#it makes johnny unlikable. and its such a shame because at the end of the day its johnnys character who’s really suffering for it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astranite · 3 months

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Limp

John and Virgil!!! The whole range of hurt/comfort, angsting and fluff though leaning rather towards comforty. Scott also sneaks in for a good bit at the end. And there are hugs. Also there is autistic John and Virgil which it isnt about but its very there :)

This started off from the first line from a tumblr prompt from @aliceinwhumperland and the idea from @katblu42 to have John being the one limping then it grew from there!!! Minor warning for injury and medical stuff. Also that this reached 6k words!!

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"You think you're hiding it, but I can see that limp from space."

Virgil leaned closer to his comm, giving John a prime view of dark, angular done-with-this-shit eyebrows.

John definitely didn’t panic. He just didn’t want the totally needless scrutiny of a medic brother all up in his business. Or asking questions like, ‘What did you do to yourself this time?’

“What limp?” he replied. He could play it off as obtuse and then no one had to ever to find out.

Virgil gave a Scott-worthy facepalm. “Do I have to worry about a concussion too?”

Okay maybe that was too obtuse. But he was running on few hours of sleep, back to back rescues and no bloody breakfast so who could blame him.

“I’m fine, Virgil.” John rolled his eyes.

Virgil didn’t dignify that with a response.

Well then, John could prove it. Ignoring the ache in his left foot and that the last time he tried this was probably what had gotten Virgil’s suspicions on him in the first place, he twisted through the central hub of Five to the entry to the gravity ring.

Lowering himself carefully in what was usually a thoughtlessly graceful manoeuvre, he landed on his feet in the grav ring, a triumphant, “See, I’m perfectly fine,” already on his lips. Except as soon as his left foot touched the ground with his weight on it, a sharp stab shot through it.

He couldn’t hold back the painfully obvious wince. Or the sudden gasp.

Virgil’s disappointment was another blow. “And here I thought I had one sensible brother. How did it happen?”

Mechanism of injury, a completely ordinary question for a medic to ask. One he’d compliantly answered for many accidents, even ridiculous earthside ones such as, ‘Fell over again and it’s all gravity’s fault.’ But up here he was meant to be in his element.

John crossed his arms stubbornly, wobbling on one foot.

“Couldn’t say.”

“Johnny.” Virgil was exasperated by now.

“Definitely not telling you anything if you call me that.”

“Johnathan Glenn Tracy.”

“Nope. That’s not even my name.”

“John.”

“Congratulations, you figured it out,” John spat.

Virgil looked taken aback.

A lump rose in John’s throat.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a shit day.”

He could feel his face growing as red as his hair with shame. It would definitely be visible over holograms. To make it worse, Virgil was probably as exhausted as he was. The last rescue had been nasty, earthquakes so often were, and Thunderbird Two had been on several more before that. He didn’t deserve to have to deal with John’s sarcastic, bitchy attitude as well.

John admitted defeat and hopped over to the wall to hold onto a grab bar to keep his balance and take the weight off his foot. And resisted the urge to bang his head against it because that sort of thing had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

His foot was throbbing, Virgil’s expression was soft because he’d already forgiven him and John was just over it all.

“Please promise you won’t laugh.” He couldn’t deal with that on top of everything else, no matter how unlikely it was that Virgil would.

“Alright, I promise. I’m not going to judge you, John.”

“I kicked a wall,” John mumbled, “On purpose, because I got mad that the bagel dispenser wasn’t working and a call came in so there was no time to fix it and I couldn’t sleep last night and I’m stressed about literally everything and just wanted a fucking bagel but clearly that was too much to ask of the universe!”

John shut his mouth with a clack. The words had come out in a torrent rising in volume that he couldn’t hold back. Over such a stupid thing too.

When John could finally bring himself to glance up from the stars beneath the floor outside, Virgil’s gaze held nothing but empathy.

“You’re right, it has been a pretty shit day.”

John nodded quietly.

Virgil continued, “Just— John, you know you don’t have to hide stuff like that from us, from me, right? We’ve all done stupid things in anger before and probably will do so again. That big, blue splodge of paint on my studio wall? Yeah, I chucked a paintbrush at it because a painting wasn’t working out and I was frustrated and it was three am after a string of bad rescues and I lost it a bit.”

Huh. John hadn’t known that. Virgil was usually least likely to blow up as far as it went.

“Point is, you’re not alone in this. Tracy temper, remember? We’ve all got it and we are all working out how to work with it. But it isn’t an excuse to conceal an injury that might need treatment even if it seems like it, ‘Should be fine,’ or ‘Isn’t that bad,’ or you think it’s caused by something stupid and you’re worried about us judging you. Because we won’t.”

John took a deep breath and let it out through his teeth.

He wasn’t even getting lectured at for being an idiot, or having it brushed off as nothing because, ‘Red heads and their tempers, y’know,’ or plain old being yelled at because, ‘John, you’re meant to be better than this.’

Virgil cared about him. That was simple fact.

So John cooperatively answered Virgil��s questions about pain, the range of motion he had and when exactly had the injury occurred this morning. That he couldn’t bear weight on it was pretty telling something was wrong. And it really did hurt.

“You’re going to need to come down here so I can get x-rays of that foot,” Virgil said apologetically.

John bit back the wave of disappointment, along with the accompanying urge to snap and snarl.

“I know.”

He really didn’t want to go back to earth and deal with everyone’s concern and fussing when he just wanted to ignore them and go to bed. Up here on Five no one was close enough to be affected by his moods unless they put in a comm call which he could, as above, ignore.

But John dutifully transferred control over to Eos and the island, packed his bag because he’d probably be there for a while but he wasn’t going to think about that and loaded himself into the space elevator. He knew how dangerous untreated injuries were in space better than anyone.

The descent was slower than usual, as was protocol for an injury where speed was not of the essence and a less turbulent descent outweighed the need for timeliness. It gave John plenty of opportunity to stare at the rounded edge of the space elevator’s inner ceiling. Frustration over near guaranteed being grounded bubbled up until he had to screw his eyes shut and force himself to focus on the way the g-forces felt against his body so he didn’t utterly lose it.

Landing on earth came with a jolt that managed to catch John by surprise. He flinched, then checked the systems read outs and undid his restraints. Remaining lying on the launch couch was one third to demonstrate he could be sensible and wait instead of trying to walk off a potentially serious injury, another third because he didn’t want to tangle with gravity on his own, and also so that he could childishly pretend he was still up on Five and far away for a little longer.

Virgil knocked on the space elevator doors and a second later they slid open. John gave him a weak smile.

The journey through the hangars to the infirmary was made with Virgil’s supportive arm around his waist and John’s arm draped across his brother’s broad shoulders as John stubbornly limped along. He did take a moment as his feet first touched the concrete floor and gravity really took hold to lean into Virgil’s half hug and just breathe.

The infirmary was the same as it always was, with its sterile smell overloaded with the sharpness of antiseptic that made it different from the atmosphere on Five, and thankfully quiet.

John manoeuvred himself up onto the closest bed, sinking into the stiff foam mattress as much as was physically possible. Stars, he was tired.

Virgil was exceedingly gentle as he eased John’s foot out of his space boot. He stripped the sock off too, propping the foot up to rest in his lap to examine it. John grimaced as Virgil necessarily poked and prodded at where it was sorest. Though the bruises and swelling were not particularly hard to spot from where contact had been made with the solid bulkhead.

John anxiously chewed his lips waiting for Virgil to get the portable x-ray, zap him and be done with it.

Moving his sore foot around at all the required angles for the shots was… a process.

He did his best to be patient as Virgil took the x-rays off to Grandma for a second opinion on how they would most effectively treat him, but ended up curled in a ball on the slightly plasticky hospital sheets, stubbornly facing the wall with his foot carefully positioned in a way that it least hurt.

He wasn’t asleep, it was not late enough for that and he was far too wired but he was knocked out of his reverie nonetheless by Grandma stroking his hair.

“Definitely broken, kiddo. No getting around that.”

Even John could see it when they showed him the x-rays. He could only be grateful the fracture was neatly aligned and wouldn’t need surgery, he’d seen plenty of worse breaks in the field. It still meant weeks of being grounded, away from Five and unable to go home to his stars.

Virgil applied the cast under Grandma’s supervision. John shuddered at the sensations even as he tried to keep still. He was proud of how far Virgil had come in his medical education and he made sure his brother knew that.

The usual checks after coming down from space wore on his nerves. He took the painkillers for his stupid broken foot, the anti-nausea meds as his stomach wasn’t settling from the change from microgravity and the tall lidded cup of the least disgusting flavour of electrolyte drink as directed.

He fidgeted with his baldric, tracing over the lines of his suit; everything was a lot today. For all of them; John didn’t miss the dark circles beneath Virgil’s eyes or the way he slumped as he sat on the bed next to John once Grandma had left and the cast was setting.

Virgil had briefly crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself, hands rubbing the flannel of his sleeves. Then he uncrossed them, hunching his shoulders to appear smaller, less intimidating, fingertips still going over the soft, worn fuzzy material of the cuffs of his flannel.

John placed his hand, palm up on Virgil’s leg. Virgil took it and John squeezed his fingers once as they sat in silence for a while.

Changing out of his space suit for the loose pyjama shorts and t-shirt Virgil brought was difficult and awkward with his foot. And how clumsy he was here in general.

Trying to walk on crutches was, to put it in far politer words than John vehemently used, a disaster.

One second he was standing with the crutches around his arms, adjusted to the correct height, his casted foot off the ground, everything done properly, about to take a step. The next he was a tangled pile of limbs on the ground.

John’s cheeks were burning red yet again. Stupid, fucking gravity and his miraculous ability to trip over nothing.

He shoved the useless hunks of metal away from him as the room blurred, swiping at the angry tears as they formed.

Virgil crouched in from of him, checking him over for injury. Well, further injury.

There wasn’t any, apart from his rather dented pride. John didn’t count the damp tears trickling down his face as he studiously attempted to ignore them.

Virgil made a soft noise as John let himself be pulled into a hug. Warm flannel absorbed his tears as John hugged Virgil tighter. Somehow it felt like he hadn’t seen him for months even though it couldn’t’ve been that long, could it? Unless they counted for quality time rather than John being periodically dragged down to earth… He missed his quietest and closest brother in age even if they’d been talking mission only this morning.

Maybe John tried to hide from the world for a little while, and Virgil let him. They both needed this; Virgil’s face was also buried in John’s hair.

After a while, sitting sprawled on the hard infirmary floor caught up to them with all the aches of too long days of heavy work. And broken bones. John shifted with a grimace.

Now he had to get back up off the ground when the crutches were clearly not a help, when he was pretty near useless down here, unable to resist the inevitable pull of gravity to the centre of the earth and the unforgiving ground.

…He was probably being far too dramatic about it. Should just get it together like everyone else seemed able to do.

But it was still a problem that he didn’t want to deal with because fundamentally, he wished he was back on Five.

He had been going to tell someone about the injury, of course. Just as soon as he’d thought up a watertight excuse slash explanation. As soon as got himself under control and stopped being so sensitive over everything that he’d snap at anyone who got near him. So he would not end up like this, a too-emotional mess on the floor.

Virgil once again checked his cast and his broken foot were undamaged by his fall. John wondered whether it was as much for Virgil’s sake of making sure idiot big brothers weren’t going to suddenly keel over as for John’s. John rubbed a hand roughly over his face. It was because Virgil cared. And maybe time had proven he had a right to worry.

John protested as Virgil went to pick him up, on the grounds Virgil had already been doing plenty of heavy lifting on rescues today and he had to be exhausted already, and John really didn’t want him to throw his back out or his knees or whatever other worst case scenarios John could come up with.

He also knew he’d look utterly ridiculous in Virgil’s hold, all gangly, lanky limbs out of proportion with Virgil’s shorter, stockier build. And John was more likely to accidentally elbow someone in the nose, which had demonstrably happened before and the guilt still chewed at him, than even Scott fighting tooth and nail against being slung over someone’s shoulder when he there was no way he could even physically stand, let alone walk any distance. He warned Virgil away sharply.

“John. I know my limits, and you aren’t any worse than Scott.” Virgil sounded done with it all. “And I’d rather carry you than have to pick up the pieces or reset that cast, which I have also had to do before, because one of my brothers is injured and deserves help but they are too damn stubborn to let me.”

The fight in John left him as a hissing exhale, like a hole in a space ship venting atmosphere.

Virgil scooped him up off the ground, promising to figure the rest out later as John avoided flailing too much.

His brother’s arms were secure around his knees and under his shoulders, holding him close so there was no danger of him hitting the ground, of the falling that some part of John secretly feared, even with the rocking movement of Virgil’s strides. John’s cheek stayed mushed against Virgil’s flannel-clad chest.

