings, and the fact that Nancy doesn’t believe in them doesn’t change their reality one bit.

In the house, you can cite carbon monoxide and Jessalyn/Harper running around in a costume for at least some of them — though not all. But the sightings outside — carbon monoxide does not stay in the system for very long in clear air, blessedly — of Charlotte? The consistency of the spectre? The apparition of her burning up at the site of her birthday party? These aren’t things that you can explain by costume theater — especially since these sightings have been happening for over a decade by people who haven’t stepped foot in Thornton Hall.

When they say that Blackrock belongs to Charlotte and has since the fire, it’s not a literary turn of phrase — Charlotte is there, and refuses to be forgotten. Nancy’s status as a Skeptic prevents her from hysteria, but it does not stop her from being haunted by the Ghost of Thornton Hall.

Now, let’s talk about the players — dead and alive — that make this mystery as complicated and dark as it is.

The Suspects:

Beginning with the matriarch of the Thorntons seems as good a place to start as any, so let’s talk about Clara Thornton. Cousin to Charlotte and Harper, Clara was taken in after her mother’s untimely death (but before her aunt and uncle’s equally untimely deaths) and became the equivalent of a sister in at least Charlotte and Harper’s eyes — though Clara herself was always unsettled and wary about her place in the family.

After the events of Charlotte’s tragic birthday (covered above), Clara visited Charlotte’s grave every night for a year, and was hospitalized after being pushed off of the widow’s walk (more on this later). Whether due to her upbringing or her Thornton blood – or, most likely, both — Clara is secretive, paranoid, wracked with guilt…and a loving mother and extremely capable businesswoman.

Though GTH doesn’t actually have a culprit —Jessalyn wasn’t kidnapped and Charlotte wasn’t murdered — Clara is, as the resident secret keeper and witness to Charlotte’s death, the closest thing that we’ve got. Clara’s sense of guilt is far beyond anything that she could have done, and is haunted so completely as to turn her rather cold.

I have a lot of sympathy for Clara, who made a mistake in a fit of anger (whether that’s pushing Charlotte or just not helping her when she started to burn) at the age of 21 and has been wracked with guilt and haunted by the spectre — real and imagined — of her ‘sister’ ever since (not to mention knowing that her other ‘sister’ blamed and hated her for it). Charlotte died before she had the time to make too many mistakes, but Clara had the entirety of the estate and the business — thousands of people’s livelihoods — thrust into her hand when she was a single mother of 21 years of age. Even had Clara been completely stable, it would have been a lot, and it’s no wonder that she rules the company with an iron fist.

I also want to point out that, due to Harper’s breakdown at the funeral and her afterwards, that even had Charlotte’s second will been found right then, Clara still would have inherited until at least Harper received her bill of mental health, as the closest heir to Charlotte of (legally) sound mind and body.

Let’s talk then about the other heir, Harper Thornton. A fan favorite for a myriad of reasons — her Helena-Bonham-Carter-esque design, her wonderful VA (props to Keri Healey, voice of Hotchkiss, Sally, Paula, Simone, and Madeline!) knocking her lines out of the park, and her dark sense of humor, Harper is, like most of the Thorntons, incredibly unstable, paranoid, violent…an affectionate aunt, and a pretty darn good detective in her own right.

Since GTH doesn’t have a ‘culprit’, Harper stands in her own guilty/not guilty paradigm along with Clara. She had nothing to do with Charlotte’s death personally, but was the one who caused assorted injuries and thousands of dollars in property damage at the funeral, and the one who pushed Clara off the widow’s walk and hospitalized her. Yes, Harper was young — 18 when Charlotte died, but pushing your cousin/sister off of a balcony is wrong at any age.

It’s worth noting that of the three Thornton ‘sisters’, one is guilty of some degree of manslaughter/criminal negligence, and the other of attempted murder. When Charlotte notes that she herself has a dose of the “Thornton paranoia”, she’s not just whistling Dixie.

The biggest problem the Thorntons have, honestly speaking, is that all of them are way too emotional and react without thinking. Clara confronting Charlotte, Charlotte not taking Clara aside to talk about the will, Harper’s injuring of others and blaming/pushing Clara, Wade destroying machinery, Jessalyn disappearing rather than talking things out…none of the Thorntons, past or present, have seemed to think with their brains since the woman who received the land on Blackrock Island after the Civil War in the first place.

In keeping with the theme, I want to talk about Charlotte Thornton next. A girl who inherited the Thornton land and business at way too young an age — I don’t even wanna know why Jackson hated his adult daughter Virginia (and yes, I know that there’s a supposition to this in the “Jackson Theory”, but it’s pure supposition) so much that he would stake the family future on a 20-year-old, no matter how much everyone liked her — after the death of her parents four years prior, Charlotte was the darling of the Thornton family.

Well-liked by everyone with a beautiful singing voice, Charlotte was nonetheless every inch a Thornton; she outright acknowledged her own paranoia, kept secrets and locked rooms closer to her than her family, and had a flair for the dramatic and emotional. After considering her cousin/sister Clara too unstable for the task of inheriting the family Business, Charlotte, rather than turning to her older aunt or naming multiple beneficiaries to ease the load, instead leaves 100% of it to her younger sister Harper.

I do want to point out the irony here in leaving the business to Harper over Clara on the grounds of mental stability. Whatever else Charlotte was good at, she was not a good judge of character, even giving leeway for her being 21.

After her death, Charlotte haunts the family home, unable to leave the place that was, for a year, hers to inherit. But why would ‘dear, sweet’ Charlotte haunt, frighten, and otherwise unsettle those around her — from family to neighbors to curious kids — especially to the extent that she does?

To answer that question, we need to talk about the family member that everyone says is incredibly close to Charlotte in personality — our missing bride, Jessalyn Thornton.

Clara’s daughter, Jessalyn is painted as being a sort of return of Charlotte; everyone loves her (all Thornton employees are combing the island looking for her, for heaven’s sake), everyone agrees on her, and she’s next in line to inherit the Thornton family business. She’s even around Charlotte’s age (24, rather than 21, but close enough) during the game, for heaven’s sake — the comparisons are not subtle, nor are they meant to be.

Since it’s more than halfway through the game that Nancy meets Jessalyn, the things that people say about her are the best clues to her personality that we have…right?

Everyone agrees that Jessalyn would never run off and make people worry like this, that even if she was scared or had second thoughts about the wedding or even just needed to be alone, that she would never do this to her family. And, as it turns out, everyone — her mother, her uncle, her best-friend-cum-fiancé — everyone is wrong. Jessalyn did exactly that — she ran off, made everyone worry, and didn’t think about her family, friends, fiancé, or employees one bit.

It also takes her no effort at all to fully believe a woman she’s never met that her mom is a vicious, cackling murderer just because her (single, incredibly busy) mother is a bit emotionally cold, so she’s also not a great judge of character.

And remember, we’re told over and over again — Jessalyn is just like Charlotte. Sure, Jessalyn is also our Nancy foil in this game — a young woman who needs to learn the truth about her mother, coerced/guided by a quasi-unreliable source, worrying her family by running off — and that’s important for Nancy’s character, but Jessalyn is first and foremost our Charlotte analogue. Jessalyn’s family and friends don’t understand who Jessalyn is…so I think it’s fair to say that Charlotte’s family and friends didn’t understand who Charlotte was, either.

We see Charlotte, through her writings and actions, could be thoughtless, was a poor judge of character, was secretive and paranoid — all things that no one even alludes to when speaking of her. Sure, there’s the idea of not speaking ill of the dead, but someone would have noted these things, even fondly or mildly.

So why would Charlotte haunt this place, haunt these people, when she was so good and kind and loved everyone? The simplest answer, the least convoluted explanation, is just that she wasn’t. That the Thorntons didn’t understand Charlotte, as much as they loved her, just like they didn’t understand Jessalyn.

Speaking of Thorntons who may be misunderstood, we’ll focus on Wade Thornton next. A little more rough-and-tumble and a little less refined than his relatives seem to be, Wade is introspective, superstitious, hard-working, and a bit gloomy…along with having some anger issues, vast amounts of distrust, and a bit of egotism.

Wade’s (at least legally) guilty of a few things in the past, but since he won’t even go into Thornton Hall, he’s a pretty easy cross-off of our list of suspects. Wade’s there to give Nancy information on the Thornton Clan, to provide the explanation as for (partially) why Savannah isn’t there herself, and to show another facet of the Thorntons — their anger.

Whether or not you agree with Wade’s actions that led to Clara pressing charges — though I think everyone can agree it’s pretty stupid to destroy your own family’s machinery, especially when the only danger to the employees was caused by him scaring them half to death — and it highlights that Wade, philosophical though he is, is just as much a Thornton as those he despises. He even calls himself out on it – that while he used to think he was on the side of “Good Thorntons”, he’s not so sure anymore.

The best (serious) line in the game does come from Wade — I will be in love with his description of dating Savannah as “[falling] for her like a Black Tuesday banker” until I die. It’s a perfect metaphor without sounding pretentious, and shows just how bleak his own worldview really is.

Next is The Fiancé, Colton Birchfield, who has the most hilariously WASP-y name to ever come out of a Nancy Drew game. A man who’s struggled with depression and anxiety all his life, Colton was born to two politicians and has lived in the spotlight — and his marriage to Jessalyn is getting just as show-stopper-y as a campaign trail before she disappeared.

I mentioned above that the resolution to Colton and Jessalyn’s relationship is the healthy, sane version of what should have happened in CUR and HAU, and I stand by that. While I don’t necessarily like him going back to Lexi after the game is over — a relationship interrupted by one party being paid off is not the healthy, loving, loyal relationship that Colton needs — it’s clear that he and Jessalyn would have made each other content, but never fulfilled romantically.

Colton’s guilty of nothing more than not being in love with his best friend, and he’s a refreshing breath of air as someone related tangentially to, but not cast down by, the Thornton family drama. He may get less sympathy than our other cast members, but he’s no less deserving of it, and I’m really rooting for him to find someone that will give him the same amount of love and loyalty that he’ll give them.

We’ll journey outside the Thornton family and their (almost) relations for our next ‘suspect’. Addison Hammond, Jessalyn’s friend and bridesmaid, makes a cameo phone appearance here to tell us that Thornton Hall is Totes Spooky, and that Jessalyn vanished not once, but twice in the night.

I quite enjoy Addison, not because she plays a big part or because she’s an exceptional character — she’s as bare-bones as we get in the later games (ignoring MED/SEA/MID), honestly — but because she’s simply a girl in her 20s reacting the way that most of us would if our unnecessarily spooky friend dragged us to an old haunted house and then vanished twice. Good for you, girl.

Coming in for a wonderful appearance is Savannah Woodham, ex-ghost hunter, ex-girlfriend of Wade Thornton, and the detective who was supposed to be on the case. Savannah’s too scared of the Ghost (and too reticent to talk to Wade face-to-face) to risk stepping foot on Blackrock Island herself, but she’s more than willing to send the biggest skeptic she knows, hoping that Nancy’s skepticism will keep her safe.

As lovely as Savannah is in SAW — and I adore her in that game — she really shines in GTH. Probably the biggest moment she gets in the game — and probably my second favorite moment in the game period — is her tale of tracing the shape of the old willow tree on her wall, only to have a body discovered under that exact willow tree after a storm. It’s a delightfully creepy — and most importantly, completely inexplicable by any means other than accepting that the supernatural exists — moment, and I think it’s key to understanding Savannah as a character in GTH.

Savannah suffers under the weight of knowing that there truly are Things that Go Bump in the Night, that can’t be arrested or captured or gotten rid of by normal, legal means. Her background knowledge of the Thorntons helps Nancy to get an initial feel for the family, and it helps to not have an ex-girlfriend wandering around that the Thorntons might have a grudge against or dislike for.

She is, in effect, the mirror image of Nancy — what Nancy might have become without her inborn skepticism — and that alone, even ignoring everything else about her, is fascinating to me.

Our other phone contacts are Ned Nickerson and Bess Marvin, teamed up due to George’s absence while doing an internship (at Technology of Tomorrow Today, no less!) and Bess’ extreme boredom without anyone else to hang out with.

The lovely thing about Ned and Bess is that we get to see Ned when he’s not Solo Boyfriend Ned, but a college guy hanging out with his friend. Their light-hearted banter is hilarious and comfortable (Bess dramatically asking permission to do a spit-take in his living room is of particular note), and we really get to see a different side of Nancy’s oft-abandoned boyfriend.

You can tell that their voice actors are having a terrific time as well (Scott Carty’s pitch-perfect imitation of Jennifer Pratt’s cadence and tone makes me laugh every time), and it really helps bring a bright and colorful spot to this otherwise rather tense and grim mystery.

We’ll round out our character list with the quasi-amateur, quasi-professional detective herself, Nancy Drew. Through her foil with Jessalyn — discussed above, so I won’t get too into it here — we get to see Nancy in a slightly different light, and get to look at the effect that she has on those around her when she disappears.

We know Carson and Ned (and occasionally Bess/George, and even more occasionally, Hannah) worry about Nancy while she’s off on a case, but this is the first time Nancy herself is dealing with what she leaves behind every time she jets off to Venice, or gets trapped in a lava tube, or lost in a rock maze. Nancy hasn’t investigated a straight-up kidnapping (or what appears to be one) since Maya in FIN (no, I’m not counting HAU, as it’s not played as a kidnapping nor does anyone think it is until 2/3 of the way through the game), and she has the same sense of urgency here that she did back then.

Upon replaying the game, the player will lose that sense of urgency for Jessalyn — we know she’s alive and well, and was never kidnapped — but Nancy’s reactions to the family are what stay interesting. She’s concerned for Jessalyn, but does most of her detective work through getting a sense of what the rest of the family thinks of the missing girl.

Given Nancy’s reputation as a good girl, a solid presence (if an occasional one) who loves her family and friends, and who is always responsible, it’s easy to see why she misses the one question that would have helped her solve the case in half of the time: what if Jessalyn isn’t missing? After all, Jessalyn, like Nancy, would never jet off after hearing an unsubstantiated claim about her mother without telling anyone or pausing to confirm it through a different, more trustworthy source, right?

In this game, we discover a huge characteristic about Nancy: she is reckless. Now, we know this already from other games — that Nancy is reckless physically, confronting bad guys alone, diving down into murky catacombs, jumping from pillars in ancient tombs — but here we see that she’s also reckless emotionally. Even though it interferes with her investigation, Nancy gets personally involved in this case; she’s mad at Colton for “cheating” on Jessalyn, she’s upset by the tragedy of Charlotte’s death, and she’s concerned for Jessalyn’s safety in a different way than she usually is with a victim or suspect.

Nancy’s always been willing to take huge risks, but she always stays emotionally on the surface level of a case — a good and necessary trait for a detective, and one that allows her to face down killers, saboteurs, and forgers without blinking. Here, Nancy’s dragged down into the web of the Thorntons, and — as we see in the middle and bad endings especially — she doesn’t quite recover from it. Nancy loses a bit of objectivity here, but what she gains is humanity — and she’ll need that for the last two games in this meta series.

The Favorite:

With such a well-executed game — even though it doesn’t fall in my personal top 5 ranking — there’s going to be a lot to love, so let’s get down to it.

My favorite puzzle is probably Nancy’s trek to ‘discover’ the ‘ghost’ — aka completing Harper’s tasks in order to meet her, culminating with reciting Charlotte’s rhyme while blindfolded. It’s a different kind of puzzle than the type we get commonly with Nancy Drew games, and really helped spark and keep the tension needed to maintain such a spooky game.

My favorite moment in the game is a quieter one — it’s Nancy’s remarks on Charlotte’s room. She’s taken aback at how, after a game of everyone talking about Charlotte, that it’s opening the door to her room that cements Charlotte as a living, breathing person. She continues that she can’t let that feeling distract her, that she needs to treat the room like the rest of the house and gather tools that will let her find Jessalyn, but it’s lovely to see the effect of the Thornton’s history really settle into Nancy’s bones as Charlotte Thornton turns from a scary rhyme that children chant to a girl who lived and died in the same walls that Nancy’s exploring.

There are, of course, other things that I love — the objectively creepy poem (“we’ll let you share with Charlotte/a gown of coal and glowing flame” is an incredible line), Savannah’s story about the willow tree, the small Francy crumbs of Frank being sullen after his Very Revealing voicemail in DED and considering an MBA, the multi-layered relationship that Wade and Savannah have, the gorgeous detail of Thornton Hall — and all of these add up to a game that’s frankly just enjoyable to play.

The big thing to mention in this game, as I talked a bit about in the intro, is its atmosphere.

Throughout the entire game, there’s this palpable feeling of death and grief and loss and pure pain, and those emotions are what GTH relies on to keep itself Scary, not the few spectre scares and swinging scythes that it also has to offer.

I don’t normally quote things other than the games/words of the cast and crew in these metas, but I do make exceptions when the quotation is this good, so I tip my hat here to Tumblr user aniceworld, speaking about ranking GTH their top Nancy Drew game of all time:

“The reason GTH is so successful as a scary game is because there’s such a pervasive sense of sorrow at Thornton Hall. People have died here who shouldn’t have. A family has been destroyed. The house has seen so much trauma it can literally no longer stand on its own. There are ghosts that live here, whether you can see them or not.”

This horror is far better than bloody slashers or obnoxious “continuous mysterious accidents”-style thrillers that tend to permeate the genre; instead of random death-by-umbrella or scary-guy-in-the-shower incidents driving the plot, the emotion behind death and loss and betrayal gets to take a turn at the wheel, and the game is much better for it.

The Un-Favorite:

As with any game, however, no matter how good the atmosphere, there are some things that I don’t love.

I’m not actually the biggest fan of Harper; while her design is great and her VA does a spectacular job, she’s a little cartoonish among a cast that endeavors to stay as far away from broad stereotypes as possible.

It’s fine to have a large personality, it’s fine that she’s a bit cracked, it’s great that she has her own reasons and motivations beyond “expose the truth” (especially since she’s not interested in exposing the truth, just in proving that Clara’s a murderer) — she’s just really not my cup of tea, and I prefer Harper as the Anonymous Note Leaver to Harper the Conversational Partner.

Even if she does get some of the best lines in the game.

I don’t really have a least favorite moment or puzzle that sticks out to me; there are puzzles I struggle more or less with, but none of them are immersion-breaking or so frustrating that I have to get up and walk away. The ones I love, I enjoy solving; the ones I don’t love, I turn to the walkthrough and finish them up to get on with the story.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Ghost of Thornton Hall?

Even given my small problems with Harper, I’m not sure I’d change her. Sure, she’s a bit Broad for the game, generally speaking, but she’s also another example of what loss can do to a person — it can make you cold and withdrawn, it can make you righteously angry and dismissive…or it can turn you malicious and violent. She’s an important presence regardless of my personal taste, and while I might tweak a line of dialogue or two, it’s important to note that her Persona is just another thing for Nancy to discover and re-discover as she investigates the Thorntons.

While not a perfect game — very few, if any, of the Nancy Drew games qualify for that title — Ghost of Thornton Hall is an excellent entry in the Nancy Drew series as a whole, and in the smaller series of Nancy-centric games. Through it, we get to see what happens to those who are left behind after a tragic, sudden, and even violent loss — and that becomes more and more important as we leave behind the gloomy Georgia island and leap across the pond to Glasgow.

#nancy drew #nancy drew games #clue crew #ghost of thornton hall #nancy drew meta #GTH #my meta #long post #video games

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pascal-istheway · 3 years

Text

Bounty Flaw - Chapter 3: New Beginnings

Read it here on AO3

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars

Rating: Not Rated

Chapter Warnings: Smut *NSFW

Character Relationships: Din Djarin x F Reader

Click here to the Spotify playlist that goes with this chapter!!

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MASTERLIST

I honestly have no clue what the hell happened. One minute, things were fine, then she was screaming. Scared the shit out of me. When I turned around, the kid was falling and she was bawling. I was just as confused as she was though, but she was just so broken… I couldn’t make sense of what happened any more than she could. But I just knew that whatever it was, I had to help her at that moment.

And of course, as soon as I got things somewhat under control, then I had to open my fat mouth. Maker, I’m such a fucking idiot. “You can call me Mando…” What kind of shit was that? Here was this beautifully broken girl who laid her entire history out in an attempt to connect with me, as I asked her to, and this is the best I can give her? The disappointment on her face when I said it too was just beyond upsetting. I could see the hurt.

I wanted to apologize, to give her something, but everything I tried to think of just didn’t seem right. Plus, what good was an apology? “Hey, sorry you spilled your deepest parts and all I could come up with was a stupid line about calling me Mando!”

I feel like such an asshole. This has been one emotional ride after another. I have better luck getting the kid to take a nap than I do with her crying fits. Some days I just find her sitting alone in a corner of the Crest, quietly crying to herself. She just looks so helpless, like a little baby bird all alone without anyone to care for her. Is it wrong to feel the need to help her? Is this the way?

------

It’s been one week. One whole week since you or Mando have spoken a single word to one another. The tension in the air between you guys is so thick you can hardly stand to even be in the same room as him. You can call me Mando . His dumb, modulated voice keeps ringing in your head. What kind of fucking bullshit is that? That is not an appropriate reaction to spilling your whole life story to another person. What a dick.

That whole night was spent crying quietly in the hull after he was so hostile with you. You literally poured your entire heart out to him, had a fucking mental breakdown, and he reacts that way? Wasn’t it his idea in the first place to not turn you in? He drives you insane. Maker , why does he affect your emotions so much?

Now, you’re worried sick about him. It has been three days since you landed on Endor. Mando had parked the ship in a very isolated part of the forest to keep the Crest from being discovered. Not to protect you, only the kid , you think to yourself.

The kid has been sleeping through most of it, but that doesn’t make you any less nervous. The past two days have been spent with you finding ways to keep yourself busy. Never in your life did you think you would have enjoyed cleaning as much as you have. Everything in the Crest was now spotless and organized. He will probably be irritated at you for touching his stuff. Oh well . Not your fault he can’t keep his shit clean.

As you pace around the inside of the Crest, your mind starts to wonder what you would have to do were he not to return. The responsibility of the kid and his ship would fall into your hands. Hell, you don’t even know how to fly the damn thing, you were no pilot. Back on Tatooine, you were a bartender - at best. On a good day, you could plug in a few droids. But even if you could figure it out, it isn’t like you could figure out where the fuck you were, in the middle of the forest, on this damn planet.

You were too scared to go outside and look around, Mando’s warning to not leave the ship still ringing in your ears. Curiosity had crept into your head a few times the last week, making you wonder when you would be able to see something other than the inside of this ship. The windshield in the cockpit didn’t give you the type of view you wanted. No, you would give it another day before you resorted to finally opening the doors and taking a peek.

Between the occasional glance out the window and pacing back and forth the length of the ship, you were starting to go out of your mind. There was nothing left to clean, no parts left to organize since you’d already done it and redone it three times. Sometimes, time could be a good thing. There was a time to settle in, time to adjust… but this was time to overthink and it wasn’t doing you any favors.

Emotions all over the place, you sit down on the floor of the crest with your back against some crates, bring your knees to your head, and place your forehead gently to them. The emotional turmoil of the past week weighs down on you, suffocating you and causing tears to start welling up in your eyes. No, no, no. I will not cry. I am okay. Deep breaths.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but you were really worried about him. Even though he has been a complete asshole to you, that didn’t mean you wanted something bad to happen to him. The weight of having to take care of the kid, your brother, being stranded here, just everything seemed to be too much.

Your finger became tangled in your hair as you twirled it aggressively around a loose strand hanging from your face. A single tear escaped from one of your eyes and stained your cheek on the way down. You took the ends of your hair and held it in front of your face, looking at the jagged edges, taking a shaky breath in as you examined the strand.

Next thing you know, you can hear air hissing from the other side of the ship. The sound makes you jump out of your skin as the steam decompresses around the ramp, the platform slowly moving down. The slight change in air sways your hair around your face, the loose strands blowing with the wind.

It takes a few seconds for you to register that there is no danger, even after you see him walking up the ramp, bounty dragging behind him by a rope around his legs. All you can hear is your own heartbeat in your ears as you shakily bring your hand to your chest in a futile attempt to steady your breathing shivers rack over your body as you take in deep gulps of air. He stops to take in the sight of you sitting there on the floor. He makes no sound, no movement as he just stares at you through the black visor.

You look up from your spot, Mando standing there silently watching. Patiently waiting for you to say something - to do something.

“You…” you pause, swallowing a lump in your throat, “you scared me,” you croak out when you finally catch your breath. It takes a moment before sound slowly returns to your ears and you feel your muscles beginning to relax.

Realizing there are tears on your cheeks, you bring the back of your hand up to quickly wipe them away, sniffling as you do. He saw the tears, that is for certain. Embarrassment floods over you once again. It’s ridiculous how weak and feeble you have acted for the past week. You’re going to have to toughen up if you plan on sticking with a Mandalorian.

He finally moves in the direction of the carbonite chamber with his bounty dragging behind him. The sound of metal clanking as he finally shoves the poor soul into the chamber and slams the button. That could’ve been you just a week ago… still could be.

Mando sighs as he turns back towards you. Realizing you are still crumpled up on the floor, you begin to try and stand on your feet. Your shaky knees wobble on the way up.

“Are you… ok?” He questions tentatively.

“I-I’m fine. I just… wait…” you pause, dusting the imaginary dust off your butt, “where have you been?” you ask, voice starting to rise. “Your bounty was only a few hours away. Why did you leave us for two days? We had no idea where you were… or if you were even alive!” you exclaim angrily, arms crossing defensively in front of your chest.

He offers no explanation except for lifting up the satchel on his hip in your direction. As he brings the satchel over his shoulders, you roll your eyes. Maybe you did want him to be somewhere in a hole dead. However, you regret the thought almost as soon as it formed when he pushes the satchel in your direction.

“I was getting these…” he paused, waiting for you to take the satchel, “for you. I walked to Quork City to get them. I was hoping to have been in and out within one day, but the walk was longer than I remembered.”

Silence fills the air of the hull as you cautiously reach out to take the satchel. He… he got you something?

He brings his hands to the front of his body and ties his fingers together. The way he is standing is a little awkward, almost like he’s a bit shy or nervous. It’s kind of cute, seeing him get so nervous about whatever is in the bag. Who would’ve thought he had a vulnerable side?

You fumble with the latch holding the bag together as you start to unfold it. Whatever is in here feels bulky. Almost feels like… no. It can’t be.

Except it’s exactly what you thought. The satchel falls to the floor as you completely reveal a brand new pair of black, leather boots.

A gasp escapes your lips as you turn the boots over in your hands to examine them. They are black in color, with very sturdy outsoles, and a few leather straps winding around the ankle. They lace up the front to ensure the perfect fit.

“I noticed you were walking around here barefoot for a few days. Your other shoes were ruined, so I threw them in the compactor. Figured it was only right I get you a new pair,” he says as he starts to fidget with his fingers.

“Mando… I-” you can’t seem to find the right words. Checking the inside of the boots, you notice they are a size too big. The realization makes you giggle.

“What?” he questions.

“I… I absolutely love them,” you start, “but, I just noticed they are a size too big.” As you burst out in a fit of giggles, you notice he starts to fidget his hands even more.

“I… I’m… sorry, I had to guess the size and I thought I had gotten the right one. I can take them-”

“No, they are perfect. I love them…” you look up at him, “really, I do. I can wear some bulky socks or something. Thank you.” Gratitude washes over you as you realize how much trouble he went through, along with being the first to make you smile in a really long time. The feeling is not very familiar, and it makes you very emotional for some reason. This was so… sweet of him. He had been a total ass to you lately, but this was so thoughtful.

Feeling the tears start to pool in your eyes again, you start to babble. “This is… just so thoughtful of you. I appreciate it so much and I’m so sorry . I have just been a complete mess here the past few weeks and I- I’m just so… afraid. Afraid for my brother, afraid of not finding him. Afraid of having to go back… just afraid. ”

One final tear escapes from your eye as you try your hardest not to get worked up again. Before you can reach up and wipe it away, you feel a gloved hand gently touching the side of your cheek. It happened so fast, you don’t know how to react. His thumb starts to slowly graze your cheek, wiping away the single tear that escaped.

“It’s okay to be afraid sometimes” He affirmed.

Body reacting before the mind, you lean your head into his palm, extremely grateful for the comfort. It has been an emotional rollercoaster the past few weeks. It feels nice for someone to offer you some sort of validation. Even if it’s from the Mandalorian who has been the reason for your emotional turmoil.

As soon as your cheek leans into his palm, he yanks his hand back so quick your head jerks. Oh no… why did I do that? Maker, I am such a dumbass. Not seeming to be able to make your body move, you drop your head to the floor and keep your eyes trained on your bare feet.

“No… I… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- I just… don’t…” he lets out a long sigh without saying anything else.

Too embarrassed to look up at him, you start to back away. “No, no it’s okay. I’m sorry I’m just so… overwhelmed. ” You begin. “I have been… awful to you… and I’m sorry. Everything is just all over the place. You have been kind to me. Not turning me in… that was something hardly anyone would’ve done, and I should be grateful. Buying me a pair of boots? That was also something nobody has ever done for me. It just threw me for a loop. I’m sorry I keep making the situation worse.”

Before he can say anything else, you are quickly whipping yourself up the ladder and into the co-pilot's seat. This is a safe spot where you can’t screw up anything else. What were you thinking? It probably gave him the wrong impression when you leaned your cheek into his hand. That’s the thing, it was not a reaction you had thought about. It’s like it just occurred naturally. Now, he probably thinks you are absolutely crazy if he didn’t already. The last thing you needed was him thinking you had a thing for him or something. He already hates you, you just know it.