The walls of the house passed him in a tired blur. He really didn’t want to be left to sit around in his room where no matter how tired he was he wouldn’t sleep yet. Lying there staring at the ceiling all afternoon with nothing better to occupy him than his turbulent thoughts was frankly not a good idea.

He said as much to Virgil, probably far too bluntly. The usual multi-stage filter he sorted his words through before he ever said them had met its untimely demise in face of his exhaustion several hours ago.

It wasn’t like he wanted to hang around amidst the noise and movement and peopleing of the lounge with everyone else either. John being difficult again, as usual, the voice in the back of his head snarked.

Virgil had mercy on John and took the back route through the house instead of past the comms room where everyone would see him, even if it was only his family who he should know wouldn’t judge him. Everyone had been in the position of being carried about when they’d fallen asleep somewhere or were injured or were about to be chucked into the pool, so except in the last situation, John shouldn’t’ve been embarrassed or really cared, except that he did.

They passed by John’s bedroom. John curled a little closer to Virgil in something that could’ve been called relief. He really wasn’t sure he wanted to be completely alone right now; he trusted Virgil.

A booted foot nudged open the door before Virgil placed John down on one of the big, squishy beanbags in the corner of his studio.

John melted into it. He didn’t think he had bones anymore. Or any outside of the ones he’d just broken which had plenty of painful evidence of their existence. But no bones. He could even forgive gravity just this once when it was letting him sink into the soft surface.

He looked up at Virgil’s low chuckle.

“They’re good, aren’t they? Gordon found them online and I chose the colours.” Virgil smiled fondly.

They hadn’t been here the last time John had hung out in Virgil’s studio with him. A spike of sorrow stabbed at his chest.

New beanbags were a tiny change. It shouldn’t even matter. Except they demonstrated precisely how he was missing out on the details of his brothers’ lives while he was away.

The beanbag covers were greens and yellows, soft, earthen shades exactly what John would expect Virgil to pick. Colourful, but not in your face. Soothing and restful but not dull.

Observations probably not as important to anyone else as John found them.

Virgil ducked out and came back with John’s tablet, the one he used earth-side with its bulky, lilac shatter-proof case.

John took it carefully from Virgil’s hands, not because it was breakable even dropped from quite a height, but because of the consideration Virgil gave him, to bring him it to read on when he couldn’t go get something himself.

In space, alone, it wasn’t like there anyone to do that kind of thing for him. Even with the gifts snuck into monthly supply crates by his family, he’d sort of forgotten how it felt.

He shoved away the ever so familiar feeling of being torn in two. He loved the stars, loved being up on Five, he really did. In spite of this, missing his family while up there was a constant wound he packed with the duty of constantly being called upon, of constantly needing to be the Voice Who Answers, in hopes of staunching his bleeding emotions. It contrasted with how he never wanted to outstay his welcome on Earth.

Why was it that no matter where he was, he still wanted to go home?

Why did anger seethe and rise only to leave him all hollow and empty?

John gulped, running his hands over his face. He tucked one into his hair, tugging at the strands in an effort to distract himself. Why the fuck was he like this?

Virgil had turned away to get something off his desk, so at least he didn’t have to see John freaking out over nothing.

John forced a smile when Virgil looked back at him in concern. It wasn't like he could do anything about it.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Virgil said.

He was wearing his set of large, over-ear noise-cancelling headphones, covered in green stickers, his chin nodding along to a beat John couldn’t hear. Virgil wasn’t smiling but the creases around his eyebrow scar were shallower. Today had been getting to him too.

Left alone, John examined the art studio more thoroughly, letting himself become absorbed in the details, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

The whole place was very Virgil, in the best possible way. Storage for art materials was arranged with an engineer’s precision for putting and keeping things in their proper order, cupboards with closed doors painted olive green and neatly labeled in Virgil’s blocky handwriting. Only the pencils Virgil was currently using were left on his desk, in their tray reordered into an exactingly coloured gradient. John couldn’t deny that it also clicked in his brain with that urge to line stuff up.

An electric keyboard lived along a side wall by a bookshelf containing folders of sheet music and art theory books. John knew from Virgil that the music was arranged by each song’s dominant colour palette according to folder, when he asked as at first he couldn't make sense of the system when of course Virgil would have a system.

There were speakers in a few places around the room for the frequent times Virgil listened to music while creating. Good quality ones because Virgil said certain staticky types gave him the same sensation as putting gritty sand in his mouth.

It was Virgil’s space for making art and just being, so he’d adapted it to him. Virgil got overwhelmed when there was too much visual stimulation, with constant busy, bright colours and clutter of the world he couldn't put away, so here was an escape from that.

The walls and ceiling were light, giving an airy feeling. A large landscape window joined inside and outside seamlessly, looked over what John privately thought was the best view on the island, except for the observatory. You could see right out past Mateo, over pokey trees and ocean. Late afternoon sunlight poured in, and there were shades if it got too much.

Greenery was introduced into the room itself by the massive monstera plant in the corner, its umbrella-like leaves forming pleasing shadows on the floor, contrasting with the near liquid golden light. More smaller plants were scattered about. John brushed his fingers over the monstera, to reach out and touch the tangible connection with life and the earth.

Occasionally a piece of art was hung up for a while as it was finished before being moved to its intended display area in an other part of the house, like the watercolour sketch of playful dolphins amongst their reef obviously intended for Gordon. But mostly there wasn't anything to distract from the artwork, on canvas or as music, that Virgil was bringing to life.

John found the studio calming too, even when he usually tended towards wanting all his bright stars, books, open screens and telescopes in his space at once. There was something about the soothing surroundings, how the faint smell of paints and real paper lingered, mixing with engine bio-oil and coffee, that meant safety and home. His brother’s mark on it was undeniable.

John couldn’t help but search for the splatter of paint Virgil had mentioned earlier. It was blue and on a wall in this room, so it shouldn’t be hard to miss but in spite of all of his skills at searching, it was nowhere to be found. Eventually he resigned himself to the fact that Virgil must have painted over it, destroying the tangible proof that he’d acted out in anger.

The beanbags squished beneath him when he flopped back, long legs stretched out and foot smarting when he moved it, picking up his tablet for something to do. His substantial library of books wasn’t holding anything that could keep his attention right now as he flicked between them, opening and shutting pages. He tipped his head back, looking upwards, letting his tablet fall face down onto his chest.

And there it was. On the wall above him, the blue splodge of paint exactly from Virgil’s story.

Except it wasn't just a splodge because a rainbow of lines had been added around it, faithfully following the original shape and expanding upon it, forming a bird with wings outstretched, flying freely across the wall. Something utterly beautiful from from what had begun as only painful.

John’s breath caught. He didn't know how Virgil did that. He wrung out hope from anger, forming all the emotion into art where John just flailed because he didn’t want to touch his feelings with a thousand kilometre stick.

But here, in Virgil’s studio surrounded by the calm quiet where he could finally breathe, he could try.

So he picked up his tablet. Opened up the word programme. And began to write.

He had no idea where he was going. No plot, no plan, no outline. When he usually did this, for reports, for academic works, he always had his ideas and arguments all laid out in his head and he simply had to put them on the page in front of him.

His fingers found the keyboard and he let them, doing his best not to second-guess and delete every word he put down. To think too much and bail out as it got too big and too scary even when this was just typing on his tablet sitting in a beanbag in the corner of the room, not doing anything at all that could be thought of as dangerous or would mess up his broken foot.

It wasn't really much. In subject or in word count or in technical finesse. He hadn’t been doing this writing thing for very long, not since university and stories scrawled in his near illegible handwriting hidden in paper notebooks beneath his bed. Not for himself.

He saved the document and slammed the window closed before he could look at it and convince himself it was all completely stupid and he never should’ve even tried in the first place.

But it was cathartic and it gave him somewhere to put the irrational seething anger, outlined by the sorrow that seeped through in the lines between, to bleed out on paper, in words that were his first language and first love. In the beginnings of stories that didn’t have to be perfect or real and contained far too much of himself to even think about showing anybody yet, but that maybe one day he would.

When Virgil knocked on the door and opened it, John jumped like he’d been caught out. Then he glanced up and saw the blue paint splodge turned flying bird from the corner of his eye, and he could smile at Virgil with all the love in the world and more understanding of how his brother worked. Of why after hard rescues and bad days his first instinct was to turn to piano or canvas.

Seeing what Virgil was carrying on the tray in his hands had John wishing he hadn’t ever broken his foot so he could throw himself at Virgil to hug him this very second. Though if he hadn’t been injured, he never would’ve come down from Five today.

A blueberry bagel, toasted, with the special strawberry cream cheese that was his favourite but never lasted long in space. Or on Earth, unless his brothers saved it for him on purpose.

There was a cup of tea too, next to Virgil’s customarily massive mug of coffee.

John just stared up at him, until he found his voice to whisper all his thanks over and over. He took the plate and the cup in slightly trembling hands, then placed them on the floor next to him.

He raised his arms so that Virgil would crouch down and John could squish him into a hug.

John clung to red flannel for a few seconds longer than he usually would. Virgil returned it in kind, smiling at him with soft, brown eyes.

Then he was fussing over John’s foot again, propping it up on pillows and wrapping an icepack around it. John took it in because this was Virgil’s way of showing he cared. As well, it would mean he could get back on his feet sooner by not ignoring the injury. Plus it hurt less.

Before Virgil returned to his desk and pencils, John bumped their foreheads together in show of affection not as frequently done between them with the distance. It was often Scott and Virgil’s thing. Virgil hummed happily at him even when John wobbled as he leaned forward, making the collision slightly more forceful than he intended. Instead they laughed together over Tracy hard heads.

Enjoying each other’s company with no pressure to talk or interact was nice and exactly what they both needed. They could do their own things in parallel, Virgil with his art, a sketch forming beneath steady hands, and John with… whatever he was doing at this point.

Gathering up his courage, he cautiously reopened his word document from earlier and read over what he’d written. It was… okay actually. The typos and errors he grimaced at were numerous, but those were fixable problems.

It was a story, he’d written something. John found himself smiling down at his tablet with the urge to add more so he did.

The time passed in the light from the windows transforming from light gold to a fiery orange, stretching across their room and their island alike. As dusk grew closer, the bird calls and insect songs changed, and there were so many wonderful things about space that John could never give up loving but it didn't have this.

So maybe that was what was wrong with him. Instead of a flaw in his very humanity, it was more not enough food and too much stress, not sleeping right or talking to anyone. Those simple things he sort of… forgot about, ignored. John needed to be around family too, with the sunlight streaming in, plants in touching distance and the quiet company of Virgil and some care to feel better.

Maybe while he was down here, he’d even go stargazing outside tomorrow, lying on a picnic blanket on the grass like he used to. Monitor work could be taken care of at dad’s desk, there’d be time to help Allie with his school work then play video games together and once his cast was off, swim in Gordon’s ocean. To hang out with Scott too and help pull his beloved biggest brother out of his own overwork spiral. He hadn’t had a chance to catch up with Grandma or Kayo or Brains in a while either.

Only then would he return to Five, to his stars and space, his research and monitor duty proper. His little room up there, the gravity ring and central floating hub, with Eos as his companion, they were home too. Not in replacement of the island and his family but in addition. And he knew he could come down to Earth when he needed to even if, especially when it was just because he wanted a hug.

Right now, the soft patter of his fingertips on the glass screen blended with the scratchings of Virgil’s coloured pencils on artist’s paper.

He munched on his bagel and sipped his tea contentedly. Virgil had been cupping his warm mug of coffee in his hands, happily sighing as John fought the urge to giggle.

It was with a cheerier and more relaxed Virgil that they ended up squished together on the beanbag pile once the sun was fully set. John snuggled into his brother’s side, it really had been too long but he was here now.

Virgil’s fingers tapped contentedly against the knee of his jeans like he was playing a melody on the piano, other arm tucked around John, meaning John could feel the vibrations as Virgil hummed along. John went from messing with the case of his tablet to happily flickering his hands at his sides.

Also, how were the beanbags this comfortable? These ones didn’t even rustle and squeak like he remembered the ones they’d had as kids did.

Those had met a horrific end with their guts all over the house when Gordon had wanted to know what was inside them and out of scientific curiosity John had helped find the answers, utilising his ability to read and follow the instructions on the tag of how to open the pull-less zipper with an ancient paperclip.

He retold the story to Virgil whose eyes widened in surprise.

“So it was you!” he laughed. “I’d wondered how Gords did it, but I hadn't put anything past the fish.”