Or does he? Your thoughts interrupt your thinking. He did just go way out of his way to buy you a brand new pair of boots. He cared enough to notice you were running around here barefoot. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal to him. Maybe it was nothing.

Maker, why does this ship have to be so damn small. It’s not like you can hide from him forever. For now, though, you are going to avoid him as much as possible. It was stupid of you to think that for a moment, the tension between the two of you would finally stop. You keep finding ways to make it worse. Maybe you should just lock yourself in the bunk and never talk to him again.

------

It has been so awkward in here now. If anything, you miss the tension that was filled with anger, not this uncomfortable silence. Once again, you two are in the not speaking phase. How do we keep getting here? You got to give it to him, though, he is a trooper for not throwing you out on your ass yet. You’d tried talking to him, but every time you’d gone to say something you’d just clammed up.

So the last three days have been spent sitting in silence together in the cockpit and sneaking away to care for the kid when you can. You have been using the kid as much as possible to provide an escape when the air is too thick. That happens more than you want to admit. He can only stay awake for so long, though. He is about the sleepiest little creature you have ever laid eyes on.

Since he is currently napping, you find yourself having nothing to do but sit here, in complete silence, with Mando in the cockpit. He won’t even as much as look at you. He just keeps pressing little buttons here and there and fidgeting with the controls. You watch his arms as they flex. He has nice arms. Actually, he has nice everything. Your thoughts take you by surprise, bringing a puzzled look to your face as you try to push the thoughts aside.

He starts spinning his fingers around in mid-air like he is trying to decide what button is appropriate to hit. It looks like he is doing anything he can to stay busy and not make conversation with you. Maker, you can’t take this anymore.

“Mando?” It comes out as a squeak, with no confidence behind the question whatsoever.

His hand freezes, hovering above the controls before he slowly turns his chair in your direction. Making no sound, you assume that is your cue to continue.

“Wh-where are we going next?” Wanting to ask about when you guys will start looking for your brother, you try to steer the conversation in that direction. You reach up and twirl a stray lock of hair around your fingers, anxious about his response.

“Not a very nice place,” he replies. Silence fills the cockpit as you wait for the answer to your question. “Corellia,” he adds without further explanation.

Trying not to sink down in defeat, you decide to ask about your brother later. This is not the time to add more tension to the pile.

A thought suddenly pops up in your head. Is Corellia pretty? Does it have water? An ocean? Maybe flowers? It has been so long since you have even seen the outside of this ship.

“Is Corellia… pretty?” The question comes out without a single thought.

He continues to stare at you without any movement. “It’s… something. A lot of architecture. There are some pretty places I guess… it’s just… rare.”

Architecture . “You mean like a city?” You question.

“Yeah, pretty big city… why?” He asks.

“I just… wanted to get a picture of what it was like… you know...” clearing your throat, you continue. “I… I have just been stuck in here for what… almost two weeks now?” hoping he understands what you are trying to ask, you stop talking. Your eyes plead with him by staring into the part of the visor you imagine to be where his eyes are.

“You… want to go out?” He asks. “Is that what you are trying to get at?”

Your finger has become tangled in that one strand of hair. This whole situation has put you on edge.

“I just… I’m going a little stir crazy. Especially for someone who has never left Tatooine. I had just hoped… maybe I could see… something ?” you struggle to find the right words, but continue, “... grass. I have always wanted to see grass.” A big smile spreads across your face as you imagine the scene.

“Oh, and flowers! I imagine they are just as beautiful as they seem. And water? I would love to see water… Like a body of water. I never even saw as much as a drop of rain on Tatooine. Always imagined seeing a large body of water. Could you just imagine? Water… in abundance? It’s unheard of!” Realizing how dumb you must sound, you try to elaborate. “Well, of course not unheard of for you I-”

“Woah, slow down there, little bird,” his hands shoot up, signaling for you to stop talking. “All in good time. You will get to see those things if you stick around long enough.”

Maker, you sure know how to ramble. Wait a minute, stick around long enough? How long does he expect you to stay?

“Depends how long it takes to find my brother,” your smile starts to fade as the words leave your mouth. Realizing you probably shouldn’t have said that, you look up to see if he has any reaction.

“Don’t worry little bird… we will find him. I just have to have the money for fuel to start searching.” He stops for a moment and clears his throat, “That is why we are going to Corellia, big money, you know, kind of like you,” he jokes.

The statement doesn’t make you angry this time. Instead, you find yourself starting to let out a small laugh. He just made a joke with you, maybe he doesn’t hate you.

“You bet your ass I am,” you joke back. He lets out a slight chuckle. It takes you by complete surprise.

“What was that? Does he laugh? Wow, he’s human? Thought you were some sort of droid.” Laughter erupts from you. Before you can stop it, a snort escapes from your nose. Your hand comes up quickly and slams over your mouth and nose.

“That was… cute,” he shoots back at you sarcastically.

Your face is bright red. It is absolutely horrific when you snort like that. Granted, you hadn’t laughed in a long time, so you had forgotten it was a habit of yours. For some reason, even though he meant it sarcastically, you were hung up on the word “ cute ” coming out of his mouth.

“Alright, Tauntaun, I need to focus here and get us landed on Corellia safely.” He swivels around in his chair and gently places his fingers on the steering bar.

“Tauntaun? What is that?” The question comes out in a defensive tone.

“Hideous creatures, they make awful snorting sounds… I hate them,” is his only reply.

It’s quiet for a few moments as you watch him begin to land the ship. Not even thinking twice about it, the fact that he adds to his last statement absolutely shocks you.

“Only the snorting part,” he says quietly, feeling the need to clarify, “you’re definitely not hideous, and I do not hate you.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. He doesn’t hate me… and he doesn’t think I’m hideous. Does that mean he thinks I’m- Your thoughts are interrupted by how roughly the ship hits the ground. It startles you and jerks you almost completely out of your seat.

Suddenly, a spark shoots out of one of the buttons on the dash of the Crest. A screech escapes your lips as you hear a loud zapping sound. Sealing your eyes shut, you wait in silence for a few minutes, just knowing the damn ship is on fire. When nothing happens, you slowly open up one eye and see smoke shooting from the control panel.

“Dank Ferrick!” Mando shouts in frustration.

With wide eyes, you shoot him a horrified glance. All he manages to do is turn around, look at you, and raise his arms in the air. He shakes his head before letting out a loud sigh. Getting up slowly, he walks over to the other side of the cockpit and grabs a little box stashed above the doorway. Guess he’s a handyman now.

------

Mando has been working on the ship for a few hours now, grappling with different tools and wires, mouthing off about the repair guy that was last under here - even though you were pretty sure it was him. The whole time has been spent with you talking his ears off, asking him about the planet you had landed on. When you look outside, you can see a huge city in the distance. Immediately surrounding you, though, is a greenery patch. There is actual grass on the ground outside, and a few trees. They taunt you as they dance in the wind.

Pressing your face to the glass, you try to make out every detail of the scenery below you. It doesn’t even bother you that you look like a complete child right now, eyes wide and excited with wonder.

“Alright, I think that does it,” Mando says beside you as he bangs a few tools in a box and shoves it back into a small spot on a shelf.

It hardly registers in your ears. You’re too focused on the beautiful scenery outside to focus on anything else.

“Hey, little bird.” He snaps you out of your trance. “Let’s go,” he grabs at your arm and lightly tugs at it, beckoning for you to follow him.

Following him without question, you get to the ladder behind him and let him go first. You place your foot on the top rung and start to slowly descend the ladder. Your movements are clunky and fast in an attempt to get down the ladder quickly; your foot slips and you lose your balance momentarily.

A strong hand slides up against your back and steadies you, fingers wrapping around your waist and holding you firmly to the ladder. Electrifying : that is the only word that rattles through your head as you feel his hand hold you there for a few seconds too long. Your thoughts get fuzzy, and it’s like you forget how to move… even breathe for that matter.

“You good?” comes ringing out from behind you. Painfully aware that his hand is still there, you feel the leather warming your skin beneath your shirt - the slight pressure causing your breath to catch in your throat. He reaches the side of your waist and gives a gentle squeeze. Maker, what is wrong with me?

Shaking your head to try and regain your thoughts, you finally reply. “Yeah,” you clear your throat, “ I’m good,” is all you can manage to squeak out.

A loud coo snaps you out of your trance. Looking down, you can see that your newfound friend has awakened from his long nap. He is standing at Mando’s ankle, little hands wrapped around his calf, hands tugging on his pant leg. He looks up at you and perks his ears to the side while making another loud coo.

“Hey, kiddo,” Mando says as he takes his hand off your back. He swoops down to pick him up. The child lets out a small squeal as he lifts him. He is the cutest kid in the whole galaxy, that’s for certain.

“Come on, let’s go.” Mando’s voice huffs over his shoulder as he turns with the infant in his arms.

“Go? Go where?” you respond, confused.

“I thought you wanted to frolic in the grass or something?” he says as he holds the baby on his hip. “There isn’t much, but I landed us somewhere you could at least see a little.” He continues. “Let’s go for a walk.” The kid lets out a shriek as he reaches for the floor. He must want to go on a walk just as bad as you. Mando sets him back down, and you watch as he waddles away towards his pod.

“You… you landed us here so that I could go outside?” The thought of him once again doing something like this for you makes you melt. He has been incredibly thoughtful to you lately, to the point you have questioned his motives. Maybe his actions have been what is making you have these random thoughts and reactions to him. Nobody has ever done anything like this for you before, so you don’t know how to react. It couldn’t possibly be that you are attracted to him. At least you think .

He continues to stare at you in silence. “Mando, this will be the first time I have ever stepped off the planet of Tatooine. This is… this is…. “ the words just don’t seem to come, “this is a first for me,” you settle on.

“I can make first’s very exciting.” his voice comes out low, and rough through the modulator as he leans his body in towards you. Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he clears his throat and takes a step back.

Did he just… Your face flushes bright red as you quickly drop your head to the floor and clear your throat. Maker, what did he just say?

“I umm...I didn’t mean… “ His voice tapers off. He brings his hand up behind his helmet as he rubs the back of his neck. He clears his throat again and takes a few more steps back. Silence fills the hull of the cockpit as you both stand beside each other awkwardly.

“It’s okay… let’s just go,’ you squeak out as you speed past him. His statement had made you a little bit dizzy, and there was a really warm feeling in the pit of your belly. This is not the time for this, focus on your brother. You are not attracted to him… you are not attracted to him… you are not-

“That’s not the right button to get out,” Mando says behind you. Looking up, you notice you are just fumbling around, looking for any way to escape the tension you are feeling in this room. Your hand is hovering over the compact activator. For fucks sake . You turn away, hiding your cheeks from his gaze.

His footsteps echo across the floor as he moves closer to you to open the door. His hand reaches out beside your head and slowly pushes into the button right under your fingers. You continue standing there, watching the gloved fingers press down on the button, the glow bright enough to illuminate the activation of the door release. You didn’t want him to know how badly his statement had affected you, but it was becoming obvious.

His hand lingers there for a few seconds before dropping to his sides. Silence still hanging in the air between the two of you, you hear the ramp unseal from its clasps. The summersaults lurch around your stomach with the lingering anticipation of the lowering ramp. Bright light instantly pours into the room as the outside world starts to open up to you.

You watch in excitement as the tops of some trees outside start to become visible. The light is so bright that you have to squint your eyes when it finally touches your face. The wind is overpowering, whooshing and hissing all around you. It’s a little overwhelming if you’re honest with yourself but the promise of this new discovery has you almost bouncing in place. You step back a little, feeling your back bump right into the front of his chest.

The cool beskar feels smooth against your back, as solid as the man wearing it. A shiver runs through your body when he stands there, unmoving. Your breath comes up short in your throat, waiting for him to say something, but he never does.

Too excited to see the outside world, you don’t move away from him. To be honest, you are a little bit intimidated, and being so close to him makes you feel slightly protected in this unknown place you’re about to step into.

You close your eyes for a moment to moisten your eyes that have become dry from the wind. You listen to everything around you, the grass swaying in the breeze, leaves falling from a nearby tree, some kind of bird singing a tune to his love… It’s magical in the sense that it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You breathe in the world ahead and open your eyes, bracing yourself for what you are about to see.

The scene before you is absolutely… breathtaking. On instinct, and maybe from a little fear, you reach back and grab Mando’s forearm. Your intentions were to grab a hold of his arm and get his attention, but as soon as your hand made contact with him, a burning sensation in the back of your throat pushes its way past the wall you’d built. Tears begin to well up in your eyes once you look ahead. You keep trying to talk, to just say anything, but the only puff of air that comes out is a slight squeak, so you just squeeze his forearm a little as you hold it there.

You feel another hand reach up to your side and give a gentle squeeze. He holds his hand there, letting you take in the scene before you. The reassurance means more than he will ever know. Here you are, however many lightyears away from home, seeing things for the first time ever, and behind you was this man letting you know it is okay to feel .

It’s almost exactly as you pictured it. It’s so… green. And it’s everywhere, in the trees, on the ground, in every inch of your vision. There are little colorful dots splattered in the palette, different shapes and sizes of plants all over. The sunshine burns through the trees in warm rays. You can hear the sound of something absolutely roaring all around you… what is that?

You feel a slight push on your back nudging you to move forward making you gasp suddenly as you realize your hand is still holding a death grip on his forearm. While his other hand is prompting you to move forward, Mando continues pushing your body down the ramp, prompting you to take your first steps into the greenery.

You stumble over your own feet a little before finding movement in them again. He chuckles quietly to himself behind you, finding amusement in the fact you almost fell right onto your face. Turning around, you give him a mean look.

“Have you forgotten how to walk?” he questions. He gives it a nod, encouraging you to keep moving forward, taking one small step before the next. His hand pushes into your back once again as you continue to give him an ugly stare. Nothing is meant by it, of course, you are only teasing him.

“Come on little bird, time to fly,” he says.

You can’t stop the soft smile that begins to spread across your face as you turn back to look ahead at the world around you. The black visor stays trained on you as you finally find the courage to move your feet. Baby steps, this isn't supposed to be scary.

Taking in a deep breath, you finally move one foot in front of the other, the new leather of your boots making a small squeak with each step. You hadn’t broken the boots in yet, and they were a size too big, so they made you more clumsy than normal.

A squeal pierces through the air as the kid takes off waddling down the ramp. He is going way too fast for his little legs. You watch in horror as he stumbles over the bottom of his robe and tumbles down the rest of the ramp. His little body rolls all the way down into a patch of grass at the bottom of the Crest. Waiting for a cry out, you and Mando freeze. To your surprise, the kid just slowly sets himself upright and looks in your direction.

He had fallen right into some sort of flower and had made the whole thing explode into a thousand tiny pieces that floated away into the wind. A cute little sneeze erupts from his tiny body, causing him to fall back over on his butt, a squeal coming from him as he looks up at you with those big dark eyes.

A giggle escapes your lips as you watch him look at you for help, arms stretched out overhead and fingers grabbing at the air. Letting go of Mando’s forearm, you take off towards him and take a step onto the cold, hard, dirt - feet sinking into the ground slightly as you introduce it to the full weight of your body. Dirt … it feels so much softer than sand. A wave of euphoria washes over your body, causing you to take off jogging. Running a few feet from the Crest, you bring your feet to a jolting halt right in the middle of a patch of flowers.

Careful not to crush a single one of the beautiful plants, you plant your feet into a small patch of dirt right in the thick of them. Red, yellow, green, blue… just every color you can think of scatters across the ground all around you. A sweet smell fills your nostrils as you take a deep inhale.

There is a specific one right beside your boot that catches your attention. Something about it just sticks out above the rest. It is red and yellow in color and has a strange shape to it. It actually looks like multiple flowers piled onto a long stem. This is my favorite flower. It does not matter that you had never seen another, the only thing that mattered was how happy the cute little plant made you feel. You bend over and pluck it gently from the ground. The sweet smell fills your nose as you bring it up to your face. It tickles the bottom of your nostrils, making you let out a jolting sneeze.

Turning around, you want to show Mando how pretty the flower is. Surely, he would think it to be the most beautiful of them all. There he stood, at the bottom of the ramp, just watching you in silence. His right leg was stretched out in front of the other, and he had crossed his arms in amusement. He was slowly shaking his head as he witnessed the scene before him. More than likely, you did look like a maniac right now, but that didn’t matter to you.

“Mando! Look what I found!” You shout as you sprint towards him. Your fist carefully encloses the flower so as not to crush it.

“What is it?” He says flatly. It didn’t seem as though he was anywhere as amused as you were.

Stopping right in front of him, you look down at the delicate plant in your hand.

“I’m not sure… what is it called?” You question as you push the flower up to his helmet. Hopefully, he knew what it was called. Surely he has encountered one of these along with one of his many adventures through the galaxy. He grabs the flower and brings it up to his visor, rolling it around in his gloves a few times to inspect it.

“Looks like a Jebwa Flower, they are native to this planet.” He says softly. He lowers the flower back down for you, inviting you to take it back. The leather on his gloves lightly brushes against your bare hand as you take it back.

“ Jebwa flower…” you test the name out on your tongue. “It is now my favorite flower.” You say as you wiggle your eyebrows.

“It’s the only flower you’ve ever seen. How is it your favorite?” He questions. His helmet turns to the side in a questioning manner.

“It just is, shiny.” You say as you give him a perky smile. He lets out a sigh and starts to shake his head.

“I thought we were going for a walk?” You suddenly remember. “I want to see everything .”

“Fine, let’s go,” he replies. He starts to walk in the direction of the kid, taking the pod with him. The kid squeals as he reaches his little arms into the air. Mando picks him up gently and places him into his pod. The kid looks up at him and lets out a little coo. Mados helmet turns to face you, and jerks in his general direction. That must be your cue to follow him.

Joining him at his side, the two of you start to venture out into the forest beyond the Crest. There is a walking path that you assume leads to the city you saw in the distance. The trail is lined with greenery on each side. The trees provide appropriate shading that keeps you from getting overheated. Everything along the way makes you gawk in awe. It was all so pretty. Mando’s arm had to be sore at this point from how many times you had grabbed it trying to get his attention. Of course, he had probably already seen it all at least one-hundred times if not more.

By the time the two of you had walked for ten minutes or more, you had concluded every single flower you came across was your favorite. Every single time, Mando would shake his head in response to your silly statements. It was unclear which flower was your favorite because everything here seemed to keep surprising you.

You look over at your quiet companion as the both of you continue on the path. He is so… large. Your eyes start at the top of his helmet examining every single curve it takes around his head. I wonder what he looks like under there . He could be as green as the kid for all you know. The fact that you had never seen even an inch of his skin, didn’t stop him from being attractive .

There’s just something about him, something that you cannot quite put your finger on. Something that absolutely radiates off of him. Everything he does, the way he walks, the way he carries himself, his voice… it leaves you with a constant feeling of curiosity.

Scanning your eyes over him, you trail down his broad shoulders, noticing the way the pauldrons sit perfectly over each shoulder. The chest plate resting across the expanse of him… You look down further, noticing his hands… shit … His hands were massive. His fingers alone were probably twice the size of yours. Realizing you were practically undressing him with your eyes, you quickly glance back up to his helmet, hoping he hasn’t caught you looking at him. When you see that his visor is still focused on the path before him, you begin to start thinking again, your mind wandering off in an endless stream of thought.

I wonder what color his hair is… how long is it? What color are his eyes? Are they kind? Are they angry? Haunted? You didn’t have the slightest clue, and you were too afraid to ask. He was probably ridiculously gorgeous under there. What irony, being beautiful and never being able to show it. He probably had soft, delicate skin… maybe some light facial hair. What about his lips? I bet they’re soft… warm to the touch .

You stop yourself quickly, wondering what the hell has gotten into you. Why are you thinking about him like that? It had to be the fact that you hadn’t been laid in such a long time. That is what you settled for. Your brain was just scratching at an inch that hadn’t been in a very long time.

Your thoughts are cut short when you notice Mando has stopped and is examining some sort of fruit in the shrubbery to your left. You see a whole patch of the same fruit to your right and make your way over to it.

The entire fruit was so similar to something you’d eaten before back home, but yet, it was completely different. The outer shell had the softest fuzz surrounding it, tickling your hands when you grasped it. It looked exactly like some of the fruit Mando kept in the Crest so naturally, you’d picked it and decided it would make a great snack for the walk back. What you hadn’t accounted for was the fact that the ones on the Crest were purple and these were blue.

When ripe, the fruit posed no harm and were in fact, delicious. But before they were ripe, they were firm, sour, and contained a toxin that unbeknownst to you, was a powerful aphrodisiac. This posed one of several problems. One, you were currently in no position to be taking such a powerful aphrodisiac. Two, Mando was likely unaware of the full truth to your attraction towards him. And three, it had been a long, long time since you’d gotten laid - so even without it, you didn’t need much encouragement to get your rocks off.

You’d taken one bite and the toxins instantly started to set in, creeping into your veins and finding their way to the deepest parts of your body, making you desperate to eat more. The juice from this magical fruit dripped down your chin as you bit into it over and over again. Creating the illusion that you were starving, you devoured it, despite it tasting sour and unlike the ones on the ship which were sweet in comparison. You scowled before taking another bite and shrugging and continuing munching.

“What are you eating?” Mando yelled at you, swatting the fruit out of your hand.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with that!” you frowned, looking down at the half-eaten core on the ground. You pouted, your bottom lip protruding out, “what gives?”

“You can’t eat that,” he shook his head in frustration, looking up at the sky, “I swear it’s like having two children,” you hear him whisper.

“I am not a child!” you swing back around looking at him, the turn making you dizzy. He reaches out to steady you and you glance up at him, the feelings from before on the ladder in the Crest surfacing again. He really is an incredible man, despite the rough and tough exterior he puts on for everyone else. You notice his shoulders, broad and expanding past your narrow ones, the feeling of them under your hands.

Your face tingles slightly, the effects of your forbidden fruit taking hold quicker than either of you had expected. “Oh-” you giggle, the funny feeling in your chest radiating out towards your limbs.

“Mando, I feel funny,” you laugh, making a slight squealing when he grabs your arm and starts to walk you back towards the Crest. Your laughter grows, turning from the small giggle into a full belly laugh, little snorts and hiccups sneaking out from under your hand clasped over your mouth.

“Yeah, no shit,” he doesn’t bother looking at you but instead, drags your now drunken frame along beside him, sighing audibly through his helmet.

You follow, waving your arms around wildly as the toxin weaves its way through your system. You feel warmth, especially in places you weren’t expecting to feel it. Leaning on his shoulder, you look up and pout your bottom lip out, eyes big and wide as you attempt to plead with him.

“Maaaanndooo,” a slightly more annoying than cute whine comes out of your lips, “am I gonna die?” you giggle, clearly very serious.

He sighs through his frustration with your current state, “no… you will not die from that particular fruit...”

“Soooo... what’s gonna happen,” you ask running your hand up to his arm, your inner inhibitions coming to the surface and taking over. You feel the muscles under the fabric tense with your touch, continuing on the path from the top of his bracer towards his shoulder.

You smile sweetly up at him, a hint of devilish intentions lying beneath the surface as you ask, “Am I gonna die?” Your fingers walk across his chest, moving lower and lower before his hand reaches out and grabs you around the wrist and stops you from moving any lower.

“Maker, I just might…” he whispers, almost quiet enough that you didn’t catch it. You laugh, skipping off ahead of him. You hold your arms out wide and spin circles on the path, letting the drunkenness saturate your veins. You’d been drunk plenty before and this felt no different except for a few small details . For starters, you felt hot. Burning in fact. To the point where you could completely strip naked and that still wouldn’t be enough. And secondly, your nerves seemed to be literally electrified. The way the wind blew over your skin practically brought you close to orgasm. Every hair on your body was standing on end, alert and aware.

“Mandoooo,” your voice carries in a sing-song tone, “I’m hot Mando,” you whine, fanning your cheeks as they flushed with bright pink. A sheen slicks over your skin when you break out in a cool sweat. You shake your body as you walk towards the path, the crest coming into view. Your hips move from side to side as your hands slide down your sides, grabbing the hem of your shirt.

The fabric lifts up and over your head as you peel the shirt from your body and fling it to the side of the path. The breeze brushes against your skin, prickling every fiber in your being. Your breasts tighten and pucker against the cold air making you shiver.

“Mando, I feel so…” you pause and turn, coming face to face with the Mandalorian that had been trailing behind you. His chest armor brushed against your nipples, hardening them into tight peaks. A gasp escapes your lips as your hands find their way up to his chest towards his shoulders, feeling the strength of the beskar under your fingertips.

“I know,” he growls, desperately trying not to look down at your chest. You grab his hand and pull it to your chest, a pleading look pulling across your face. Your tongue darts across your lips as you pant when the leather finally touches your fevered skin.

A gentle “ please ” escapes your lips as you squeeze his hand around your breast. You feel him grasp you gently before a groan comes out from deep in his chest and he takes a firmer hold of you, pulling you in closer. His other hand comes around, gripping your back before moving down to cup one side of your skirt before he lets go, a frustrated groan escaping.

Unable to keep still through the torture, you turn and run up towards the ramp of the crest, the child’s pod glides up the ramp as you waive drunkenly to him as he passes by. Footsteps crunch up behind you as Mando joins you, beeping a few buttons on his wrist to secure him behind a metal door to rest.

“Mesh’la…” he whispers, cupping your neck and pulling your forehead down to his helmet, “I can’t do this when you’re love drunk. It’s just not…” he pauses, searching for the right words, “it’s not right…” he twists his head, pulling away like he’s in pain and when you look down to see him adjusting the large bulge between his legs, you can see why.

“When was the last time he’d been taken care of,” you wonder. The last time he’s experienced the feeling of someone warm beneath him. Was she pretty? Did she take care of him as much as he took care of her? Did he cum? What did he taste like?

“Let me take care of you then,” the words were out before you even realized what you’d said. Your head was fuzzy with toxin and lust, ideas floating around as you push him backward deeper into the crest towards a pile of crates. You force him to sit down on your makeshift cot, his knees buckling as you push him back on the edge...

He whispers your name, hands sliding up your thighs as you stand there, bare in front of him, “but… I -” he was at a loss for words, unsure of which direction to go. Here was this fiery woman ready to take care of him but deep down in his gut, all he wanted was to do the same. There was an element of control you knew he wasn’t fully able to give up.

“Just… watch,” you whisper, hands sliding up your stomach to your breasts as you gently grasp each one. You feel the soft skin under your fingertips and close your eyes, moaning slightly. With each moan you see his legs widening and the bulge between his thighs hardening. You rub your thighs together, feeling the wetness spreading between your legs.

Leaning down, you slowly bunch your skirt up, lick your hand and let it slide up your leg, and slip it between your thighs. You hear him groan at the sight, feeling a new wave of pleasure coming into your belly and spreading throughout your body. Rotating your fingers in circles with your hips, the sensation is driving you wild. Apparently, you’re not the only one, because you open your eyes to see his hand gently stroking over his pants. Grasping the thick fabric and what lies beneath - the sight alone drives you wild.

You turn away, pushing yourself out of your skirt and bending forward to give him a view of your perfectly round ass. The strangled sound that comes from behind you is almost a choking sound, but one of pleasure.

You get down onto your hands and knees, turning around to face him as you start to crawl forward, hair wildly falling around your face and shoulders. The cold floor feels smooth under your palms and knees as you crawl one step at a time towards where the Mandalorian is sitting, legs spread and waiting.

“I can’t - little bird…” he bites out, “careful now…” his voice was low, breaths coming out in shallow as your hands moved up and down his thighs. “Not when you’re like this,” his head rolled back, clearly regretting the words as they came out of his mouth.

“Shhhh,” you whispered, moving your hands up and down his thighs feeling his strong muscles clenching and unclenching under your hands. Your hand slides down to his buttons as you undo them one at a time, “I just want to make you feel good.”

He whispers your name again, his hands sliding to yours to stop you. He just looks at you through his helmet before he moves his arms up your arms until his hands reach your face, leaning forward and cupping your cheeks.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, his thumb gently stroking your cheek.

Your eyes close and nod, hand coming up and touching the cold leather encasing the fingers you’d caught yourself thinking about when you watched him in the cockpit.

When they open, you slide your hands lower towards the center you desperately want. Firmly grasping the outside of his pants, you squeeze, his hips flexing upwards into your palm. His head rolls back and his legs spread wider as you lick your lips again already imagining the taste of him on your tongue. Reaching under the fabric, your hand is met with something warm and firm, the flesh pulsing below your grasp. At this point you can barely stand it, the pressure between your legs has built to an almost unbearable level that you think you’re going to explode as you nearly rip the fabric open and him from his pants.

Your eyes widen in pleasure and surprise at his size. Excitement floods to your core, a trail of evidence proving how soaked you are sliding down your leg already. You wet your mouth before leaning forward and grasping him in your hands. You pump your hand once slowly with a soft grasp, then again firmer before continuing with this motion.

He groans at your touch, your fingers moving softly up and down. You watch the way the skin moves, a clear bead bubbling at the very tip. You can't help yourself, thumb brushing over the top to roll the bead over the pink skin in an effort to tease him, squeezing and pulling in all the right ways. His hips push up slightly into your hand as his head rolls back again against the wall of the Crest, making a loud crack against the metal.

“Fu - fuck,” he groans your name loudly from under his helmet between breaths, “gah -shi… I need, fuck,” he sounds pained, barely in control of himself. This is exactly how you wanted him, exposed, open to you.

“Look at me, Mando,” you whisper, a shiver running over you as the breeze blows into the crest and over your bare breasts. A trail of spit falls from your mouth and between your breasts, getting them slick as you move forward and slide him between them. Lids half-closed, one of your hands in your hair, you move him slightly around between your breasts. The slick moisture you’d spit letting him glide between them with little effort.