John lost his battle with holding in his own giggles and decided to let Virgil in on the secrets of a few other John-and-Gordon specials.

There was a knock before Scott ducked his head around the corner of the doorway, just as John glanced up.

Scott leant against the frame, intense blue eyes looking him over. John couldn’t tell whether they were sharper in person than over hologram or softer. They stuck on John’s cast, flicking to Virgil before scanning carefully over his body, same as if any of the others were injured in the field.

“Scott,” John stated. An acknowledgment that his big brother was here. The tight, tangled barbed wire ball that had been living in his stomach for days loosened further.

“You okay?”

How was he supposed to answer that? In this moment, laughing aloud with Virgil, yeah he was. But all the rest of the day, the week beforehand? John gave a noncommittal shrug that didn’t give much either way.

Of course that became cause for Scott to come closer. He knelt in front of John, ever so mindful of his broken foot.

Telegraphing his movements, Scott reached out and brushed John’s hair out of his face before silently kissing his forehead, all gentle big brother who was here for him no matter what.

He repeated the motion with Virgil.

John froze for precious seconds then threw himself at Scott.

It hurt. He’d forgotten about his foot in its awful cast for a moment, knocking it painfully against the floor with a broken yelp. But Scott caught him anyway. Virgil’s arms went back around him too and he was still humming but in a steadier pitch.

John was sniffling against Scott’s chest, soaking up his brothers’ warmth and all the love in the room, even as he wasn’t sure whether he was crying again from sorrow or pain or because they both cared about him so, so much and the happy-overwhelmed feeling got stuck as a lump in his throat.

Maybe together they could fix this mess John had somehow made. But right now John let them hold him close, let Scott rock them until the calm of the room could creep back in.

A cuddle pile formed on the beanbags once again, this time with Scott too. John leant back on Scott’s chest, still hiccuping occasionally from the tears. Both sets of their long legs alongside each other were tossed over Virgil’s lap, who’d very fairly called them a lanky, boney weighted blanket, while snuggling in with no suggestion they move. He could feel Scott’s chin resting on top of his head, breaths lightly tickling his hair.

Virgil had had to check again, with the medscanner he kept in his studio first aid kit, that John hadn’t screwed up his foot in its bright orange cast. Yet he hadn’t and even though John could still feel the pain of the impact, Virgil had given him another dose of ibuprofen which would take the edge off soon.

John’s eyes slid half shut with exhaustion. Scott let him fidget with his hands as he gripped them. Virgil was tapping out piano pieces again, a more relaxed melody now against the top John’s bare shin, the sensation grounding and reminding him Virgil was close.He had his brothers. All of them. All of his family. They loved him and they’d help him figure this out and that was more that enough, it was everything.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fanfiction #john tracy #virgil tracy #astrawrite #autistic john tracy #autistic virgil tracy #neurodivergent tracies

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moonchildreads · 11 months

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small town

Chapter 20 - Self Control

IN THIS CHAPTER: The last high school party, apple flavored Kool-Aid, and Andy gets what he deserves [10.3k]

WARNINGS: underaged drinking, mentions of drug use (weed), slut shaming, a little misunderstanding (gets resolved really quickly), suggestive themes? (very mild, eddie's just a little bit wired, okay?)

A/N: i know i'm a day late, i'm sorry T.T someone got fired at my job and i'm supposed to handle their shit now because my boss is kinda cheap. it is what it is. BUT. hopefully this chapter makes up for my tardiness because as you can probably tell from the banner, the slow burn is officially boiling, you guys! enjoy <3

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In the night, no control Through the wall something's breaking

Saturday, May 31st - 1986

Dottie was pacing like a nervous dog in a cage, feet hitting the soft rug in front of her closet with each step she took. It was the first Saturday in a long time that she hadn't spent in a blissful domestic bubble with Eddie and she was feeling downright antsy. The night before, once Hellfire had officially said goodbye to its Class of '86, the two teens had sat themselves in a booth at the back of The Hideaway with burgers, fries, and milkshakes, and something had finally clicked into place for her. There was no longer a specific need for them to spend so much time together anymore - no more exams to study for, no more books to read or worksheets to fill, and yet there they were still, on a Friday night, getting food together like usual. Sitting opposite of Eddie in that booth, watching him try to lick ketchup from the corner of his mouth and not reaching the smudge with the tip of his tongue, it dawned on Dottie that she had never loved anyone the way she loved him.

It wasn't that Dottie hadn't loved throughout her life, because truthfully she had. She had loved her Dad first, tiny fingers wrapping around a big thumb when she was just a few hours old. She'd loved her Grandparents, all four of them equally, but maybe no one should tell them that Grandma Jo leaving after a visit would always cause the biggest sobs to escape her tiny toddler body. She'd loved her Uncle Johnny, always cuddling up to him while they lived together, not really understanding that he wasn't actually her Uncle until it was too late to start calling him anything else. She'd loved her friends back in New York, even though she knew now that they hadn't loved her back in return. Hell, she'd loved Tyler, or else it wouldn't have hurt as much as it did when he broke her heart. Dottie wasn't someone that didn't know what loving meant or felt like, but the way she loved Eddie was unlike any other kind of love she had ever experienced before, and she knew she had to tell him sometime soon or she'd regret it for the rest of her life.

But first, there was prom, and graduation, and most pressingly, a party for which she had absolutely no idea of what she was going to wear, hence the continuous pacing. James, tired of hearing the back and forth on the wooden floors for the last fifteen minutes, came into his daughter's bedroom resigned to play stylist for the night like he'd done so many times before. Keeping up with the latest trends for the sake of his little girl was a full time job he had long ago learned to love.

"Do you know what Nancy is gonna wear?" he asked, sitting down at the end of Dottie’s bed.

"No, I didn't think to ask. But she always looks so pretty, Dad, I can't look like a bum."

"How about you tell me what you don't want to wear and we can start from there, okay?"

Thirty minutes later, Dottie had an outfit laid out where James had been sitting and she was doing her makeup in a hurry before Nancy picked her up. The plan was simple: go to the party, say hi to Chrissy and thank her for the invite, hang out with Nancy for a bit, meet up with the boys, and if the party sucked, head over to Jeff's for a movie night. He'd rented Ghoulies and Weird Science for the weekend and he still hadn't seen either, so it seemed as good a backup plan as any. Besides, movie nights had always meant sharing a blanket with Eddie and cozying up to him when she got sleepy. No matter what ended up happening, she knew her night wouldn't be completely terrible.

"Honey? Are you done yet? Nancy is here!" James yelled from the bottom of the stairs.

"I'll be down in a second!" she hurried to put on her clothes and ran down the stairs to meet her friend, crossbody bag bouncing behind her and hitting her backside.

She found Nancy politely making small talk with her Dad on the foyer; James had gone to school with her mom Karen and had fond memories of sharing a desk with her throughout their many years at Hawkins’ various academic buildings. They hadn't exactly been friends, but they always were on good terms and had even worked on a few projects together, namely one about growing sprouts from beans in mason jars when they were in middle school.

"Hey! Sorry for making you wait," Dottie said, stopping to hug Nancy who was better prepared to receive it than she had been in the school’s bathroom a day before.

"You're fine, don't worry about the time," Nancy reassured her. "There aren't any schedules to keep at these parties, everyone just comes and goes when they want to."

"Oh, good to know that we can just leave whenever if it sucks."

"Speaking of that," James said, getting his daughter's attention. "Call me if you're staying at Jeff's, okay? I'll come pick you up tomorrow."

"Donny can drop me off, you don’t gotta come," she waved her hand nonchalantly.

"Okay, but call me anyway so I know where you are. Take care you two, don't get too wild."

"Dad, seriously," Dottie rolled her eyes, exasperated but not without fondness. She knew he worried too much, but after all they’d been through, she couldn't blame him.

"Have a good night, Mr. Burke, it was nice to meet you," Nancy said, heading out with Dottie at her heels.

"You too, Nancy. Say hi to your parents for me, will you?"

The girls got into Nancy's car and drove away towards Loch Nora, the radio playing The Rolling Stones’ Harlem Shuffle softly in the background. They talked about random things, filling the empty space with the kind of anxious but lighthearted conversations one would have with someone they don’t know very well yet. So far their budding friendship had proved satisfactory for both girls, and they were willing to put in the effort to get to know one another better, even when that meant having to venture outside the comfort zone The Weekly Streak’s newsroom provided. During the ride Nancy complimented Dottie's outfit, and in turn, she had loudly admired hers, prompting the blue-eyed girl to admit she'd borrowed the shiny jacket with padded shoulders from her Mom’s wardrobe. After a good-natured laugh, Dottie admitted she had stolen her dress from her Mom’s closet too and Nancy told her her Mom had good taste. When they parked across the street from Jason Carver's house however, the friendly chatter ceased and both girls stared at the two-storey rising in front of them with apprehension.

"I'm so nervous," Dottie admitted, watching the colors spilling from the fairy lights inside the living room paint the veranda red, then green, then blue, and finally back to red.

"Me too," Nancy said, taking a shaky breath. "But we got this. How bad can it be?"

"Yeah. You’re right. It’ll be fun," Dottie nodded, and arm in arm they ventured inside the packed house in search of good old teenage normalcy.

Neither Nancy nor Dottie were having the slightest bit of fun. After a few shouted-over-loud-music hellos to some familiar faces, they had found themselves in Jason’s kitchen, nursing cups of a strange brown concoction that didn’t smell good and tasted even worse. Dottie wasn’t much of a drinker, and apparently Nancy wasn’t either, citing that the last time she’d gotten drunk, she’d embarrassed herself so badly she’d rather not have a repeat. The jocks and popular kids disagreed heavily with that assessment, and were having a lot of fun with two kegs in the backyard next to the pool. Dottie had suggested they venture out, sit by the water where it wasn’t as stuffy, but Nancy had quickly directed her into the kitchen where they ran into Marcie Hurley, an acquaintance from the newspaper club. Marcie was a lovely tall girl with a bold pixie cut; she was currently slightly intoxicated but full of ideas for stories to run in the last edition of The Weekly Streak before summer holidays started. Nancy pretended to listen to her with her utmost attention, but Dottie could tell by the way her eyes were glazed over that she was definitely calculating how much more she’d have to hear before she could get away without coming across as rude. Two girls Dottie didn’t know walked into the kitchen searching for something fruity to drink when they said something that caught her attention.

“What do you mean Munson said no?” one of the girls was saying.

“He said he wasn’t selling tonight! Which is honestly such bullshit, he was smoking with some other guys, he definitely had something on him,” the second girl said, pouring vodka into a cup.

“Show him your tits, maybe he’ll share with you.”

“Ew, I’m not that desperate!” the first one laughed loudly.

Dottie scowled immediately. She’d once gotten curious about him dealing and asked him a couple of questions, like how did he get into selling and if he was allowed to smoke his own product. Eddie hadn’t been particularly proud of his answers, but she told him she didn’t mind: the money helped pay for some bills around the trailer and put food onto their table. It wasn’t like he was dealing hard stuff or was some kind of mafia lord moving tons of product, for fuck’s sake. People talked about him like he had his thumb on the illegal underground in Hawkins when in reality, he was just a teen selling weed and a couple of pills here and there to a few fellow students at parties. Dottie hoped he’d never done something as gross as asking a girl to show him her body in exchange for a couple of hits of a shitty joint. She liked to believe she knew Eddie, and in her opinion he’d never do something like that, but teenagers had never been particularly known for making good choices. Nancy was already looking at her when she turned around, a knowing smile on her face. She nodded towards the door once, and after a whispered “thank you” off Dottie went in search of her friends.

The boys were enjoying the fresh air and sharing a smoke on the veranda at the front of the house, not really ready to go inside and face the music just yet. Donny had picked up Gareth and Jeff on his way to the party, but Eddie had arrived solo just a few minutes after them. They were talking about music, as they often did, when Dottie opened the front door and jumped on Jeff’s back, who flinched in surprise.

“Fucking hell, Dot, you’re gonna kill me someday if you keep doing that,” he said, rubbing his chest.

“I was worried you guys weren’t gonna show up,” she admitted, hanging onto his shoulders. He leaned his weight into her, hands wrapping around her loose wrists like they were backpack straps to keep her in place as they swayed side to side.

“Party sucks that much?” Donny asked, passing along the joint to Gareth.

“I mean, it’s not like I know a lot of people here. I’ve been hearing Nancy talk to other girls all night, and I think she’s as fed up as me.”

“Wanna ditch?” Jeff asked.

“We’re not leaving until I drink my fuckin’ weight in rich people’s beer,” Gareth declared, giving the cig to Eddie who took a long drag and put the roach out on the underside of the railing he was leaning against.