A strangled noise comes from deep within him as he reaches up and takes his thumb, sticking it in your mouth. Instantly you know what he wants, taking him in and letting your tongue dart around. Your hand comes down to your breasts and squeezes them together, letting him pump himself in and out.

“ Fuck-” he grits out, “Y-you’re so fucking perf-” he groans when you gently bite down, eyes fixated on him. “I need - fuck, I can’t… do, ungh” his chest is rising and falling in heavy breaths.

“Take me Mando, please,” you beg.

“I can’t… I,” he groans as you pull away, “not like this. I can’t have our first time be like this…”

You look up at him and let one of your hands drift lower towards the center of your legs, “will you fuck my mouth instead?”

He’s silent as he thinks, clearly waging a war inside himself. It’s obvious how badly he wants you. He doesn’t answer in words, but the way he opens his thighs slightly and his throbs in your palm - it’s an answer enough in itself. You lean forward, lifting his shirt to press your lips to his fevered skin. You smile, realizing you’ve never actually seen his skin before.

It’s perfectly tan, despite being covered at all times, with a small covering of hair leading from his stomach to the most gorgeously shaped cock you think you’d ever seen. The kisses turn rougher, more of a sucking - biting. Leaving these small marks where no one else will see them which ignites something in you. Knowing he will have to walk around and collect vicious men with your mark on him.

You pull back, looking at your work to see the dark red marks left behind. A smile spreads over your lips as you lean forward, taking his hard cock in your hand and bringing him close to your lips.

“Talk to me,” you whisper to him, “if you won’t take me as your own, at least let me hear your voice as I…”

He cuts you off, “you’re going to a- actually be the dea...death of me, little bird, ” you can hear the strain in his voice, despite the modulator. The restraint he’s showing is impressive.

He’s been tortured enough, and at this point so had you - the pulsing in between your legs was so fierce you were on the edge of a complete full-body orgasm. Eyes looking up towards him, you lean in, opening your lips to let the tip of his cock rest on your tongue. As soon as the pink head rests on your tongue, he flinches forward, hissing as a hand snakes through your hair. A long “ fuuuck, ” hisses out from his helmet.

You open your jaw, letting him slip in a few inches before you slide back out and swirl your tongue around the tip. Tasting the salt and skin, you moan with him in your mouth.

“Y- your mouth…” he gasps, “fu-ck it’s s..so good…” he breathes.

Slowly, your head begins bobbing up and down, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of him, making him pulse harder into your mouth. Your hand slips between your legs and you slowly slip between your folds, circling your tight bud of nerves. His grip on your hair tightens, moving your head slightly so he can watch both at the same time.

“Keep going, little b-bird… kee… fuc-fu-fuck… f-fuckfuckfuck,” his hips start rolling up into you as his control snaps. Your jaw feels tight around him, his cock completely filling your mouth with inches to go.

Angling your head slightly, you allow your throat to open to let him slip deeper into your mouth. You feel the head of him pushing against the back of your throat, your head still in his hand grips tighter around your hair and pulls you into him. Gagging slightly, he groans, before letting go and giving you a moment to breathe.

“Maker, you’re su-such a good girl ,” he pants, “ca-can you do that… again - do it… again for me?”

You wipe the wet off your face with the back of your hand and nod, opening your mouth again to let him guide himself into your mouth. You close your eyes and open your jaw, letting him in as deep as you can before feeling that burning at the back of your throat. You groan around him, making him jump, “ju-fuck… just like ngh,” he swears.

Letting you go, you continue on with your attack, bobbing your head while your jaw is practically on fire around him. The pain radiating down your throat is turning to pleasure as you rub yourself frantically, praying to the maker for release. Edging the two of you closer, you can feel your fingers slipping easier and easier between your folds.

“I-ng gon-a c-m” you say around his cock, blurry eyes fixated on the marks you left on him earlier. Just as your orgasm hits, he feels his own hitting and in the attempt to pull away from you, you open your mouth wider, sliding him into your throat and letting him spray himself deep into your mouth. You can taste him sliding down your throat, the saltness settling in your belly. Both of you ride through this wave of ecstasy together, the stars exploding from you and ending with him.

Spent, exhausted, and suddenly coming down from the toxins, you shiver and realize that the ramp is completely down to the crest. Anyone could’ve potentially walked by and have seen what you just did to him. Noticing your shift, Mando stuffs himself back in his pants, unclips his cape, and wraps it gently around your shoulders.

“You’re ok…” is all he says before he gets up and walks to the fresher. As soon as the door closes, you scramble to gather your clothes, pulling them on one at a time. You didn’t even notice him emerge from behind you with a wet piece of fabric.

“Here,” he hands it at you, waiting for you to take it, “you know… to uh, clean up.” he shuffles on his feet from one side to the other. Ok so maybe he was just as uncomfortable as you were. But he was just as into this as you were, wasn’t he? Did he not want this?

Fuck… what the fuck did we just do...

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x reader smut #this is the way #Mando x reader #Mando x you #reader insert #star wars #pedro pascal #pascal-istheway #the mandalorian fanfic #mando fanfic #mando x reader fanfic #mando x fem!reader

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part twenty two) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7650 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part twenty two: Y/N is about to take the stage together with her horse Meadow, but stage fright is making it very difficult to bring the evening to a successful end. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Opening scene: First Defeat - Noah Gundersen, Meadow’s freestyle: Stairway To Heaven, Immigrant Song, Whole Lotta Love - Led Zeppelin. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74, and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

Y/N dips the sponge foaming with leather soap in a small bucket of water, and softly moves it in circles over the gullet of Meadow’s cognac colored saddle. Making sure to get into the little curves and edges of the beautifully decorated piece of craftsmanship, she picks up an old toothbrush and gently sweeps the dirt out of the grooves; it’s one of the older tricks in the book.

The maintenance does a lot of things besides calm the mind. It keeps the material supple, stops it from tearing, therefore saddles and bridles last longer. The leather will be soft on the horse’s coat and prevent sores and irritation of the skin. Clean and shiny tack says a lot about a person. They are usually precise, provident, and have a keen eye for detail. Often perfectionists who leave nothing to chance. Y/N is such a person.

Dean watches her, adoration on his features. She hasn’t spotted him yet, too focused on the chore. His hands are buried in the front pockets of his jeans while he leans against the door of the makeshift tack room, where she’s working in silence. He notices how loose hairs have escaped her french braid, how she bites her lip while concentrating. He notices the black smear on her cheek, her hands grimy from the mixture of soap and dirt coming from the saddle. He notices all those little things, and all else he loves about her.

There might be a soft smile on his lips, but his eyes give away how much his heart is hurting. He hasn’t been able to ban the haunting words from his thoughts, nor the realization that came with it; no matter how much time he puts between the past and present, he can’t outrun those dark days. The troubled cowboy wishes he could tell her, but he doesn’t want to drag his girl into this. She would pity him, be disgusted. She would run as far away as she could, and he wouldn’t even blame her if she does just that. The fact that he is unable to be truthful, has him doubt everything they have accomplished. How can he ask her to trust him, when he can’t be honest with her? When he doesn’t even trust himself?

Y/N rises from the small stool to get a cloth from her tack box in order to polish the saddle, when she notices a figure from the corner of her eye. For a second she startles, but then realizes it’s her boyfriend. “How long have you been standing there?” she chuckles. “For a little while,” he admits, the corner of his mouth pulling into a slightly bigger smile. “Didn’t mean to creep you out.” “Don’t worry, you didn’t. Fergus MacLeod on the other hand…” Y/N comments, squirting some shine cream on the cloth.

Before she returns to her stool again to finish the dirty job, Dean steps closer and takes her hand. Desperate for her to ground him, he lets his fingers trace her stained knuckles, taking the cleaning product from her and putting it aside. He focuses on their hold and keeps quiet, being more tentative than conversational. “Dean?” Her voice is laced with confusion and worry, and when he looks up, he sees that her eyes match the warm sound. Willing to do anything to take those concerns away, he cups her face and gently pulls Y/N closer. His lips catch hers, sweetly at first. Dean cherishes the moment when she melts into his touch, deepening the kiss. It doesn’t unsettle him when she unwinds her fingers from his, because he can feel his cowboy hat leave his head, those same fingers now running through his short hair.

Dean takes his time, eyes closed and his long lashes brushing against her cheek. He draws her in, moving his hand up her side as if he’s afraid she might slip away at any moment. There’s a hint of distress in the way he is kissing her, even though she can tell he is trying to hide it. Knowing that now is not the time to question his reasoning, she gives him what he needs so hopelessly. After a long, intimate minute, in the shelter of the small tack room, Dean parts from her. Y/N hopes to see a smile, but his eyes remain closed as he presses his forehead against hers.

“What’s going on?” she encourages, gently. “Nothin’. I’m alright,” he claims, but when she raises her eyebrows at him knowingly, he gives her an explanation, even though it’s not the whole truth. “Fergus MacLeod got under my skin with the way he spoke to you, is all.” “Oh, you mean the pet names?” She scoffs, shaking her head at the memory. “I wouldn’t read into it. He’s an Englishman; they address women like that.” “Still…” Dean rubs the pad of his thumb over her cheek, wiping away the grease. He is beginning to find his footing again. “I’m the only one who gets to call you that.” “And you think I’m the jealous one,” Y/N jokes. “You never call me ‘darling’ or ‘love’ anyway.” He grins at her mockery, especially when she overdoes the accent. His eyes are still sincere as ever. “Because you’re my Yankee,” he says softly.

Her smile becomes brighter, her nickname rolling from his tongue usually having that effect. And for just a second, Dean forgets about all the worry in the world. He kisses her once more, short and sweet this time, daring to take a hold of her gaze now that his mask fits again. “You stood your ground when that stuck up made that offer on Meadow,” he compliments. “You basically told him to go fuck himself. That was pretty badass.”

Shyly, Y/N shrugs. To her it didn’t cost her an ounce of bravery or willpower. She has gotten offers on her horse before, although never one this high. But Fergus could offer a billion, there is no way in hell she will ever let Meadow go. “She’s priceless, Dean,” the cowgirl explains, simply. “I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” “I know,” her boyfriend acknowledges. “All I’m saying is that many would have considered it. The fact that it’s not even an option for you, just shows how much she means to you.” He pauses, admiring the strong minded woman before him. “She’s your soul horse.” “My what?” Y/N recalls, curiously.

Dean chuckles, realizing that it’s not a widely known term. It was Ellen who told him about the special bond between human and horse, when he was younger. It became something that always stuck with him, words he never forgot. “Every equestrian comes across that one horse in their life. The one that stands out from all the others, that captures you, takes up a huge space in here.” He taps two fingers on his chest, right where his heart is. “The one you have this unbreakable bond with, who you trust and trusts you. The one you will never forget,” he explains. “That’s your soul horse.”

Y/N begins to glow, because every word he spoke sounds familiar. Dean is right; Meadow is her soul horse. “I like that,” she says, thinking about his words for a second.

Content, she moves past Dean to pick up the polish, in order for her to return to the task she needs to finish. “What else did the snobby Brit have to say?” she wonders, sitting back down on her stool, beginning to rub the cream onto the horn and the pommel of the saddle. “He bought Jovi and Ringo, actually,” the cowboy elaborates, turning to the side to check out the perfectly clean bridle hanging from the tack box door. He’s giving himself something to focus on, feeling the soft leather under his fingers. “Did he! That’s great, right?” she checks, noticing that her boyfriend isn’t exactly thrilled about the matter. Dean glances at her, forcing a smile. “Yeah, the money is certainly welcome.” “I bet Bobby is pleased,” Y/N assumes, wiping down the saddle one last time before she puts the cover back on. “Did he say anything about our dance last night?” “He didn’t. I think he’s lettin’ it slide.” Dean shrugs. “He’s not someone to discuss this kinda stuff anyway, so I’m guessin’ no word about it is good.” Y/N is willing to accept his reasoning. “Well, alright. If you’re sure it won’t get you into trouble.” “I doubt it, and even if he’d give me a hard time, it’s worth the lecture.” Dean chuckles, glancing down at his boots. “Fergus made another business proposition, too.” The cowgirl gets up and lifts the heavy saddle from its stand, carrying it to the tack box and storing it away. “What’s that?” “He wants me to train one of his horses,” he tells her. Her eyes grow wide as she shuts the door. “A stallion? Dean, that’s huge!” The wrangler chuckles at her enthusiasm. “It’s just the one.”

“Do you realize that this could be the start of something very rewarding? He owns stables full of licensed stallions. It might be a great stepping stone. I mean, look at Jovi and Ringo; they were sold from under you before you could really shine with them,” Y/N brings to mind. “Riding a talented horse for an owner who has no desire to sell because of the money already coming in with stud fees, is really good for you. This could become your big break.”

Dean hasn’t even looked at it that way, but he guesses it’s why his girlfriend is so good in her field. She always thinks five steps ahead, seeing opportunities where another person would just see a lot of work. He remains realistic, though, not wanting to celebrate too quickly. “Well, apparently Cain is a handful, so we’ll see how it goes.” “Wait… Cain?” She was already staring at him in astonishment, but now her jaw almost drops to the floor. “As in the Quarter sired by Dual Ray. The one that went for 1.2 million at the Derby auction?! Shut up!”

“Someone watched the news.” Dean grins, the sight of her girlfriend so perplexed being quite amusing. “But, yeah. He’s arriving at the ranch next week. Depending on how bad his behavioral problems are, he’s staying or leaving. I have a feeling MacLeod isn’t telling the whole story.” “Well, even if Cain’s issues are worse than Fergus let on--” She steps closer, slipping her arms around his neck. “- if anyone can fix him, it’s you.”

The confidence she has in him astonishes the cowboy. He doesn’t deserve it, her never ending support, her faith. Even now, all he’s doing is bullshitting his way through this exchange. He hopes to God Y/N doesn’t pick up on his insecurities, because maybe if she doesn’t, they can stay in this bubble for a little while longer.

Another kiss is pressed on his lips and for just that moment, Dean forgets about the demons that so often torment his mind. Unable to resist her even if he tries, the cowboy reels her in. He can sense his Yankee smile against his mouth and he can’t help to copy her expression. When he can feel her weaken in his hold, however, it is quickly replaced with a look of concern. “You okay?” he asks apprehensively, his grip on her firmer to make sure she doesn’t go down, but thankfully she steadies. “Yeah, just a little lightheaded.” Y/N takes a breath. “I’m fine.” “Did you eat today?” Dean requires, both stern and worried. “No,” she admits. “I can’t eat before a competition. Nerves and all.” “Are you kiddin’ me? You’re not up until 8 PM!” he returns, not having any of it. “Yankee, You gotta eat. I’ll buy you somethin’.” “I wouldn’t be able to take even one bite, Dean. Don’t bother. I’ll have an energy drink before I get on Meadow.” “Oh, hell no. You can’t do your run while low on fuel,” her boyfriend decides, carefully letting her go when he’s sure she has found her balance again. “How about yoghurt? Or some fruit? Did that really just come out of my mouth?” Y/N snorts when she notices the double take at his own suggestions, his nose wrinkling in revulsion, as if he just said something vile and doesn’t even know himself anymore. “Would a smoothie work? I saw a stand by the arena,” Dean offers. She shrugs, appreciating his efforts and not wanting to deny him. “I could try.” “Alright.” He leaves a quick kiss on her mouth and picks up his hat, before he intends to leave the tack room. In the doorway he turns around, his body language showing confusion, yet his eyes sparkle. “I never in my life thought I was gonna say this, but I’m gonna buy a smoothie,” he announces, before shooting her a wink and disappearing. Y/N laughs now, shaking her head at his comical ways. Bless him, at least he’s trying.

7.00 PM. Y/N is back in the tack room where she spent most of her morning cleaning her gear. When there was absolutely nothing left to polish, every bit of brass on her saddle and bridle shining so bright it could quite possibly blind the judges once in the arena, she tried to distract herself another way. She did manage to consume the smoothie her boyfriend brought her, though, much to his delight. It helped, because the dizziness has passed, but a stress headache remains. She sat down for lunch with Benny, Jo and Dean, although she didn’t eat anything. Conversation moved past her like the Arizona autumn breeze that’s blowing across the show grounds.

Afterwards, she assisted Dean with his last ride of the day, this time in the ‘working cow horse’ class, which is a fun combination between reining and managing cattle. After feeding the horses and providing them with water, the crew went to the arena to watch some runs. It only triggered restlessness in her heart that seemed impossible to calm, and it didn’t take long before she returned to the stable. She spent some time with Meadow, her dance partner tonight, simply sitting in the corner of her box, watching the beautiful animal chew on her hay, completely at ease with her owner’s presence.

Now, it’s time to prepare herself. Meadow is already tacked up, waiting in her stall until Y/N is ready, one hind hoof resting on its toe, preserving energy. It’s like the animal knows, since she normally is quite impatient, but right before a competition, she prefers to nap on her feet. It’s a huge contrast to her human, who has trouble controlling her anxiety. The smoothie she had earlier is bubbling inside Y/N, her stomach unsettled. Trying to calm herself by making sure that everything is perfect, she goes through the familiar checklist in her head while the soundtrack of her freestyle plays on her phone.

Dean helped her work out the new routine, thankfully. After setting the bar way too high in her first draft, almost making herself cry when she realized just how impossible it was, he suggested more simple lines, but combinations of the patterns. This is supposed to kick up the degree of difficulty without the floorplan being a tangled mess, and highlights Meadow’s strengths. What she had to figure out next, was what kind of music she wanted to ride to.

Her boyfriend contacted Ash, who was more than willing to edit the tunes for the intern. When she offered Dean the idea, she knew it was a hit when she saw his eyes twinkle. They took the request to the former ranch hand, who went to work and knocked it out of the park. Honestly, a part of Y/N cannot wait to ride her new freestyle, but she’s also downright petrified. What if she screws up? What if she forgets her routine? What if she doesn’t nail it, with Congress only two weeks away? What if she fails?

Everything is ready, all she needs to do is change into her show outfit. Y/N strips down, switching her blue jeans and plaid shirt for black. The back of her button up is decorated with golden studs in the shape of a guitar, and so are the cuffs and shoulders. During a freestyle the rider is allowed to ‘dress up’ and add elements in the arena, make a show of it. Although she’s not a fan of the whole circus act, and much rather prefers to let her performance do the talking and convincing, she wasn’t resenting the idea Ash offered when they listened to the soundtrack. Ellen helped her sow on the miniature pyramid-shaped beads, and the end result is better than Y/N could have hoped for.

The focused competitor slips into her onyx chaps which she just took out, and laces the leather strap through the belt loop of her jeans. She then continues to unpack her cowboy boots, which are the same color as Meadow’s fiery brown tack, shining just as bright. Her brass spurs follow, the rowel jingling when she turns to take a round box from the top, unzipping the lid. The beautiful Milano hat inside has her smile down on the crafted head piece; it was a Christmas gift from her parents. One she received right before her first show with the Quarter mare, the horse who gives her so much more than she could ever hope for. She picks it up by the crown and places it on her smooth hair which Jo braided earlier, the action raising a sense of pride in her chest. The hat makes the outfit, but it comes along with so much more. It gives back some of the confidence her insecurities took away. She’s a cowgirl, in heart and soul.

Last but not least, she takes an object from the same container that safeguarded the Milano. Reminiscing, Y/N draws her thumb over the gold plated metal, feeling the edges of the letters and symbols under her fingertip; it’s her State Championship belt buckle. She closes her eyes, the memories of that epic run flooding her thoughts welcomingly. The stadium spotlights, the roaring crowd, her name in bright letters on the scoreboard. And then that indescribable feeling of horse and rider becoming one, the thrill of coming down that centerline and just knowing that this was going to be their moment, the ride of their lives. She will be in seventh heaven if she manages to get even remotely close to the pinnacle they reached that day.

Footsteps draw her back to reality, the dry ground crunching under heavy boots in the alleyway between the stables. Y/N doesn’t question who it is, Dean promised to help her with the warmup, and since she has stated in her very detailed schedule that she is going to get on her horse ten minutes from now, she is expecting his arrival. Turning around, she meets his astonished gaze in the doorway, his jaw slightly ajar. “Do you think I’d be showing off if I wear this?” she wonders, offering him a look at the coveted buckle.

But Dean only has eyes for a different prize. He needs a moment to recover from the sight of his girlfriend. She’s drop dead gorgeous after a morning muck out, with hay in her messy locks and dust sticking to her damp skin. But now, dressed in her black show outfit, her hair braided and her make-up bringing out the color of her eyes even more, he can’t help but stammer. He chuckles warmly, a blush on his cheeks. “You look - you look amazing.”

His reaction draws a smile on her lips, but she’s too anxious to really appreciate the compliment. There is a time schedule to be considered after all. “My State Champion buckle, or a simple one?” she asks him again, not daring to make the call herself. Dean takes the shiny object, tilting it to admire the award. ‘AQHA State Champion - Maine, 2008’ it says, the inscription curved around a horse’s head, edged in silver and gold. “Wear it,” he decides. “You won that championship fair and square.” “Yeah, I know, it’s just that--” She pauses, fiddling to close the buttons on her cuffs. “I don’t wanna fail to meet everyone's expectations.” The cowboy looks up at her from under his lashes, his green eyes reading her for a second. “Everyone’s expectations? Or your own?”

Dean has a solid point, but evaluating thought processes is not something she needs right now. She sighs and tries to bury her frustrations, very much aware that she snaps easily when she’s on edge like she is now. It wouldn’t be the first time that she loses her cool with someone who is actually there to support her, it usually being either her parents or her brothers. She doesn’t want her boyfriend to endure the same unreasonable behavior, and so she shrugs at that. “I don’t know, really. I mean, yes, I expect a lot from myself, but the thought that people on the sideline, like Bobby, Jody, Donna… you, will judge my every move,” she pauses, letting an anxious sigh fall from her lips. “It honestly makes me feel sick.”

“You shouldn’t let it get to you like that,” Dean suggests, handing her back the buckle. “Yeah, well, that’s easier said than done,” she returns, the edge of her voice much sharper than she meant to come out. While pulling her belt through the loops, she briefly looks up, noticing his head cocked back slightly while his brows meet his hairline, which triggers her to mutter an apology. “Sorry.”

He can see the embarrassment in her stance as she turns her gaze to the floor. The slight offense he took desolates, making room for sympathy. He can tell she’s struggling to cope with the nerves and the pressure she is under, pressure she shouldn’t even be experiencing. This competition is a practice run, an environment to test her new freestyle and get back into the rhythm of the shows after a long break. However, he understands that downgrading this event will not do her any good. What he needs to convince her of, is to believe in herself, like he believes in her.

“Yankee, you’re never gonna fail my expectations. The way I see you doesn’t stand or fall with this performance, or any.” He takes her hands in his, squeezing them softly in order to prevent her from getting lost in that dark forest of negative thoughts. “I get that you want to prove yourself, but it ain’t necessary. The girls already love you, and the fact that Bobby didn’t rip me a new one for kissing you last night proves a point too. All that won’t change after today’s run.”

Carefully, Y/N glances up, met by the sight of empathy swimming in mystic green eyes. “I’m here to back you up, okay? I’ll help you with the warm up, and Jo will be there to assist. It’s gonna be fine. Your horse is awesome, your freestyle is awesome, you are awesome,” he reassures, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Now get your fine butt on that horse.” She takes a slow breath, the smile that his words surface saying just how much that means to her. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

With Meadow’s bridle in hand, she exits the tack room, feeling somewhat lighter than she did ten minutes ago. Dean’s kind words and endless support doesn’t take away the anxiety entirely, but it has enough of an effect to have her believe that maybe, just maybe, she is going to survive this evening. At least he is by her side, not just as her man, but as her trainer as well, and with the way he has been with her so far, she can already tell how different he is from her former instructor. No list of exercises she needs to go through during the warm up, no ‘do this’ or ‘don’t do that’ while she’s preparing to get on her horse. It’s a huge contrast, but one for the better. Maybe Dean is right, maybe it is going to be fine.

Dean looks up when he notices someone approaching from the corner of his eye, the small framed silhouette with a dancing ponytail unmistakably Jo’s. She has a bucket half full with water in one hand with a sponge floating on the surface, a rag hanging from her back pocket and a groom bag over her shoulder. “You ready, sis?” she asks, popping her head over the stable door. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Y/N sighs, tightening the sinch. “You’re gonna do great. Especially with your lover whispering in your ear.” She hands them both a headset, one with a small microphone for Dean and one with an earpiece for her best friend. “Keep it clean, no heavy breathing. The poor girl needs to stay focused.”

The cowboy glares at his cousin, but he bites his tongue, simply because the comment made his girl let out a laugh. Instead he turns on the small device and pushes it in his pocket, secures the mic to the collar of his shirt. Y/N clips the headset behind her belt as well and pushes the bud into her ear. After holding the bit in front of Meadow’s mouth for her to accept, her owner pulls the crown piece of the bridle over her horse’s ears, securing the straps. Focused on her task at hand, she notices a crucial element missing. “Crap, Grandpa’s pendant,” she realizes, pushing the reins into Jo’s hand before rushing back into the tack box.

A moment later, she returns with a small suede bag in her hand, from which she carefully allows a piece of jewelry to roll into her hand. Curious, Dean watches her pick it up between her delicate fingers, after which she attaches it to Meadow’s bridle. Two beads are laced onto a thin leather cord, and the way she handles the small yet precious object, he can tell it holds much value. “Is that your good luck charm?” Jo wonders. “Yeah,” the rider acknowledges, taking back the reins from her friend and leading Meadow out of the stable. “My grandfather gave it to me on my very first show when I was seven.”

Y/N has never ridden a test without the jewel, and she can’t picture doing so in the future. The top bead is made from her birthstone, the one dangling underneath represents a guardian angel. While taking her horse outside, she rubs Meadow’s neck, tracing the charm for a second as the setting sun catches the gem. Before she had to say goodbye to the most influential person in her life, she never really pictured anyone when she saw the little figure with wings dangling from Meadow’s browband, but now she likes to think it is him, watching over her.

A couple of minutes later, Y/N has taken a seat on Meadow’s back, who excitedly walks towards the warm up area with Dean and Jo in tow. Flanked by her trainer on her right side and her groom on the left, a hint of relief hits the cowgirl unexpectedly; she has never been surrounded by a team this solid.

The horse and rider enter the side arena, where a dozen others are warming up in what seems to be a whirlwind of sensories. Music reaches Y/N’s hearing, coming from the competition ring and mixing with loud cheers of the spectators. Trainers shout at their pupils from the sideline, the steward calling for the next on the list. In her first loop in a simple walk, someone cuts her off and Meadow pins her ears back, clearly not at ease in the chaos.

“Can you hear me?” Dean asks through the headset, leaning over the fence of the training field. The familiar warm yet gruff sound in her ear silences the distractions that have her dizzy in an instance. She looks over her shoulder at the head wrangler, nodding in response. “Okay, good. Warm her up like you would do so at home. Try to seek a space where it’s not too crowded, you don’t have to use the entire area,” Dean advises, calmly. “Just focus on my voice, alright? Take a deep breath and focus on me.”

Y/N closes her eyes for a short second and collects herself, doing precisely what he tells her to do. Throughout the warm up he never underlines what she’s doing wrong, but praises her for every right move, building her confidence. For a short period of time it has her wondering if he’s sugarcoating and isn’t giving it to her straight, but minute by minute, she finds it easier to let go of that thought. His encouraging words manage to cast away the fear of screwing up, and before she knows it, she has forgotten about the other riders in the arena, nor does she notice her distracting surroundings. All she hears is his soothing vocals, all she feels is the large animal underneath her, who seems to respond well to their trainer too. Meadow might not be able to hear Dean, but apparently senses the tension oozing from her rider, and becomes more relaxed with every stride.

It’s five minutes until her starting time, when Y/N halts by the fence, next to Jo and Dean. Her friend and groom for the day takes her cue and approaches her with the bucket, wiping down Meadow’s sweaty skin with the sponge, cleaning the mare up before it’s her time to shine. Y/N takes out her ear buds, since she’s not allowed to compete with them, and hands the headset to Jo, trading it for a water bottle. “She feels good, doesn’t she?” Dean checks, smiling up at her while he takes the plastic flask from his student. The woman in the saddle nods. “She does.”

“Y/N Y/L/N! Two minutes!” The rider feels the nerves find their traction again when she glances at the steward who called out her name. She nods in acknowledgement at the man holding a clipboard, and when Jo is done toweling Meadow down, she steers the Quarter towards the entrance of the main arena. The applause that the previous competitor receives grows louder as they approach, meeting the rider on their way over. He seems very pleased with his horse, and the first thing that comes to her mind is that he must have had a good score, a score she needs to beat. The serene mindset the wrangler got her in, is threatened to be disturbed by the stage fright that grips her by the throat. Suddenly, it hits her; this is it.

“Hey…” Dean lays his hand on her knee when he detects that he’s losing her again. “Yankee?” The cowgirl snaps her gaze from the intimidating competition ground to her trainer, who meets her with the most relaxed expression he can muster, despite his worry about her current mental state. He can tell she’s downright scared, not to fall off her horse or anything, but to make a mistake, drop the ball and to have to leave the boxing ring defeated. Right now, the illuminated soil that is about to be her stage isn’t a dance floor to Y/N. No, her eyes tell him a different story, the one of a gladiator in a colosseum, being thrown into the pit for the lions, destined to be defeated, destined to fail.

“When you go in there, I need you to forget about everything,” he starts off, earning a confused look. “What do you mean?” she wonders. “Forget the judges, forget the audience, hell, forget what I’ve told you,” Dean continues, his thumb rubbing her leg soothingly. “The only one you need to listen to, is Meadow. Feel what she tells you and trust your gut when you answer. Let go of all the rest, alright?”