“If you want beer, there are a bunch of cans in the kitchen but you gotta fish them out of the cooler and someone spilled something green in there. It’s kinda gross,” Dottie grimaced.

“What? No keg?”

“Actually, there’s two in the backyard but the basketball team took ownership of one and I think the football team was doing handstands on top of the other one.”

“That’s so fucking lame,” Donny scoffed.

“Well then, who’s down for fishing?” Jeff looked at the guys, and Gareth shrugged, putting his hands in his jean pockets and following him inside.

“You coming?” Donny asked Eddie who didn’t move from his spot.

“Nah, gonna smoke a cig first. You go ahead,” he said, getting his Camels out of his front pocket.

Donny headed back inside and then it was just Dottie and Eddie under the moonlight, the tiny lamp above the front door doing nothing to shield them from the darkness. Eddie smiled, putting the cigarettes back in his pocket and opening his arms so Dottie could sheepishly tuck herself into him. She felt like she could finally breathe easy when feeling his chest rising up and down under her cheek, his warmth seeping into her bones.

“Too many people?” he asked knowingly, cupping the back of her head with one of his hands. Her fingers drew patterns on the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Mhm,” she nodded. “This is nice.”

“Yeah? You like my shirt?”

“Smells good,” she laughed. He smelled like Old Spice aftershave and laundry detergent.

“Why, thank you for noticing I showered, princess,” he said, grinning. “You look pretty. This your Mom’s dress?”

“Yeah,” she beamed, looking down at her shift baby blue dress. “I didn’t know what to wear so I just played it safe. The socks are new though,” she lifted her leg to show her white ankle socks with frills under her black kitten heels.

“So cute,” Eddie pouted theatrically, making her slap his chest in return. “No, really. You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she settled back against him, cheeks burning.

They enjoyed each other’s presence for a few seconds when the front door opened with a bang, an overexcited and red-eyed Chrissy Cunningham spilling out from the inside, her giggles following her as she skipped towards them in tune with the music coming from the speakers in the living room.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked, a mischievous grin gracing her fairy-like features.

“Hey, Chris,” Eddie smiled, still holding onto Dottie as she turned in his arms to take a look at the newcomer. “How was your latest purchase?

“It was so good. Valerie, Julie and I just smoked a joint each in the bathroom,” she whispered conspiratorially, making Dottie laugh.

“Oh my. What would Jason say if he knew you were hotboxing his shower?” Eddie matched her tone.

“What Jason doesn’t know won’t hurt him. D’you want to smoke with us later, Dot? Only girls allowed.”

“Sorry, I’m not really a smoker,” Dottie said, feeling a little bit dumb. “But I’ll take you up on that Queen song you promised me yesterday if you wanna dance.”

“Oh my God, yes!” Chrissy grabbed her arm and pulled her out of Eddie’s grasp. “She’s mine now, Ed!”

“I can see that. I’m gonna go get a beer,” Eddie said, following them inside. “Have fun, ladies!”

“We will!”

Weed affects different people in different ways. That was a fact Dottie knew after spending so much time with the members of Corroded Coffin, better known as her best friends. Donny was always virtually the same after a good session, just got very thirsty. Eddie would get deep and thoughtful, and once the effects were gone, he’d get so hungry he’d eat drywall if it was the only thing around. Gareth, like Chrissy, would get giggly once he hit that sweet spot. It was like drinking, Donny had told her once. Everyone had a different tolerance, and most of the time taking a few hits of a shared joint wouldn’t be enough to change anyone’s personality significantly. There were other people like Jeff, for example, who had a very low tolerance and had decided to stop smoking altogether after realizing he’d get panicky and his clothes would always start itching each time he indulged in the vice with his friends. None of them had ever questioned him or pressured him to smoke after that, the same way that they didn’t pressure Dottie to smoke or drink when they were doing it around her. They’d always smoke outside, and Dottie and Jeff were free to lounge around on the couch and talk about anything and everything until they all regrouped inside again. Watching Chrissy be so carefree and joyful made Dottie think that maybe she’d enjoy being invited to one of their movie nights some day.

Chrissy, on the other hand, was a girl on a mission. There were no movie nights being planned in her head; she was instead focused on getting information out of Dottie to relay to Eddie at his earliest convenience. Chrissy liked Dottie, she really did. She liked how kind and attentive she was despite always walking around with an anxiety cloud above her head. She liked how she dressed, with her vintage clothing and big earrings Chrissy couldn’t wear because it’d be dangerous for a cheerleader to be tossed around with hoops or fun acrylic shapes dangling from her ears. She liked how she made Eddie feel, and Chrissy liked Eddie very much, so that just cemented Dottie in her mind as a good person to have around. And so, the blonde lulled her into a sense of comradery with heartfelt compliments and wild dances, trying to get to the bottom of the question she’d had swirling around in her brain for two months now: do you like my friend or is he wasting his time to end with his heart broken? To her credit, what came out of her mouth was much more subtle than that.

“Eddie’s awesome, isn’t he?” Chrissy asked, casting her line into the sea and waiting for Dottie to bite.

“Yeah, he’s great!”

“He was so right about us being friends! I’m so happy you came!”

“Well, thank you for inviting me!” Dottie smiled at her, and Chrissy squeezed her hand in response.

The party was in full swing now. Nancy had found a couple of classmates she got along with and finally managed to escape Marcie’s insistent newspaper talk; she looked much more happy talking to them near the door to the backyard than she’d looked like back in the kitchen. Donny, Gareth and Jeff were fishing out beer cans from the cooler and passing them along to people that normally ignored them in the hallways, their bravery for sticking their hands into the horrid green liquid making them the heroes of underaged teens trying to get unbearably drunk before inevitably throwing up all over Mrs. Carver’s bushes. Eddie stood to a side, near the archway that led to the stairs where bubblegum pink eyeshadow Marianne from his Sociology class had just disappeared up to with his lovesick boyfriend trailing behind her, much to his friends’ jeers and claps. The metalhead had a barely sipped on beer in his hand and hearts in his eyes as he watched Dottie and Chrissy spin around in the middle of the living room, singing along to Top 40 hits and dodging couples making out.

Eddie had never felt happy at a house party before. He’d usually drop by, deal a little bit from the back of his van, and speed away either to Jeff’s house to hang out with his friends or back towards his trailer where he’d smoke and fuck around with his guitar until he’d fall asleep on his tummy with his jeans still on. But standing there, seeing his friends being treated like normal people instead of the dirt beneath a shoe, he felt happy at a party for once in his life. He felt like a normal teenager, like everyone else in the Hawkins High Class of ‘86 saying goodbye to a long school year and hello to the unforgettable summer ahead. Chrissy made a suggestive face at him while dancing around with Dottie and Eddie laughed.

“Hey, Munson!” a familiar voice said, coming to clap his shoulder and snapping him out of his trance.

“Hey, Foster. How are you doing?”

“Weird seeing you here,” Kyle Foster of the Yearbook Club said, looking friendly but fidgety. “You never sell inside at these things.”

“Not selling tonight, man. Just enjoying the beer,” he lifted his can above waist level to demonstrate.

“Ah, dude, that sucks. I had a twenty with your name on it,” he clicked his tongue. “But if our deal still stands, I guess in a couple of weeks you’ll have a bag with my name on it.”

“I’m a man of my word, Foster,” Eddie smirked, shoving his hand into his pocket. “But here, for your troubles.”

He produced a tightly rolled joint from inside his packet of Camels and extended it to Kyle, who looked at him like he’d grown two heads. Never in his entire time being Eddie’s customer had he sold him a pre-roll, much less one that he had intended to smoke himself at some point. He eyed him curiously, not making any moves to pluck it out of the dealer’s hand.

“You sure about that, Munson?” he asked, giving him the chance to recant his offer.

“Yeah, you can have it. I’m not gonna smoke it and I’m feeling generous tonight. Just don’t send anyone else my way, okay? It’s the only one I had.”

“Y-yeah, man, sure! Thanks,” Kyle smiled, grabbing his prize for holding a polite conversation with the town’s freak who felt like less and less of a monster as the school year came to a close. “Here, take the twenty anyways,” he pulled a single bill from his back pocket. “Sorry about, y’know, that whole thing. See you when the yearbooks come out!”

And with that, he shoved the note into Eddie’s hand and left towards the backyard, probably in search of a borrowed lighter to spark up in a corner of Jason Carver’s lush garden. Eddie looked down at his hand, snorted, and put the twenty bucks away to spend another day. Maybe he’d get Dottie a strawberry milkshake like he’d done the day before, only to watch her eyes light up at the first taste and indulge in her pleas because it’s so good, Ed, you gotta try this! They make them with real strawberries! Chrissy found his eyes again over Dottie’s shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him. He clutched his chest like he had been hurt by her, overdramatic as always, and Dottie twirled Chrissy around breaking their eye contact. The songs changed but the girls stayed dancing and he kept on watching them with a satisfied smile on his face. It was a shame, really, that Eddie often became blind whenever he saw the girl he was in love with being truly, completely happy, because if he didn’t, he would have noticed one Andy fucking Humphrey staring at him like he could make the dumb metalhead drop dead in a heartbeat just by looking at him.

Jason Carver wasn’t the typical high school bully you’d see in films. Truthfully, he wasn’t even a bully; he just kept quiet while his friends did all the fucked up things the basketball team was infamous for. He was known as someone who would fly off the handle quickly, but not without reason. He took freshmen and sophomores under his wing, taught them what being a good teammate looked like, gave them a family within the walls of Hawkins High as part of his team. Jason was, if anything else failed, extremely protective and fiercely loyal to his own, and expected the same considerations to be returned to him. So when Andy, one of his best friends since elementary, came running to tell him that The Freak of Hawkins High was trying to flirt with his girlfriend in front of everyone, Jason had no reason to doubt him. Why would he, when Andy had been nothing but reliable all this time?

“What do you think you’re doing, creep?” Jason told Eddie, his tone low, trying not to call too much attention to themselves. Chrissy didn’t need to see this, she didn’t have to know she was being ogled by a pervert under his own roof.

“Drinking your beer, Carver, what does it look like I’m doing?” Eddie said with a sour tone, and instantly knew that had been the wrong answer.

“Yeah? What makes you think you’re welcome in my house?”

“Chill, man, I got invited, same as everyone else.”

“Who would want you here?” Chance Peterson said, appearing at Jason’s shoulder. This was bad.

“Uh, his girlfriend? Just like everyone else?” Eddie deadpanned, putting his can of beer on a ledge and lifting his palms. “Look, I’m really not looking to cause any trouble tonight-”

“Why would Chrissy invite you? You aren’t friends,” Patrick asked, and Eddie held back a scoff. He was willing to bet he knew Chrissy, the real Chrissy, more than any of these meatheads did.

“She invited all the seniors, that’s all there is to it. I’m a senior too-”

“Yeah, a senior citizen, you freak,” Chance said. “Why don’t you go home early and leave us actual seniors alone, huh? What is this, your tenth time trying to graduate?”

“See Peterson, I always knew you didn’t know how to count, but didn’t think you would be so bad at it. Should have known though, it’s not like anyone expects you to do anything that isn’t playing around with your balls. Now why don’t you back off and let your captain here and I have a civil conversation, alright?” Eddie looked down at Chance who narrowed his eyes at him, but Jason threw his arm out to stop him from moving forward.

“We’re not having a conversation, Munson. Back off my girlfriend or leave.”

“I’m not interested in your fuckin’ girlfriend, Carver,” Eddie said, bewildered.

“You say that, but you sure were looking at her before we walked in,” Andy said, stepping around his friends to stand next to Jason. “Wanna explain that?”

“Is looking at someone a goddamn crime now? Can’t exactly leave my eyes at home, you dumbass,” Eddie said, getting loud.

“So you were looking at Chrissy!” Jason yelled.

“No, I wasn’t! Believe it or not, not everyone is fuckin’ in love with your girlfriend, man!”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Donny flanked Eddie, his voice booming over the sound of the music.

“Back off, dude, what’s your deal?” Gareth threatened Chance when he shoulder-checked him.

People were starting to catch on now, curious eyes looking around for the latest gossip. Jason and Eddie yelling at each other wasn’t exactly new, but both groups of friends having a screaming match at a house party? Now, that was juicy. As everyone started insulting and trying to intimidate each other, Eddie looked around trying to find Dottie in the crowd. She was still dancing with Chrissy, oblivious to the conflict, and now another cheerleader had joined them; he was pretty sure she was a junior and her name was Valerie.

“Hey! Stop looking at her, asshole!” Andy said, grabbing Eddie’s hair and turning his head back towards the imminent fight.

Andy’s voice was loud enough to startle the girls and make them look their way. Chrissy and Valerie paled instantly, hurrying forward to try to contain the scene before it turned truly ugly, leaving a path open behind them for Dottie to follow. Chrissy grabbed Jason’s arm and tried pulling him away when Eddie turned to Dottie and shook his head, his curls still in Andy’s grasp.

“It’s okay, Dot, stay over there!” he told her, not wanting to get her involved and hurt.

But it was too late, because Andy, as stupid as he was, caught on pretty quickly. He hadn’t recognized her before, all dolled up and giggly while she danced with Chrissy and Valerie. He’d simply assumed she was one of their friends, maybe even a junior he hadn’t really paid too much attention to while in school. Insistent on Eddie perving on Chrissy, he’d missed a crucial detail: that the unknown girl she was dancing with was the same girl that had threatened him in the AP Spanish classroom just a week ago. The same one that had told him to stay away from the Hellfire Club. That girl wasn’t Chrissy’s friend, she was a freak, merely blending in with the rest of the school population because she didn’t wear dark colors and leather. Andy turned on her so quickly she didn’t have time to heed Eddie’s warning before he was spewing venom towards her.

“I see now, freak,” Andy said, letting go of Eddie’s hair with a shove and stepping towards Dottie. “You weren’t looking at Chrissy, you were looking at your bitch.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Dottie said, angrily.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it? The freak’s little bitch. That’s why you came after me last week, huh?” Andy was seething. “Did he tell you to do that?”

“You brought that on your own by being a smug idiot,” she told him, not backing down from the fight even though she was terrified of him.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Patrick asked.

“This slut tried to tell Mr. Lorenzo that I cheated on a test if I didn’t leave her friends alone,” Andy explained, once again looking smug. Everyone was watching them now. “Said I was gonna lose my ride to college, acted all flirty and shit. What is it, honey? The freak not giving it to you good enough? Do they all share you, like the big whore you a-”

“Fuck!”

Dottie hadn’t hesitated. Instead, she’d just simply punched him right in the face with her right fist, thumb on the outside like her Grandpa Ken had taught her when they were boxing in his backyard one summer, hitting pillows and humming along to the Rocky theme song while Grandma Caroline made fresh lemonade. The crack that followed the punch was deafening. All chatter ceased and the music was turned off - if a needle were to hit the floor, it would have been so easily heard in the silence that followed her expletive. It had hurt for him, yes, something was definitely broken, but the impact on her knuckles had split the delicate skin covering them, not used to being treated so roughly by colliding against a jock’s bones. Andy pinched his nose with pain, blood starting to pour down his cupid’s bow.

“Wait, no!” Chrissy gasped, as Andy reached over to take someone’s beer can out of their hand and emptied it on Dottie’s head, throwing it away once it was empty. The metal clang on the floor until it hit someone’s shoe.

“What the fuck?” Gareth managed to say, before Eddie launched himself and pushed Andy away from Dottie who just stood there clutching at her hand and looking at the floor in shock.

Her Mom’s dress was ruined, sticky liquid dripping from her hair onto the soft fabric, staining everything as it went down, down, down onto her thighs and legs until it reached her socks. She smelled like an alcoholic and her fingers hurt. She felt empty, adrenaline leaving her body as she shivered while everything around her dissolved into utter chaos. The Hellfire Club and the basketball team were yelling and pushing each other once again, people rushing to get out of their way so they wouldn’t get hit. With the reflexes of someone used to being on alert, Nancy grabbed Dottie’s arm and yanked her aside just in time for Andy to push Eddie off himself and into a side table. Eddie hit the floor with a sickening crunch, but what made everyone stop the brawl was the sound of the lamp on top cracking into a million little pieces right next to the couch.

“Jason, stop this!” Chrissy pleaded, hanging onto his arm.

Andy, not one to be deterred, snapped his head towards Dottie, not caring that Nancy threw an arm out to cover her with her own body. He raised his hand, fully on board with hurting either of them to make a point, when Jason finally snapped into action and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into Patrick’s arms who instantly held him in place, Chance coming over to help.

“Are you crazy?” Jason yelled at his friend. “We don’t hit women!”

He turned just in time to see Chrissy helping Eddie up, the two of them muttering to each other softly, looking a lot more friendly than he liked. His eye twitched once and he looked at Hellfire as they huddled closer to each other and started inching towards the exit, Nancy and Chrissy herding them out.

“Get out of my fucking house!” Jason told them, like they weren’t already trying to leave.

“Gladly,” Donny said, closing the door behind them and shielding them from further aggressions.

“You guys, I am so sorry,” Chrissy was saying, not knowing who to direct it to first.

“It’s okay, Chris. Not your fault your boyfriend has shithead friends,” Eddie said, patting her shoulder in comfort.

“Still, I should have-,” she cut herself off because there was nothing she could have done; the basketball team and the Hellfire Club were destined to hate each other until the end of time. She turned to Dottie instead. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, I think so. My hand hurts,” she sniffed. “I’m sorry we ruined your party.”

“Oh, please, that party sucked,” Chrissy snorted. “The most fun I had all night was when we were dancing with Val.”

“Come on, let’s get you home,” Donny said, guiding Dottie towards his car.

“I can drive her, I brought her here,” Nancy offered, giving him half a smile. She wasn’t friends with the guys, but she knew enough about them through Mike to have at the very least positive feelings towards them. Besides, it wasn’t like Jonathan hadn’t also been an outcast back when he was still in Hawkins. She knew what that was like.

“No, no,” Dottie hurried to say. “You should both go back to the party. Eddie can drive me, Don, I don’t want to ruin your car.”

“Are you sure?” Chrissy said, not wanting to leave her in such a vulnerable state.

“Yes, I’m sure. Go back inside, it’s your party,” she squeezed the blonde’s hand. “I had fun dancing with you, thank you for inviting me.”

“Maybe we can do it again some day? Just us girls?” Chrissy said, eyes full of hope.

“I’d love that,” Dottie said, and she really meant it.

“Okay, then… let’s go back inside, Nancy. Bye guys, drive safe,” Chrissy waved at them, pulling her cardigan closed and both girls disappeared back into the house.

“Is this a bad time to say that I stole a case of beers?” Gareth said, lifting a 12-pack and bringing some much needed humor to the situation.

“Let’s go back to mine then, we can sneak in through the basement door,” Jeff proposed, and Donny nodded.

“I’m… I’m gonna pass, guys,” Eddie said. “I’ll take her home and head back to the trailer. My ass kinda hurts.”

“Have fun without us, okay? I’m sorry I ruined it,” Dottie said, tears swimming in her eyes. Whether it was because of the shame or the pain in her hand, no one knew but no one asked her either.

“Hey now, you didn’t ruin anything. We’ve got an awesome story to tell the kids someday,” Donny laughed.

“Yeah! We’ll be like: Auntie Dot broke a jock’s nose back in high school because he called her names,” Jeff said, putting on an old man voice and Dottie chuckled wetly.

“Come on, let’s go,” Eddie said, guiding her towards his van with a hand on her lower back.

“I should sit in the back, I’m gonna get your seats dirty,” Dottie said.

“Don’t even think about it, there’s no seatbelts in the back,” he said, climbing in and rummaging around for the tarp they covered Gareth’s drumset with when they moved it for gigs.

The music from inside the house was booming again when Donny’s car pulled into the street and the boys left, saying goodbye by honking twice. Eddie covered the front seat with the tarp and helped her get in, clicking the seatbelt for her in place and jogging to get to the driver’s side. Dottie stared out the window as Eddie turned the van on and backed up into the street, waving at a defeated Chrissy who was looking out from the living room’s window. When Eddie stopped at the first intersection, Dottie turned to look at him.

“Ed?” she asked in a shaky voice. “Can you take me to yours instead?”

The trailer was empty with all the lights turned off when they arrived, which was unusual for a Saturday night. Wayne had always had weekends off, after all, he had a kid at home to take care of and nobody was an asshole enough to ask an old man to come in during his time away with his family. Still, as Eddie kneeled down next to the entrance to help Dottie undo her heel buckles, she looked around while holding onto his shoulders and found herself missing her Mr. Wayne. Eddie had asked her in the van why she didn’t want to go home, and she had simply replied she didn’t want to tell her Dad she’d gotten into a fight just yet. She’d failed to mention that she was expecting Wayne to give her the parental comfort she needed, but without the grounding she was sure she was gonna get from her own father.

“He’s at the plant,” Eddie said, guessing her silent inquiry. “He’s doing extra time this weekend so he can take a couple of days off for graduation.”

“That’s really sweet,” she smiled, stepping out of her shoes now that he’d gotten them unbuckled. The beer that had dripped down her legs had stained the tops of her socks.

“Wait here, okay? I’ll get the shower running for you, the knobs are… well, they’re stupid,” he shrugged with resignation. “You can call your Dad if you want, tell him where you are.”

He started the shower for her while she dialed home, James picking up after a few long rings. He listened to her talk quietly while getting her a towel and clean clothes; she hadn’t exactly asked, but Eddie got confirmation that she wanted to spend the night when he heard her lie to her Dad about being at Jeff’s and having a movie night. Eddie wasn’t about to complain about her not mentioning she was with him if it meant he could sleep next to her for a full night. He went back into the bathroom, lowered the toilet’s lid and put the things he’d gathered for her on top before opening the mirror cabinet and pulling out a new toothbrush along with a packet of makeup wipes. She hung up and walked into the small bathroom after him, looking at the items in his hands with a quirked eyebrow.

“I wear eyeliner for our gigs sometimes,” he admitted. “It always looks like shit, but if it’s good enough for Ozzy, it’s good enough for me.”

“Maybe I can teach you how to do it right sometime,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting into half a smile.

“Maybe you should just do my makeup so I don’t poke my eye out.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll do your makeup next time.”

“Kick your clothes out the door when you take them off, I’ll throw them in the washing machine for you,” he said, and left her to her devices.

He went back into his bedroom to give her privacy and get changed into his own PJs, which consisted of an old ratty t-shirt with a couple of holes around the neck and plaid pants he was sure had belonged to Wayne at some point in their lives. While he busied himself changing his sheets into fresh ones, putting her clothes in the washer and making his bedroom look somewhat presentable, Dottie tried to hurry up in the shower, not wanting to use up all the water. Still, she couldn’t help but take her time appreciating the fact that Eddie actually owned conditioner and that the green apple smell that surrounded him in the mornings belonged to the big bottle of shampoo in the corner of the tub. She washed all the beer off her skin and hair and, feeling a lot more like herself, wrapped her body into the soft off-white towel he’d gotten for her, standing at the mirror to rid herself of her make up as best as she could. She brushed her hair quickly, scrunching her curls into the towel to remove the excessive moisture, and brushed her teeth making a note to buy him a new toothbrush to replace the one she’d used. Timidly, she also reached for his deodorant, reasoning that it was better to use it than to stink up his clothes and bed with her sweat.

She was studying herself in the small mirror, not entirely believing that she was wearing Eddie’s clothes, when she realized the light scabbing on her knuckles had probably loosened up with the water and they were all bloody again like she’d never cleaned them up in the first place. Poking her head out of the bathroom, she directed her voice towards his bedroom where she could hear him pottering about.

“Eddie?” she called.

“Yeah?”

“D’you have any bandages? My hand’s bleeding again.”

“Uh, lemme see,” he pushed the door open and rummaged around in the sink cabinet, grabbing a little bag that contained their first aid supplies. “Come, sit on the bed,” he instructed, and she did as he asked without a word.

He kneeled in front of her and inspected her right hand, closing each finger carefully and pressing on parts of her palm to see if anything hurt. Nothing seemed to be permanently broken, so reached over to his bedside table where a cup of water sat and gave her an ibuprofen to help with the swelling before moving on with his next task. She watched him as he worked diligently to clean the scrapes, long thick fingers fluttering softly on her skin.

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?” Dottie asked.

“I’m getting a weird déjà vu here, princess,” he chuckled. “You need to stop getting into trouble before I get into pre-med.”

“Can’t help it. Trouble’s my middle name.”

“I thought it was Ann?” Eddie said, laughing.

Truthfully, he was joking around to hide the fact that he had been losing his mind since she’d opened the bathroom door and came out all rosy-cheeked, smelling like him and wearing his clothes. He’d given her one of his old shirts, a white one he hardly ever used anymore with a Garfield print at the front and his blue checkered boxers, not expecting them to look as big on her as they did. The hem of the shirt almost covered the shorts, and the short sleeves went past her elbows. The less was said about his gray socks that bunched up at her heel, the better, and he tried not to think about the fact that he knew she wasn’t wearing a bra because he’d had the most mortifying pleasure of throwing the cute cotton garment into his washing machine fifteen minutes earlier. Eddie was wrapping up her knuckles with a long piece of gauze when he noticed she’d gone strangely quiet. He looked up at her face to find her teary-eyed and chewing on a wobbly lip.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, holding onto her hand. “Is it too tight?”