Y/N nods, wetting her dry lips, shooting another glance at the arena before she looks down on the man who has been able to ground her like only one other person has. Dean seems to know who is on her mind, because he reaches for the pendant attached to her horse’s bridle. “He’s with you, and I will be waiting right here, no matter what. You got this, Yankee.”

The encouraging words close off her throat much like the anxiety did earlier, but this time the sentiment is welcoming. Dean’s pep talk helped her see what is truly important, and that this moment is just a short clip of a larger motion picture. She has Meadow, she has Dean, and she has the memory of her grandfather, along with all the wise life lessons that he taught her. Whatever happens in the coming five minutes, that will not change. She trusts the beacon of support that is the man by her side. But in this very moment, most importantly, she trusts Meadow.

Y/N breathes in through her nose and exhales slowly, rubbing her horse’s shoulder, more confident than she has felt all week. The gatekeeper opens the fence for the horse and rider, nothing standing between them and the brightly lit competition ring.

“The next contestant of the evening is Y/N Y/L/N, all the way from Freeport, Maine. This young lady rides Meadowsweet, a nine year old mare sired by Gunner, and these two have made a name for themselves already. Folks, you are going to be watching the current State Champion and this pair has qualified for the prestigious All American Quarter Horse Congress in three weeks. This will be the premiere of their brand new freestyle, so get ready for a rock ‘n roll ride, y’all.”

Y/N peers into the grand arena, tilting her hat forward just enough to keep the spotlights from blinding her. She can feel Dean’s fingers slip from her knee, setting her free now that she has taken control. Focused and determined, the cowgirl makes eye contact with the sound technician, raising her hand. Showtime.

The first tones of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway To Heaven begins to play, and Y/N enters the arena slowly. The timid music silences the crowd, suspense hanging thick in the air. Meadow moves down the centerline and halts, her head low and submissive, waiting for her cue. The intro finishes, the acoustic notes dying down and leaving a second long silence. Knowing the music by heart, the woman in the saddle squeezes her fist holding the reins slightly, preparing Meadow for what is about to come. Then, right as Immigrant Song rings in her ears, she sends her Quarterhorse into a spin.

With high speed and great technique, the mare revolves on the spot like a helicopter rotor, and after going full circle four times stops dead in her tracks, before doing the exact same movement, only this time turning right. The crowd goes absolutely ballistic, and it’s then that Y/N feels a wide smile spreading on her face; she’s gonna nail this run.

One small aid is enough to push Meadow forward, the horse shooting down the centerline like an arrow leaving its bow. With only a few yards between the cowgirl and the judges, she sits back in the saddle, signalling Meadow to dig her hind legs into the ground and progress into an impressive sliding stop. It’s bold, because if the maneuver isn’t spot on, the panel will easily detect the error. The execution is perfect, however, and gathering from the entertained and impressed expressions on the judges’ faces, Y/N’s game plan is working.

With attitude, Meadow rolls back and races around the arena on a large circle, her long strides evenly powerful and rhythmic, this time to the soundtrack of Whole Lotta Love. With her left hand forward between the bay horse’s ears, the cowgirl peers down the path that’s to come, and after having gone full circle, she switches to a left canter through a flying change and mirrors the previous pattern.

The buzz ignited by both the thrilling ride and the response of the audience only fuels her confidence. When she exits the last full speed circle, she transitions into a lope, a collected gate Meadow masters well. The horse and rider combination crosses the arena through a neat half pass. It’s a sideways movement right in front of the judges, the talented mare showing off her reach and finesse.

Not once does Y/N have to correct her dancing partner, every small cue effective. Meadow follows the instructions without question, unable to give a damn about the vibrant ambiance. It’s almost as if the animal can read her owner’s mind, a telepathic connection which can only be established when human and horse have that click and share an unique bond. This is what horse riding is all about, this is the ultimate goal. Two hearts beating as one.

The music builds up to its zenith and shifts to the finishing electric guitar solo in Stairway To Heaven, by the same famous rock band that has been the backing track to this epic performance. On the diagonal, Meadow picks up speed again, her strong muscles rippling under her copper colored coat. The thousand pound being reaches a speed of forty-five miles an hour, accelerating until the opposite corner, where she performs another perfect stop followed by a roll back. There is not a speck of hesitation or doubt, nor any sign of fatigue, despite a sequential series of maneuvers.

After a third stop, she has executed the mandatory patterns, and all that’s left is to go out with a bang. Y/N sends Meadow into one final spin, the tremendous momentum having her dizzy. The sheer power radiating from under her only heightens the high the cowgirl is experiencing, the adrenaline coursing through her veins with the same speed as her horse is turning. After the rapid pirouettes, Meadow breaks off the maneuver on cue in the dead center of the arena, facing the judges. The cheering and whistling crowd almost overrules the dying sound of the guitar strings that are the last notes of the freestyle. Unable to comprehend what just happened, Y/N drops the reins, spreads her arms and folds them around her horse’s neck. Overcome with emotion she hugs her four-legged friend, without words thanking her for the ride of her life.

Only then the cowgirl realizes the roar coming from the spectators, many of them having risen to their feet. As the commentator praises her performance, she circles Meadow back toward the exit of the ring, waving at the enthusiastic kids on the first row. In that four minute run, Y/N and Meadow have stolen the hearts of everyone who is here to witness the definition of horsemanship. She can’t stop herself from smiling so widely that her cheeks hurt while her horse walks along the bleachers, the mare looking at the applauding audience, seeming to understand that it’s for her.

As they approach the gate, the rider hears one girl squeal above all others. Y/N hasn’t even looked in the direction of where the sound came from, but she already knows it’s Jo. Dancing on her feet in absolute delight, she meets her by the fence and high fives her best friend. “God damn, Sis! You rocked out there!” she exclaims, patting Meadow on her neck as well.

Y/N laughs full heartedly at her giddy friend, the ecstasy of her perfect run still in full effect. But when her gaze meets Dean’s, that happiness becomes overwhelming. The handsome cowboy is waiting for her, just like he promised. Gleaming eyes match his sly smirk, but there’s more to the expression, sentiment swimming in his emerald greens. The sight of him breaks something inside of her, and she’s unable to keep the tears at bay.

It’s then that Meadow halts, and just outside of the main arena, Dean steps towards his girl and pulls her into a hug. With her left hand still holding the reins, Y/N embraces the man who she owes so much gratitude. After all, if it wasn’t for him, the freestyle wouldn’t have turned out remotely as good, not to mention that the stress would have done her in. Today he was more than just a trainer or her boyfriend. He was the anchor that kept her grounded, the rock that wouldn’t budge when the waves crashed against her, and the sign that she needed to get out of the maze of self-doubt. She can feel Dean nuzzle his nose into her hair. “I’m so damn proud of you,” he whispers, words only meant for her to hear. Moved by his words, she hugs him a little tighter before she lets him go and wipes away her happy tears. A smile that reaches his ears is still there when she pulls herself together again. “She - she was absolutely amazing,” Y/N stammers, combing her fingers through Meadow’s mane. “The feeling she gave me… I can’t explain it. It was like we were flying.” “That’s because you were, Amelia Earhart,” Jo quips, clearly over the moon for her friend. “Want me to cool Meadow down so you can wait here for your score?”

Y/N nods, feeling her horse’s flanks expand rather rapidly every time the large animal inhales; she really gave it her everything. Once the cowgirl has both feet planted on solid ground, she scratches the mare’s favorite spot behind her ear, facing the beautiful Quarter. Meadow presses her large head against her owner’s chest, more to get rid of an itch than to return the love, making her human giggle. Then the rider hands over the reins to Jo, who takes the bay horse away from the commotion.

Still stunned, Y/N takes another breath, glancing back into the arena. “Did they call the points yet?” Dean comes to stand next to her, gazing at the board in the corner, above the bleachers. “No, I didn’t hear anything.” With her hands placed on her waist, she breathes in, trying to ignore her stomach, which begins to do backflips again. This time, there is not much she can do to influence the outcome, however. Meadow did the best she could and she didn’t make a single mistake; Y/N couldn’t have wished for more. But the new freestyle hasn’t been graded yet, so how the judges will reward the music and the degree of difficulty is still a mystery. The rider tries to tell herself that no matter what number will appear on the screen, she’s satisfied with today’s performance. But as seconds tick by, the suspense builds and eats at her composure.

She can feel Dean’s hand on the small of her back, fingertips tracing soft, calming circles. The motion helps her to pull her gaze away from the digital board, and she glances at the man by her side. Focusing on him has worked so far, so as the tension rises, she tries that tactic again. The world around her stops, her own breathing the only sound she hears, Dean’s touch the only sensation she feels. For a moment, time slows down. But when her trainer’s eyes widen and his jaw falls slack in disbelief, she’s almost too afraid to look at the definite white numbers that can make or break her evening.

It’s only when the crowd erupts that she dares to face the verdict, and what she witnesses, triggers her to clasp her hand over her mouth. Completely stunned, her eyes stay locked on the score, convinced that if she blinks, the numbers will change. She barely registers her boyfriend letting out a cheer, pumping his fists into the air and bouncing on his feet like a little kid. Her view is obstructed when strong arms wrap around her middle and lift her off the ground, but when her gaze locks on the display again, it still tells the same story of victory.

220.5 points.

Unknowingly, she holds her breath, her heart still beating against her chest so wildly, that her cowboy must be able to feel it too. It’s not just a personal best; it tops her old record by three whole points. She broke through the two-twenties, something she only ever dreamed of accomplishing, yet here she is. Shutting her eyes, her thoughts go out to her grandfather, realizing that she has done her guardian angel proud once more.

Dean must have sensed that she got lost in her own head, because he brings her back down from the heavens to their world with a gentle touch upon her cheek. He wipes a stray tear away with the pad of his thumb and takes off her hat, looking at her with so much adoration. His hand slips to the nape of her neck, his forehead bowing to gently rest against hers. Radiant light touches everything in reach, leaving what’s behind them in darkness, together with all the worries and fears. The audience doesn’t seem to be applauding the high score anymore, the wolf whistles and bellows of encouragement instead directed at the couple in the spotlight. Dean didn’t need any more motivation, his lips encasing hers in a soft kiss.

Closing her eyes, she cherishes the moment and smiles against his mouth when Dean uses her cowboy hat to shield them away from all the extra attention. It is in this instance the equestrian realizes something; out of all the rides that she experienced, either in the saddle or in life, this is the one that will go down in memory.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-tree here

#Ride With Me #Cowboy!Dean #Dean x Reader #Supernatural AU #Dean Winchester #Supernatural #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction

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danny-chase · 3 years

Note

if you want, maybe you could do "severed artery" with Dick and have Roy (or one of the other Titans) take care of him? love your writing and I hope you're having a nice day!

AHH thank you so much! I hope you enjoy!

Severed Artery - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Roy Harper & Dick Grayson Characters: Roy Harper, Dick Grayson, Garth (DCU), Donna Troy (minor) Additional Tags: Can be read as pre-slash, POV Roy Harper, POV Dick Grayson, vomitting, Blood, Guns, Hospitals, Canon-Typical Violence, dick is a little shit, Roy is a Little Shit, Homophobia, Roy Harper Needs a Hug, Roy Harper gets/gives a hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Roy Harper emotional whump, Protective Roy Harper, Hurt Dick Grayson, Garth is the best, Titans as family, Confused Dick Grayson, Medical Inaccuracies Series: Part 6 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Dick and Roy are little shits to each other, until the night takes a turn for the worse.

Full story under cut

“Aight, Donna, you ready to go?” Roy chirped, taking a second to look himself over in the mirror, running his fingers through his (surprisingly) soft hair (he’d be stealing Dick’s shampoo more often) – getting that perfect messy, but stylish look. He fired off finger guns at his reflection – he was killing it, somehow listening to Gar of people had worked out – he gave shockingly good fashion advice.

Feeling optimistic, he sauntered into the hall, only to be met with Donna’s confused expression.

“Roy, I’m going out with the girls tonight, I told you like four times.” She leaned against the wall, gesturing to Jesse and Toni, car keys dangling from her hand. Jesse stared at him, an eyebrow cocked judgmentally, as Toni smiled, offering a little wave. He waved back, watching Jesse’s expression morph into disapproval.

“Hey, I didn’t even do anything!” He complained, glaring at Jesse. She rolled her eyes, not deigning to verbally respond. Ice queen.

Reaching out, Donna patted his shoulder, waiting until he met her eyes. “I’m sorry, hun, but we’ve got tickets to a concert, could we go out next weekend?” She fluttered her eyelids slightly, sending chills up his spine. “Why don’t you take one of the boys with you?”

“Terrible company, but babe, have fun, I’ll figure something out.” He cupped her chin in his hand, leaning forward to peck a kiss to the top of her head, ignoring the fact she squatted down to make the moment work.

“Mm, thanks.” With that, the girls were off for the night, leaving him stranded in a deserted hallway.

Well. He could do what Donna suggested and take out one of the guys – he had the reservation, and Lian was already situated with the sitter. But which guy was the question… Wally was out with the league, Garth was visiting home, Vic was with Gar, and Grant had a date. Which left Dick – no - Dick was busy working – actually yes – he likely needed a break.

Actually – was he even here?

He started towards the central control room, poking a head in Dick’s room on the way and had to do a double take.

“You’re actually in your room?” Dick threw a pencil at him without looking up from his desk, child’s play to dodge – Dick speak for hmm, maybe something like ‘asshole’, but he took it as an invitation to enter. But if Dick was going to call him an asshole, he had expectations to live up to.

He took a standing leap, twisting and flopping across Dick’s immaculately made bed, sending blankets and pillows careening off the side. Dick ignored him, scribbling down some notes on a pad of paper. Roy waited for a few minutes, listening to the scratch of pen on paper. Quick and noisy – Dick was likely stressed – he was pushing down harder than normal; he gave it an eighty/twenty chance something was up.

Ripping paper proved him right, as Dick frustratedly crumpled up the page of notes, throwing them behind him, hitting the recycling bin with ease. Groaning, he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes.

“Showoff.” Dick startled, jumping out of his chair, Roy’s own reflexes were the only thing that saved him from taking a pen between the eyes.

“What the fuck, Richard?!” He yelled, yanking the little missile out of the air. A faint flush tinted the top of Dick’s ears.

“I forgot you were there.” The admission was almost too quiet to hear, but combined with the minute sign of embarrassment, it rang of truth. Roy could milk this, oh he totally could.

“What was that, why did you almost kill me?” If he played his cards right, he wouldn’t be dining alone tonight.

“I didn’t think you were…” Dick trailed off, glaring at him. “You heard what I said.” He retorted, catching on. Sucks to suck, Dickie – he was obviously tired if that spooked him – he was likely running on caffeine.

“Oh, you misunderstand.” Scooching off the edge of the bed, he hopped lightly onto the balls of his feet. “Why’d the batboy forget I was there, hmm?” He pulled a half-eaten energy bar off the desk, inspecting the wrapper. Dick casually rocked back in his chair.

“See, completely decaf, I told you I’d-” Roy yanked open a drawer, Dick darting to stop him. “This is my desk!” He slammed the drawer shut a moment too late – Roy had good eyes after all.