“Is that… what everyone thinks about me?” she whispered, like she was afraid of asking out loud.

“I- I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, darling.”

“Wh-what Andy said. About me being… does everyone think I’m a slut?”

“What? No! Of course not!” he stuck the gauze in place with a piece of medical tape and lifted himself onto his knees between her legs to hug her. “Dot, he didn’t even know who you were until tonight, he was just talking out of his ass.”

“I’m not a whore,” she muttered into his shoulder. “I promise I’m not.”

“Darling, what are you on about, huh?” he grabbed her face with two hands and brought her eyes to his. “I know you’re not. You could sleep with half this town and I still wouldn’t think you’re a whore. You- you can do whatever you want with whoever you want! I know you, you’re… Dot, you’re so fucking nice to me, to all of us, and the only reason Andy said that bullshit about you is because you’re friends with the freaks.”

“I’m not,” she said, and he looked at her in question. “I’m not friends with the freaks. I am a freak.”

“Hell yeah you are,” Eddie smiled. “You are a freak, and you shouldn’t let what that piece of shit said get to you, okay? You broke his fucking nose because he talked shit about you, Dot. You’re so fucking amazing.”

It was probably the way Eddie was looking at her like she’d hung the moon and all the stars, or maybe it was the way he was holding onto her face with a gentleness no one associated with the rugged metalhead, fingers extending under her ears and into her damp hair, thumbs on her cheeks. It was most definitely the way he always took care of her, how he cleaned her wounds like she was the most fragile thing on Earth and how he never hesitated to pull her into his arms whenever she needed a hug without questioning her reasons. But honestly, it was most likely the fact that he was so close to her, his warm breath mingling with her minty one, that had her leaning forward and pecking his lips with hers in the most chaste kiss she’d ever given to anyone in her entire life.

She tried pulling away as fast as she had leaned in, she really tried to, but Eddie felt like he had been struck by a live wire and instinctively chased her mouth with his own, still cupping her face but moving one of his hands to tangle into her hair, finally taking a hold of the proverbial carrot dangling in front of him. He was kissing her - Eddie Munson was kissing Dottie Burke and he couldn’t get enough of it - he needed more, he needed to consume her and she to him until there was nothing left for anyone to see. He grabbed onto her bare thigh to pull himself up and she whimpered, the walls of the illusion suddenly crashing around him. She’d just tearfully asked him if the town thought she was a whore, and his way of reassuring her, had been to deny it and then make a move on her. Eddie jumped back so quickly he fell onto his bruised ass and hissed in pain.

“Fuck, Dot, I’m- I’m so sorry!” he pleaded, leaving her dumbfounded and glazy-eyed.

He’d fucked up. He’d ruined everything. With his eagerness, he’d jumped the gun and now his plan was ruined, and she probably, maybe, definitely thought he was a fucking pervert trying to get into her pants, and yes, he very much would like to do that but not like this. Not before she knew he would quite literally die for her, not before he’d confessed to her the profound love he felt and had finally become the kind of man she deserved to have. Dottie looked at him not understanding what had just happened, but when she moved to get off the bed and closer to him, he jumped off the floor and put even more distance between them.

“I’m so sorry, we shouldn’t- fuck, I didn’t-”

“Eddie, it’s fine-

“No, it’s not fine!” his hands tangled in his own hair while he tried to find the words to explain himself. “This is all wrong, goddamnit-”

“Eddie, calm down-”

“Fuck, Chrissy is gonna kill me, I’m such a fucking idiot-”

“Ch-Chrissy?” Dottie whispered, but he didn’t hear her in the middle of his freakout.

Oh. Oh. She was so stupid. She couldn’t even blame him, she’d been influenced by her aunts and by Gareth - and of course, who wouldn’t be in love with Chrissy Cunningham, Head Cheerleader and Queen of Hawkins High? She was so kind, and friendly, with her gorgeous eyes and warm smiles. And by his own admission, if she was going to kill him, well, that certainly meant she returned Eddie’s affections, did it not? She’d be an idiot not to love Eddie back because Eddie was so loveable. Sweet, silly, wonderful Eddie who had just kissed his best friend and regretted it deeply. She had to get out of there if there was any hope of saving their friendship.

“I’m so sorry,” Dottie said, rushing out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.

“Dot, wait!” Eddie followed her. He had to fix this, he had to tell her, he was gonna tell her- “What are you doing?”

“I’m really so sorry, Eddie, I didn’t know,” she got her damp clothes out of the washing machine; the cycle had probably ended in the middle of his upset rant and neither of them had heard it.

“Where are you going? It’s midnight!” he watched her shove her feet into her heels, not bothering with fastening the buckles before she opened his front door. He had to act fast or he was going to lose her forever.

“Eddie, please,” she asked, tears pooling in her eyes again, voice broken. “I just want to go home. Everything’s fine, I’ll see you on Monday-”

“No!” he threw himself onto the door, closing it again effectively locking her in. “Y-you can’t leave like this! What are you gonna do, walk home in your heels? Are you insane?”

“Please, I’m sorry,” she sobbed, breaking his heart into a million tiny pieces. “We can forget this all happened, please, just let me go!”

“No!”

“Eddie!”

“No! We need to talk about this!”

“There’s nothing to talk about! I didn’t know you were dating her, just let me-”

“Wait, what?” It was Eddie’s turn to be confused. “I’m not dating anyone, what are you talking about?”

“I’m not fucking deaf, Ed! You just said Chrissy was gonna kill you!”

“Yes, but that’s not- Fuck! That’s not what I meant! She’s dating Jason Carver, for fuck’s sake!”

“It’s okay if you like her, she’s fucking perfect-” she babbled, fat tears leaving tracks on her cheeks.

“You’re fucking perfect! God, fuck, this is not what I-” Eddie took the clothes out of her arms and threw them into the living room, pulling her into his arms again.

“Eddie, what the fuck?!” she shrieked, trying to get away from him but he held on tight, throwing her onto his shoulder and sitting her down onto the kitchen counter.

“I made Kool-Aid!”

“What? I don’t want fucking Kool-Aid-”

“Just stop arguing!” he yelled, effectively shutting her up. “I made apple Kool-Aid.”

“...I love apple Kool-Aid,” she said, for lack of a better response.

“I know,” he said, leaning back and looking at her sitting between his arms, palms on the cold surface of his kitchen countertop. “That’s why I keep buying it. For you.”

An ugly sob bubbled up out of her throat and she hid her face in her hands. She wasn’t strong enough to keep fighting with him, and when he hugged her again, fingers tangling back under her ears, she simply bowed her head and cried harder. Eddie kissed her hair and held her, letting her release all the pent up emotions that were swirling in her mind. When she breathed a little bit easier, he looked at her, drying her tears with his thumbs.

“Can I trust you to stay here while I get the Kool-Aid?” he asked, softly.

Dottie nodded, so he moved away from her to get the pitcher out of the fridge. He filled a mug first, watching her legs swinging lightly back and forth while she sniffled and picked at her nails, and stopped before filling the next one. She saw him frown and look around the kitchen before finding what he was looking for: a yellow ceramic mug with a gnome playing the accordion on the front. A couple of weeks ago, the teens had been studying in the trailer on the small table in the kitchen, and Dottie had mentioned to Wayne she was gonna get him a hat with her college logo when she was in Michigan so he could add it to his collection. He’d glowed at that, joking that he was gonna tell everyone his niece was a genius and that he’d leave her her favorite mug in his will in return. The two of them had spent around 30 minutes going through every mug until she decided on one, all while Eddie worked on his homework with a dumb smile on his face. She’d picked a yellow mug with gnome playing the accordion on the front, the very same mug Eddie was now gently putting into her hands filled with apple Kool-Aid he allegedly kept buying because he knew it was her fave flavor.

They sipped their juice in silence until Dottie calmed down, holding onto the mug with both hands for comfort. Eddie stood there, waiting for her to say anything and when it became clear she was not gonna be the first one to talk, he put his mug down and turned to her, pulling on the hem of her borrowed boxers.

“Hey,” he said, ducking his head down to look her into the eyes. She made a small sound of acknowledgment but kept staring at the liquid between her hands. “I’m not dating anyone.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t like Chrissy,” he kept going.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“Yes, I do. I really fucking do,” he took her mug out of her hands and ducked a bit more. “Dot, look at me. Please.”

“Eddie, it’s fine-”

“I’m kind of insanely in love with you.”

“What?” Dottie breathed out, eyes widening.

“Darling, I haven’t been able to even look at anyone else since the day I met you. I’m so fucking obsessed with you it’s actually embarrassing,” he smiled at her, finally hitting her with the full force of his confession.

“You… you like me?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, lifting her hand and kissing her gauze covered knuckles. “Chrissy has been helping me plan how to ask you out. We’re not secretly dating, she knows I’m crazy about you.”

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t know,” Dottie murmured, ashamed that she’d jumped the gun with her conclusions.

“You couldn’t know, that was the whole point,” he chuckled. “I was gonna ask you out after graduation, I wanted to have our diplomas and everything but then you kissed me and… you’re awfully impatient, has anyone ever told you that?”

“God, I’m an idiot,” she laughed, hitting her forehead with her palm. “How long had you been planning that?”

“Since around your birthday,” he admitted, and she groaned. “I would have asked you earlier but I wanted to set things straight before, y’know? I wanted to graduate first, maybe get a job, I dunno… Give you what you deserve. Instead you get… this,” he waved his hand around. “Sorry.”

“Eddie, I’m so in love with you, it’s not even funny. What are you talking about?”

“What?”

“Oh my god, we’re both idiots!” Dottie groaned again, and he laughed in disbelief.

“You’re in love with me?”

“Yes! Why did you think I kissed you?!”

“I mean, I kinda figured out you liked me, but love, darling, that’s… That’s a lot.”

“You just said you are “kinda insanely in love” with me, what do you mean it’s a lot?” she looked at him like he had just told her the sky was green.

“Well, yeah, but- that’s different! I’m me!”

“Okay, what the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know, I just- fuck, I love you and I really, really want to kiss you right now. Would that be okay, darling? Can I kiss you?”

She shook her head at him like he had just said the stupidest thing on Earth and wrapped her arms around him, bringing him forward and pressing their lips together again. Eddie laughed against her mouth, hands coming up to cup the sides of her jaw, thumbs rubbing circles into her skin. They kissed with no hurry and no other motives than to just kiss, savoring the moment like a cold sip of water after a long race. There were no more places to hide, no more shadows lurking in the background. It was just them under the mismatched light bulbs in the Munson kitchen, two mugs and a pitcher filled with Kool-Aid, and limbs tangling with one another, scratching an itch that had once seemed impossible to relieve.

Eddie moved his lips from hers to her cheek, up her nose and eyelids until he reached her forehead and stayed there, just breathing in and basking in the knowledge that they’d jumped off a cliff together and had landed on the other side unscathed. There were so many conversations to be had, so many things to be said, but this was more than okay for him now. This was enough, and for the first time in his whole life, he was enough. Dottie’s hands moved under his shirt, lightly running her short nails over his skin, the motion calming and grounding him. He was hers, and she was his, and there was nothing else that mattered anymore. The waters were calm. The locked padlocks remained in place, but the keys weren’t forgotten or hidden anymore. She felt at peace in a way she had never once felt before, knowing that no matter what came next, they would face it together. She yawned once, burrowing further into his skin, and he chuckled.

“Wanna go to bed now?” he asked, softly.

“Yes, please,” she replied.

Eddie helped her off the counter and let her get comfy in his room while he finished getting ready for bed, turning all the lights off and brushing his teeth with a dazed expression on his face. He found her tucked in on the left side of his bed, the one closest to the wall and realized that he could get used to this so easily. He was sure that once she went home the next day, he’d have trouble falling asleep until she was back next to him, nuzzling into his chest and wearing his clothes. They cuddled in silence, soft touches in the darkness, just exploring skin and calming rapid heartbeats with innocent caresses that revealed just how much they’d longed for this. There would be time for bolder actions, but tonight they just wanted to hold each other tight and never let go. Eddie, however, had one more question to ask before sleep could whisk them away to Dreamland.

“Darling?”

“Mhm?”

“I don’t want to, like, ruin the moment, but… what happens now?”

“Dunno. What do you want to happen?” she asked, moving her leg on top of his so he could shuffle closer to her.