“Hmm, so how do you explain the-”

“Get out, I have stuff to do – aren’t you supposed to be on a date with-”

“-CAFFIENE PILLS IN YOUR DRAWER!” He shouted through Dick’s response, effectively shutting him up. There’d been an intervention years ago after too many days spent on one hour or less of sleep. “You know the deal.” Dick groaned as he ruffled his hair.

“I have to-”

“Eat, shower, and sleep. And I have reservations. For two. You’re coming with me.” Ah yes, a romantic dinner date with Dick Grayson. People would kill for this. Dick crossed his arms. Roy picked up his chair, staggering towards the door. Dick was going whether he liked it or not, a real meal (not protein shakes or energy bars) would do him good.

“No one’s even done this to me in like, a year.” He noted, gracefully leaping out of the seat. “Asshole.” Grumbling he lightly punching him in the arm before heading into his walk-in closet, stripping off his shirt as he went. Automatically, Roy scanned for any new injuries, his eyes lingering over a few of the old.

“Liar, Wally caught you two months ago. Besides, the restaurant is nice, Donna likes it and you two are basically the same person, so you’ll love it.” Dick scoffed, stepping out of view.

“Is that all I am to you? Your replacement for Donna?” He sounded mildly offended.

“Nah, you’re too ugly to replace her.” Dick hmphed. “And your personality sucks.” Roy added.

“Why the hell am I going with you?”

“It’s not like your night could get any worse.” Dinner was better than casework after all.

Dick’s head poked out the doorway, looking completely unamused. “Asshole.” He chirped a second time, ducking back away.

Roy sat across from him, speaking between mouthfuls of pasta, smacking his lips together. “So anyways this kid, Johnny is like, sitting next to Lian in class, and he keeps taking her crayons and won’t give them back.” Dick thought for a moment, watching Roy drum his fingers rhythmically on the table. “And the teacher is being ridiculous, she just believes Johnny over Lian. My Lian! Can you believe it?” He slammed his fork down, articulating the point.

And you’re sure Lian gave you the whole story? Was what Dick wondered, but he’d prefer not to die for questioning Lian’s integrity tonight. “Why don’t you mark her crayons with a sharpie and let the teacher know?” Roy’s fingers stopped.

“Huh, hadn’t thought of that.” He leaned back in his seat, distantly looking out the window. People trickled down the street, passing by the little café, kicking up crimson leaves from half empty trees. Streetlights flickered on; fairy lights crisscrossing the avenue, as the sun lazily sunk in the sky. It was a beautiful night – Roy was right, he did love it, the food was good – catching up with Roy was refreshing – and the location was stunning; as always, Roy always picked the perfect places for dates. Dick was past the point of being annoyed at the situation but was still determined to give Roy a hard time.

“Well, maybe if you thought about that instead of harassing me.” He leaned forward, resting his head on his hand, dramatically looking out the window – Babs was going to kill him for being late with his case reports. Again. Roy smirked as he rocked forward, reaching across the table to lay a hand on his forearm. He at least had the decency to look apologetic.

“Look, you know the deal.” Brushing his thumb against his skin placatingly, he waited until Dick met his eyes. “You’re working full time, and have your nightly duties, and you’re with us.” His voice dropped, his nostrils flaring in irritation. “It’s not like you’ll leave Bruce alone any time soon either. Dick.” His eyes crinkled around the edges – concern. “You’ve got to start taking care of yourself.” Dick rolled his eyes; he was doing fine.

“You’re working with Ollie, you have a daughter, and you’re working with us, look I had one breakdown-”

“More than one-”

“-Only one that wasn’t the result of external influences.” Fuck Brother Blood for the other ones. “We made the caffeine deal after,” he grimaced reflexively “I broke up with Kory but, Roy.” He clasped Roy’s hand with his other hand reassuringly. “I promise I’m doing better now.” Tilting his head to the side, he cracked his neck. “Plus, you only brought me along because Donna was busy, that’s not what the deal was for.”

“Okay, maybe that was shitty of me, but it’s nice seeing you without the tights.” Roy flashed a winning smile. “Not that I don’t like seeing you in them, the new stuff looks great.”

“Oh, so I don’t look great now?” He teased. He’d picked out his brightest shirt for the occasion – a polo patterned after bowling alley carpet paired with the tightest red jeans he could find, and of course, a pair of heels borrowed from Donna. A single giant hoop earring dangled off his left ear. If he was going out with Roy, he wanted people taking pictures. Payback. This would be in the news tomorrow.

“Babe,” Roy lifted up his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You look stunning.” He grinned goofily, seemingly happy to play along. Welp. If that’s how they were going to play it. He booped Roy’s nose, watching his pupils dilate. Dick recoiled in surprise – Roy wasn’t -

“Wait, you’re not actually-”

A scream cut him off, whirling around in his seat he saw a large man storming into the café brandishing a gun, his face red beet red and angry. He turned back, squeezing Roy’s hand, nodding towards the silverware.

“No-no one else move!” The guests around them stayed frozen in place. Three older ladies on their right, a family of four on their left (he guessed it was the young girl who screamed), and a couple across from them. The staff ducked behind the counter as people outside the restaurant scrambled away.

Dick raised his hands slowly. “I said no one move!” The gun pointed directly at him. Perfect.

“Okay, I won’t move.” He said steadily, watching sweat bead on the man’s head – he was nervous, his hands twitched uneasily on the gun – possibly his first time, and he kept muttering to himself. He watched Roy’s hand carefully creep towards silverware in his peripheral. “Do you want money? My father is rich.” Watching the man jitter about, he slowly stood up. Roy’s hand closed around the fork.

“Okay? You-you can get me money?” The man mused to himself, shifting his weight back and forth. He started lowering his gun, taking a step forward, he reached out his other hand. Dick took a few steps to the right, away from his chair, shifting attention away from Roy. “Okay the-”

*BANG* The world sped up around him, he rushed forward as the man fell-

*BANG* The man hadn’t even hit the ground – he was already dead – already-

“DICK-”

*BANG* Blood and brain matter poured out of the man’s head, someone was screaming, it didn’t need to-

*BANG*

“STOP!” Someone slammed into his side, and he hurtled to the ground. “HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

Roy’s face hovered above him. “Dick! You’re going to be fine.” His hands clamped napkins to his left shoulder, one on his front the other on his back – and shit – that was a lot of blood. “Hey, look at me.” Pain radiated out for the spot as Roy doubled the weight on the wound, blood seeping out past his fingers, waves pulsating in time to his heartbeat.

Cops burst in through the door, rushing to swarm the dead body. One glanced their way. “Oh shit, you hit the fa-”

“Fucking call an ambulance you dipshits!” Roy’s voice sounded farther away. “Slow your heart, fuck, do your Jedi weirdo bat tricks.” He hissed. Too late, sometimes, things happen too fast. “They hit an artery.” The blood wasn’t stopping, the napkin was soaked through, Dick felt himself slipping into shock. “Dick, stay awake!”

“Lo-ve y-ou.” He stumbled over the words as the world exploded – a million things happening at once – his thoughts scattering as black tinged his vision, overcoming everything.

Roy scrubbed his hands, pausing over the sink, watching the pink water rush down the drain, gurgling as it went. He rubbed a hand further, tackling the blood crusted over his elbow. He made a mistake of catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror –Dick’s blood was everywhere, coating his shirt, arms, pants, even some on his face. His stomach flipped, clenching tightly as he started to gag - fuck.

Throwing himself over the toilet, dinner rising back up in his throat, he threw up the seat. Shaking, he held himself over the porcelain toilet, fingertips staining it red, as he heaved. Soap bubbles dripped from his hands over the edge of the bowl, spattering on the ground.

Each drop spurred a recollection of the night’s events.

*Plop* The man was dead before he hit the grown, brain matter spattering the wall.

*Plop* A bullet whistled through the air, missing Dick by millimeters, lodging six inches next to the little girl’s head. He ran, screaming “Dick!”

*Plop* Blood sprayed out, a bullet ripping through Dick’s shoulder, as he kept moving towards the man.

*Plop* “Stop!” Tackling Dick out of the way, he screamed for them to stop, ripping napkins off a table and desperately trying to stop Dick’s life from slipping through his fingers.

He fell to his knees, a pit growing in his stomach spreading to his chest, rooting him to the spot. He curled his knees to his chest. Fuck. Dick had been shot before. But this? It was different. They weren’t in costume, they hadn’t been ready – the man hadn’t even shot anyone, only the bastard cops had.

“Love you.”

What kind of final words were those! He sat on the tile floor, banging his head into the side of the wall. Dick couldn’t die. Not because he forced him on some dumb dinner date! It wasn’t fucking fair!

His vision blurred, but he couldn’t do anything to stop the tears, unless he wanted blood in his eyes. Just – fuck. “FUCK!” His shout reverberated around the room. This was all his fault – he should have stayed home with Lian, guilt pooled in the bottom of his stomach. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Why’d he always have to have the last word? What was wrong with him!? Normal people didn’t antagonize each other like that!

The door creaked open. “Roy?” Garth called, the door squealing as it slowly opened. “Donna’s here too, are you ohhhhhhhhh-kay?” His jaw dropped, though he quickly recovered. Roy looked away, in a failed attempt to hide the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Garth stared at his hands. “That’s a lot of blood.” He muttered, his eyes darting around the room. “I mean, I brought you clean clothes.” He placed pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt he’d stolen from Dick years ago on the counter. Roy’s eyes lingered on the shirt, no doubt the choice had been intentional.

The sound of rushing water cut through the silence, seeming to grow louder with each passing moment. Garth leaned back against the counter, hopping up next to the sink. “He’ll be fine.”

“Yep.” Dick was always fine. Always fine until he wasn’t.

“It’s not your fault.” Wrong.

“Debatable.” Garth frowned at the response but held his tongue. Instead, he let his head fall back against the mirror, staring up at the ceiling.

Softly, barely above a whisper, he continued. “I left you all alone for one day and this is how it ends up.” Roy bit his lip. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Guilt bubbled in the bottom of his stomach, and annoyance overcame him; they’d had these conversations before.

“Are you kidding me? I know what you want me to say. It’s not your fault – of course not. But then you’ll say ah but it’s not my fault either.” Angrily throwing his arms in the air, he continued, his voice growing louder. “And no – Garth – actually it is my fault!” He could feel the blood rushing to his face. “I’m the one who made him go to the restaurant. I’m the one was too late getting him out of the line of fire!” His voice resounded around the cramped room. He banged his head against the wall again. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do and thanks. But no thanks.”

Nonchalantly shrugging, Garth gestured to the water. “Wallowing here won’t make you feel less guilty. Apologizing when he wakes up will help, and I’m sure you’d prefer to be clean when the time comes.”

“Garth? Could you just…” He trailed off; anger quickly overcome by a wave of guilt. Shut up? Leave? Stop? He wasn’t sure, but he was sure he didn’t deserve whatever pity Garth was feeling. A wet paper towel smacked him in the face.

“Kick you in the rear so you’ll get off your sorry ass and clean yourself up?” Hopping off the counter, Garth strode over, lifting Roy by the elbow. “That’s not my style. But I’ll help you get cleaned up.” He let himself be dragged towards the running water, facing himself in the mirror once more, though this time he focused on Garth.

Sometimes Dick could swear he was actually a time traveler. Or maybe had latent teleportation abilities. Realistically, he’d probably just blacked out from blood loss or a concussion, but eh, that option wasn’t as fun. Blinking, he found himself in a familiar setting; a hospital room in a private wing, at – a clock ticked to his left, looking up – it was 4:19am.

He waited a minute, watching the clock turn to 4:20 - nice.

What was he doing again? How long was he out?

He struggled for a moment before remembering that he went out with Roy at 6pm last night, so he was out for… god math was hard. Six to twelve is six hours plus four, uh, ten hours and twenty minutes. Right. As long as it was the same day, he was set.

“Shit.” He promptly realized he couldn’t move his left arm. A sling. UGH. “Son of a-” he cut himself off, realizing he wasn’t alone in the room, Donna was gently snoring in a nearby chair, a little throw blanket covering her. The patterns had fish people… there was a word for that… mer-somethings-maids, mermaids. Mermaids – Garth – Garth was here, that was his blanket.

Dick scanned the room, checking for signs of life. Someone’s bag was on the floor, but he didn’t feel like expending the brain power to figure out who’s. Alright. He steeled himself. Now was the perfect time for escape.

The room spun as he sat up, turning around and round again before his eyes. Hah. Count Vertigo was way worse than this. Yep, head empty, room spinning, this was fine. Swinging his legs over the bed, an alarm blared next to his head.

“Fuck!” He jumped out of his skin, springing to his feet, in a defensive position. Well. He thought he did. The room was tilting on its side, the high-pitched noise shattering his thoughts. Instinctively, he tried to run.

“Woah there, shorty.” He found himself held by strong arms, the world turning once more. The familiar scent of Roy’s aftershave overpowered his senses. Distantly he was aware of the alarm turning off, his legs hitting the back of the bed. Roy’s face swam into view as he was guided back onto the bed, now propped up by soft pillows. So much for escape…

He closed his eyes, waiting for the rush of dizziness to pass. “Roy?” Warm arms wrapped around his torso, snaking tenderly around the sling. “What?” He mumbled - not that he was complaining, as he nestled his chin on Roy’s shoulder. He sighed contentedly, pressing his face into Roy’s stiff neck, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth.

For some reason, the wheels in his brain began turning. Roy. Dinner. Gunshots. His eyes shot open. “Fuck did you get hit, are you okay?” He pulled back, scanning Roy for injuries.

“I’m fine.” Roy facepalmed.

“What?”

“You got shot and you’re asking if I’m okay?” Roy shook his head, exhaustion clear in his voice. Dick looked at his sling again.

“I got shot?” It was like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. “I got shot…” Wasn’t he supposed to be somewhere else? “How the fuck am I supposed to explain this to my boss?”

Sighing, Roy took a seat on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why are you like this?” Turning, he looked Dick in the eyes. “Don’t answer that actually. Look, I’m sorry I made you go out to dinner.”

“Why? It was nice.” The food was good. Sputtering, Roy searched for words.

“Well. Don’t say I never apologized.” A little bit of a blush crept up his neck.

His mind abruptly recalled something he’d heard Roy saying to Lian. “Apologies come with hugs.” Roy rolled his eyes but moved closer anyways.

“You don’t even know why I’m apologizing.” He mumbled, brushing Dick’s bangs to the side. Dick grinned as Roy pecked his forehead, sweeping him into a second embrace. Two hugs in one day – that was a pretty good day. Roy’s fingers stroked through his hair, as Dick leaned into his muscular side, the world spinning slightly, though he’d found a solid rock to lean on.

#bad things happen bingo #titans #batfam #nightwing #arsenal #roy harper #dick grayson #my writing #i'm changing up how i post these a little bit - i'll just make one post responding to the ask #i think it makes it a bit neater #thanks so much for the request!#asks #fanfic

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