“Can we maybe not tell people this happened so I can ask you out like I planned?” he said, shyly. “I just… I want to do things right with you. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

“You’re not fucking anything up, Ed. But sure, we can pretend this didn’t happen and I’ll act surprised when you ask me out,” she rolled her eyes playfully.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” he squeezed her closer. “I meant it more like… not telling the guys? You can tell your Dad if you want, though.”

“How about this?” she said, reaching up and kissing his jaw sweetly. “We don’t tell anyone anything, and my Dad doesn’t get an aneurysm every time he sees you. Sound good?”

“You want to lie to your Dad?”

“Not forever. We can tell him before I leave for college. You’re gonna come see me, right?” Dottie asked, hopeful.

“Baby, Michigan is only three hours away. They’re gonna think I’m your roommate with how often I’m gonna be there,” he pecked her hairline.

“Baby?”

“Just trying it on. D’you like it?”

“I love it. And I love you.”

“Fuck, I’ll never get tired of that. I love you,” he chuckled, leaning in to kiss her. “Okay, we won’t tell anyone so your Dad doesn’t murder me.”

“I have one condition though.”

“Okay?”

“I still get to kiss you when we’re alone.”

“You just want me to be your dirty little secret, don’t you?” Eddie joked, poking her side.

“I’ll be yours too if that helps,” she said, cheekily.

“Oh, don’t tempt me with a good time, princess,” he said with a mischievous tone. “Who knows? Might be fun to sneak around all summer.”

Half an hour later, when they were finally falling asleep between soft kisses and whispered sweet nothings, they both agreed that a little bit of teenage disobedience might just be the missing piece they didn’t know they were looking for to complete their perfect summer before officially being adults. After all, it always looked so much fun in movies, right?

taglist (comment below or send me an ask if you want to be added!): @munsonology @kurdtbean @every1lovesanunderdog @eg-dr3amer3

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tractorbeamofwoe · 5 months

Text

Igloos Together | Blurb #3.1

Short little wintery Bondy fic to kick off the new year :)

word count: 557

***

This was the first Christmas you'd spent with Bondy since moving in with him up north, and the weather was full of surprises. So when you woke up one morning to see your garden covered in a blanket of fresh snow you jumped out of bed and practically threw yourself down the stairs to check it out.

Barefoot and still in your dressing gown, you stepped out onto the lawn, instantly cringing from the cold that shot up through your legs. You didn't hear him come down the stairs, but Bondy chuckled behind you and coaxed you back inside with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"We can go out there, just promise me you'll wrap up first." He said, playfully flicking your nose with his fingertip.

Now fully dressed in your coat and boots, knitted jumper tucked into your jeans, you practically dived face first into a pile of snow that had accumulated in the corner of the garden. Bondy was somewhere behind you scraping together bricks of snow.

Eventually you waddled over to him after flailing around in the snow and coating your clothes and hair in the cold powder.

"Want a hand?" You offered, curiously leaning over his shoulder and observing the spherical wall he'd begun making.

"Yes please love." He said, taking a few steps back to admire his progress so far. He gave you a few pointers and you got to work, packing the snow into solid rectangles and stacking them delicately on top of each other.

Eventually you’d developed a sort of system, you scrape snow into fairly even piles for him, Johnny does the more complicated job of making them into bricks before handing them back to you to add to the wall. You added the finishing touches by smoothing out the top and filling in the cracks with more snow to make it more “structurally sound” as Johnny had put it, before crawling inside. You both sat with your legs crossed, knees hugged closely to your chest as you chatted and watched your breath freeze as it left your lips.

“Hey, this isn’t half bad. I’d say we did a pretty good job.” You commented optimistically.

“Mhm and I think we should christen it with a joke”

“Oh god…” You roll your eyes

“How does a penguin build its house?”

You blink at him silently, preparing for the punchline

“Igloos it together” Johnny answers with a smirk

“I saw that one coming from a mile away”

“Did not.” He retorts like a child, playfully nudging you.

“Did too,” You argue back “anyway, ours doesn’t need glue. See? It’s rock solid-”

Just as you said that you knocked on the wall with your first to prove your point, however ended up putting your arm through the snow and causing the whole wall to collapse. Johnny chuckled as you struggled to free your arm from under the snow.

“Careful love, that could’ve been a lawsuit.”

“Shame it didn’t all come down on top of you, then you wouldn’t be laughing I bet.”

“You’re right I wouldn’t, I’d probably suffocate instead.”

“You wouldn’t suffocate, because unlike you I’d actually be concerned and help you out.”

When he eventually does rescue your arm from the rubble of your lovingly crafted igloo, he taps on your arm a couple of times.

“Hmm, looks like we’re gonna need an amputation.”

“Which I’ll pay for with the money I win from suing you.” You grinned

Touché

#Catb #catfish and the bottlemen #Catb fic #johnny bond #bondy #Catfish and the bottlemen fic #bondy fic #Johnny bond fic #Bondy fluff #johnny bond fluff #catb fluff #Catfish and the bottlemen fluff

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cobrakaisb · 3 years

Note

hi bestie! i’ve had this idea for a while, but i haven’t seen it. can you do like a head cannon of what miguel, robby, and eli/hawk would be like as an older brother? it can be totally based off what you think :) thank you <3

of course! sorry it took me a while but i needed to to be perfect. i also added two bonus boys at the end (hope you don’t mind). little note: i wrote this with a fem reader in mind because of the mentions of periods.

Having the Cobra Kai boys as older brothers

miguel:

you and miguel are so close

the age difference does not affect him at all

he is very protective of you before cobra kai

but once he joins cobra kai that over protectiveness 📈📈📈

let’s just say that this kid is bothering you

miguel definitely notices and scares them off

you act annoyed about it, but you’re highkey grateful that he did that

“my brother is the all valley champ so back the fuck off”

you were so excited for him at the all valley

you wore one of his cobra kai shirts and everything

miguel is so supportive of whatever extra curricular you do

karate? yes he stans, theater? you bet he’s at all your shows, dance? you know he’s bringing you some flowers, another sport? he’s at every game cheering for you

miguel knows about periods, and he has no shame in buying you tampons/pads

“hey y/n, i noticed you were running low so i got you some more” 🥺🥺

you wear his hoodies all the time

they are very big on you, but very comfy

you help him with sam

“i punched her in the face” “what why?”

“y/n what do you think about this?” “it looks great miguel. sam will love it”

when he dates tory you're a little on edge about it

“miguel, weren’t you like trying to win sam back two days ago?” “i like tory now” “okayy”

johnny loves you as much as he loves miguel

y’all hang out together

his friends are your friends and vice versa

your friends definitely think that miguel is cute but “eww that’s my brother”

when miguel is in the coma you blame johnny

“he showed mercy because of you! you did this!”

but then you cry into his chest

when miguel wakes up you’re at school

you don’t find out until after school when carmen picks you up

you hug him so tight, rambling about how much you love him

“i love you too y/n now get off me”

you can’t keep up with his love life

“y/n i’m with sam again” “what?”

overall your bond is amazing and you couldn’t ask for a better brother

robby:

you and robby both live with your mother (because we aren’t basic here)

you’re the odd one out (your mom does drugs and robby sells them)

“you got caught with molly? i thought you and sara were hooking up?” “the drug y/n”

when robby starts being friends with those punk kids, the two of you start to drift

you actually go to school, unlike him

“just skip y/n” “no robby”

it isn’t until he gets back on track because of daniel that you two start getting close again

“i’m gonna get back on track y/n i promise” and you believe him

you go to the skatepark with him

he skates while you read or draw or skate (whatever you’re into tbh)

when you’re on your period robby will buy you stuff, but he doesn’t like to

he feels so awkward about it

“um are these the right ones?” “yes thank you”

robby gives the best hugs (idk why he just does)

i feel like robby is also really good at reading emotions

like he knows when you’ve had a bad day at school or when you’re stressed about something

he also knows how to cheer you up :)))

“i know you did not just eat cereal with water???” “and what about it?”

when your mom comes back after being gone for days robby pulls you behind him

because he really doesn’t want you to be exposed to that

you cry into robby’s chest once she leaves

“why can’t she just be our mom?”

when daniel asks robby to move in with him he denies

but quickly explains that he can’t leave you

daniel tells robby that you can come too

“thanks for helping my brother mr.larusso, i really appreciate it”

you definitely walk in on robby and sam making out at some point

“hey robby- oh my god i’m so sorry” slaps hand over eyes and immediately leaves the room

when robby pushes miguel off the balcony it's the first time you’re genuinely scared of him

you visit him in jail, but it takes awhile for you to go

“i’m sorry y/n” “i know robby”

you just understand each other

when robby joins cobra kai he tries to get you in too

you agree to one lesson, and know it’s not for you

you have many arguments about this

“he’s brainwashing you!” “he knows what’s best for me, for us!”

robby feels so betrayed when he finds out you’re staying with johnny

the two of you definitely drift after that, but you find your way back to each other, you always do

eli/hawk:

okay so before he flips the script you defend eli, no matter what

you cry with him about the bullies and definitely try to fight kyler more than once

you wear his sweaters (fight me on it)

you encourage him to do karate

when he flips the script you’re very happy for him he finally feels confident in himself and you love that for him

now the roles are reversed

hawk protects you now

no one even dares to look at you because they are scared of him

i feel like he has a tattoo for you, whether that's your name or your favorite flower idk but he gets one for you

“um wow okay we’re doing that now” “do you like it or not?” “yeah but i wasn’t expecting it”

sometimes he’ll let you pick his hair color “how about purple” “maybe” 😉

he definitely flirts with your friends “hello ladies!” “hi hawk!” “get out!”

you’re the only one that is allowed to call him eli

“eli i need ten dollars?” “for what?” “a snack” *hands over the money*

“eli can i have your sweatshirt? i’m cold” “yeah take it”

“i can’t, me and eli are going to the movies today”

one day you’re sitting with him and his minions (you refuse to call them friends) at lunch

“so eli” -one of the cobra kais “shut the fuck up! you can’t call him that!” -you

hawk has a proud brother moment

anything that you do hawk is like “fuck yeah that’s my sibling!”

his friends are not allowed to look at you, talk to you, have a crush on you, or even think about you

“woah dude she’s hot” “that’s my fucking sister! stay away from her!”

“eli who’s your friend-” “NO!”

as eli he will buy you period products but is very shy about it

as hawk he will not be caught dead in that isle of cvs

“eli i need them!” “i don’t care! i’ll drive you there and you can run in and get them”

when hawk breaks demetri’s arm you don't speak to him for weeks

you confront him about his new behavior

“this is who i am!” “no it’s not! you’re not my brother!”

you’re crying and then storm off to your room

that breaks him

is highkey the start of his redemption

when he’s at the fight at the larusso house, and he sees demetri about to get his arm broken, he thinks of your words: “you're not my brother!”

literally motivates him to fix things

you see hawk and demitri and just know that your brother is back

you hug him so tight

“you were right y/n. i’m sorry” “of course i was. i’m always right” “gee thanks” “love you”

bonus demetri:

he is a nerd, you are a nerd

the two of you watch star wars, marvel, harry potter, etc. together

“daddy anakin” “please shut the fuck up”

you want to punch him in the face because he is so sarcastic

it gets on your nerves

bust out laughing when johnny makes fun of his pi shirt

“stop laughing” “if it’s funny i'm gonna laugh”

even though you’re a nerd you’re cool

like you have a lot of friends in your grade

“demetri if i don’t talk to you at the halloween party that’s why” gestures to his costume

listen to his rants about how eli’s changed

you try to give him advice, but it doesn’t work out

so proud of him when he joins miyagi-do

“i'm glad you’re stepping out of your comfort zone”

demetri tries to get you to join miyagi-do

if you do join great more sibling bonding

if you don’t join no biggie y’all are still besties

y’all go to the comic book store together

its sibling bonding time

you threaten to fight hawk after the laser tag thing

“hey asshole you leave my brother alone!”

you sign his cast first

you definitely write some inside joke that only the two of you understand

you see him kissing yas and do a whole 🤮

“so you dating yas?” “idk why” “just checking”

very obvious about your distaste for her

when him and hawk become friends again you’re very wary

“he broke your arm” “he apologized” “he broke your arm!!!”

eventually you and hawk are on semi decent terms

“demetri forgave you and that’s fine but i’m still not over it”

your relationship = the perfect mix of love and teasing

bonus bonus king bert 🙌🏻:

you are older than him by like a year

but you’re still besties for life

you’re very proud of him when he joins cobra kai

“im joining a karate dojo” “period pop off”

you always ruffle his hair

cheer for him at the all valley

“yeah bert!”

but also like you can’t watch

when he gets eliminated you cringe

he’s sad about it

“i just wanted to impress you” “im very impressed bert, you did great”

your opinion matters so much to him

he’s such a small cinnamon roll 🥺🥺

seeing him with the older cobra kai boys makes you soft

“y/n i’m going out with hawk and miguel can you drive me?”

bert admires you a lot, like you are his hero

y’all are the best sibling duo and that’s on period

#cobra kai #cobra kai x reader #cobra kai imagine #miguel diaz #miguel diaz x reader #miguel diaz cobra kai #hawk cobra kai #eli moskowitz #eli moskowitz x reader #hawk x reader #robby keene #robby keene x reader #robby keene cobra kai #demetri #demetri x reader #king bert #bert x reader

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lwt28brave · 3 years

Text

LT2 masterpost

If it was up to me, we would get an autumn or winter EP. Since it’s not up to me at all, here, enjoy this post with everything we know so far of LT2, which is to say, not much at all. Everything here is hypothetical. I’ll be updating every time I see something relevant. A little disclaimer that while this is a masterpost (kinda), it could be read as discourse (duh, it’s also a theory), AND it’s also by me, and you shouldn’t expect me to be serious at this point.

Due to me restraining myself, there’s no reference to any of the times he’s mentioned his guitar skills and him improving but I hope you know I cried every single time.

I’m also linking my old pinned here. It was written before AFHF and around the free merch thing that didn’t lead to much, but I still think I made some good points.

Possible tracks:

Copy of a Copy of a Copy

Change

Faith in the future??

369??

Possible names:

369

Faith in the future

When is the album coming out?

Your guess is as good as mine

Friday 28th of January 2022. Almost two years after Walls. It’s a Friday. It’s a 28th. What else can I say?

Here you can find @want-to-be-loved timelines for every month.

Here you can find @berlinini’s timeline of what Louis has been up to this year (2021).

The rest is under the cut. And here you can find a PDF version where Tumblr can't tell me how many pictures I can add.

2020

He said back on May 2th 2020 he wasn’t writing anything new yet.

(x)(x)(x)

Interestingly enough, he’s said many times after that that the album’s not ready cause he has no new experiences to drawn from. I won’t call him out because he does it himself.

May 4th. He liked a tweet from DMA’s Johnny Took saying they had to go write together again. Louis has been credited as an influence for them and (kind of) participated in their previous record, so I’m assuming he meant for their music and not his, but you never know.

Nothing(literally nothing??? how did we survive) until 11th of July. We all know what happened that day. We all celebrated it. Nonetheless, that’s not what I’m talking about here.

(x) So, by the beginning of July 2020 he was working on concepts and ideas for the new album. That was fifteen months ago. I know perfection takes time but…

Brief summary of important things that happened from then until the next mention of new music:

Louis left Syco!!!! 10 days later he rescheduled the tour for the first time. He followed Matt Vines on Twitter, probably so we could publicly shame him into doing something. Also, the 10thanniversary. He followed more people I wish he hadn’t.

Then more nothing until September. Not even a single tweet. The first merch drop was on the 28th of August but he just RT’ed the tweet. He first mentioned Free my Meal on the 25th of September. Then on October 1st Walls hit #1 on a lot of countries and Louis was incredibly happy and excited about it ^^

And then, that same day, October 1st, 2020, he dropped this bomb:

(x)

He also said it was too soon to be sharing new lyrics with us (x)

And, obviously, this tweet which is actually what made me start this whole post. I would hope you know mate.

(x)

He also told us he was cooking "banger after banger" and that he was incorporating more social themes into his music (x)(x) (I believe any social issue is a political issue but that’s not the point rn).

COPY OF A COPY OF A COPY?!?!

These next paragraphs are brought to you by my mind not remembering things and me not having any links. I’m assuming COACOAC came from those writing sessions that supposedly happened in October. Or in LA but I have no idea if he actually was in LA at any point other than a Daily Mail article putting him there on December which would have been too late, but I do remember that someone said he was in the studio in LA last autumn???? A rumor. Maybe. IDK. Did I mention already all of this is very hypothetical?? Well, this is it. I can’t even remember if this was October or November or what. So, take this with a grain of salt.

I’m also… taking the liberty to assume, if you must, that Copy wasn’t meant to be a Walls reject because it sounds more mature and darker and it has a vastly different tone that Walls songs. I know he’s said that song probably isn’t getting into the album, but I want to have faith (in the future) that I’m getting a studio version. (But also, Louis, if you’re reading this, first of all GET OUT OF MY BLOG second of all, please don’t ever feel pressured again to add a song to the album because we have already heard it before. It’s your art and it should always be under your own terms).

So yeah, I believe that Copy is either one of those four songs (then imagine the other three??!!) or was written around the 1st of October date.

---End of the Intermission---

Then not much important (other than sharing more about Marcus Rashford fight against food poverty and the 2nd merch drop) until he announced the livestream on the 24th of November. (x)

It wasn’t until a few days before the livestream date we even thought again about new music (jk, I know we’re always thinking about new Louis’ music). So, December 9th/10th, 2020. Nine months ago. We got our first taste of new music!

He made sure we knew Copy of a Copy of a Copy isn't a cover! (x) (x)

(x)

Ok, so that’s it for 2020. (I feel like I’m missing something from September 17th because tweet was deleted but maybe he was still talking about cucumbers. We might never know. Unless I understand how Tumblr tags work). Expected, cause Walls was released in 2020. We needed to let it sit for a while.

2021

Another Summary: Louis third tweet of the year was telling the UK government off. So was the fifth. What a good beginning. On the 26th of January, he said he prefers pancakes over waffles. I hope he meant pancakes other than his own. More importantly, he tweeted the infamous “you lot read into things too much”. Don’t get me started, Tomlinson. Don’t. Then the 31st came around and Walls was one. He tweeted this. How wise. And Project Defenceless happened!!

15th of February!! Who cares about Valentine Day when the next day we got this? ♥

(x)

So…AN EP?? AN EP?? PLEASE RELEASE AN EP.

“I’m sure I will have something out this year but unlikely that will be the album”. Unlikely but not impossible. Also. A single would be good. This is the second time he mentions releasing something in 2021 and he sounds surer about it than the first time around.

He also said that he isn’t sure we will get a studio version of Copy. And that the best bridges from Walls to LT2 are Walls, OTB, KMM and Copy. Can’t wait!

Then we jump to March 6th when he announced he was going to create his own management company. “Sometimes action is needed first to encourage the motivation and belief”. As we can tell he was already manifesting some stuff which will lead us to the numerology stuff/Tesla… kidding. Or not. We might never know.

On the 22nd of March he answered some questions:

He told us music was still his main focus ♥ mwha. (x) I included this tweet to guilt-trip him into giving us music in case he’s reading this even after I told him to leave. ILY.

(x) I’d love to get a visual EP this autumn. Just saying. It sounds like a lovely concept.

(x)

…next (I will get into it, I promise. I’m just mad).

On the 25th he left for Mexico until April 10th. You could assume it was just for the documentary where we got ten seconds of footage or admit the obvious: LT2 its a Mexican baby!!

On the 26th (so, not so far apart from that first 369) we got the first Faith in the Future mention: (x)

Back then we were innocent people who had no idea what was coming upon us. We still have no idea because what the fuck does he mean with these. Please explain. I have one braincell and I don’t use it enough for this. I’m linking some theories.

On the 30th of March he confirmed he was already working on the documentary. So AFHF was already on the works. Will it take this long for us to get the Veeps numbers? We also got this tweet: "Got a decent chorus idea down" (x).

Same person that got the “something out this year” exclusive. If you know something share with the class. Also. Is this Change? I feel like this could be Change but I also assume he wrote Change after hanging out with his friends or being in Doncaster. But who knows.

(x) And the second mention to 369.

(x) 15th of April. The second "Faith in the future".

On the 19th of April he announced that he had something BIG for us later on the year which turned out to be the Away From Home Festival ♥♥ (x) I love him so much.

Then on the 28th he announced the 369 merch drop (which it’s probably the Walls drop? Except that the TOU and KMM ones were “drop 1 and drop 2” and this was drop 369 which, again, makes no sense) but we still don’t know what 369 means.

Into May’ 21 we go.

He rescheduled tour again. And dropped another bomb (x).

He announced he has signed with BMG as an independent artist by RTing this tweet on May 10th. The article also says that he’s already working on writing and recording LT2. The timing… we don’t know. What this deal involves… we don’t know either. Bear with me here because I have a lot to say about this.

I think the deal is only a distribution one, but that BMG are interested in Louis and what he (us) could bring to the table. They were either present at the festival or watching it, but officially they had no involvement at all with it (everything is credited either to Louis own company, 78 Productions, or Charlie Lightening’s company). That’s the case for both giveaways too; the vinyl one and the tickets for the festival.

I think it would be an unbelievably bad move not to test the waters with BMG now or soon-ish. At least a single, to see how it performs. Due to the circumstances, it’s obvious there’re certain limitations on place but I want to see how they push it, whether the radio play exist this time around and if the song is playlisted and promoted and all that… I would also love to know, since it says he signed with BMG UK, but it also states it’s a global deal, how things are going to go on the US and other countries.

Yes, yes. I know those are all questions and no answers. But I know the same as you, sadly. If any of you know more than you’re letting on… again, share with the class.

Where was I? Yes, on the 25th of May Louis had a great day writing (x). Since the first time he had mentioned he was officially writing to this date there’s almost eight months. And I believe he was writing before October’ 20.

He followed Robert Harvey that day and, on the 28th of May (why is it always the 28th???) he was spotted at the studio for the first time.

June was an interesting month for the fandom ♥. Lots of LHL content which I will love and cherish for the rest of times. On June 4th, June 9th, and June 10th he was spotted at the studio, but I believe he was there more days.

(x)

This was posted on June 6th and captioned Studio. Charlie also shared it with “Mega tunes being put down, can’t wait for this @louist91 #louistomlinson #LT2” as the caption. This gives me 2019 (Elton-Joint) vibes. I like it. Feels like we’re getting closer to something.

He added the Milano date on the 9th too which I’m mentioning because I’m going alone. Anyone wanna go with me please? I’m nice and I never eat anything before a concert so you can have my food. On other news. It didn’t come home.

During July he was at the studio at least three days too. Probably more. Feels like more with all the fan pictures we got. Or was that June? Anyway, July 1st and 9th we got some videos from Robert Harvey and wearesuperhi, which is who Louis has been working with the most, that we know of. I don’t know for sure they’re from that day. And on July 5th we got an article and lots of pictures of Louis looking really good outside the studio.

On the 12th of July the first fans started getting the free, 369 bucket hat and print. We still don’t know what the purpose was other than to thanks fans. Maybe that was it. I want answers and I still think it relates to a future project (see theories above), but it could also just be a bridge with the Walls breaking.

He didn’t tweet about anything interesting for a while, mostly because he lost his phone (he either throwed it in the air or smashed it who knows). Then on the 29th of July he announced the festival!

I’m glossing over it because there’s already been a lot of talk about it (rightfully) and while it was a wonderful thing, it doesn’t have much to do with LT2.

Let’s talk Change!

On August 3rd he tweeted this about the setlist.

(x)

And this (x) on the 28th! I can’t stand him.

We didn’t get it, obviously. Because who was going to get that. But we read too much into things. Alright.

On the 16thof August Dave Gibson shared this post tagged #LT2 with the eyes emojis 👀👀👀. I believe this has to do both with Change but also with whatever else came out of that Mexico trip.

(x) Last relevant tweet related to LT2 is this one.

So, on the 30th of August we got Change and we cried, and we know that Change is going in the new album. He said it. With those exact words. He also said he was “getting a feeling for it”. This has to meant he already has a general idea of the vibe of the new album and what’s going in it!!!!!! (Right? RIGHT?).

Anyway, let’s go back a few weeks because some other things happened on August. He was at the studio a few more times. Or it was suggested that he was there. On the 17th and the 18th. (Why was it so time-pressing to be at the studio instead of rehearsing for the festival? There was no studio at all on the documentary. Which makes sense, but again, then why?).

On the day of the festival we got another mention of Faith in The Future that made me feel part of a cult ngl. The words were flashing on the screen for less than a second. Okay.

And then he tweeted those words again after watching the livestream/documentary on the 4th of September (x). This is what makes me suspect it's either the name of the album or of the single.

On the same day, we got some interesting quotes about LT2 on the documentary.

“Soon I’ll have to think about me second album, which in my head I’ll get the tour out of the way and then I’ll address that. So, I hadn’t really given it much thought, to be honest”.

“When every day is the same is hard to feel creative and it’s hard to have any kind of proper inspiration”.

“As season started to come back, I started writing again and it was great and some of these songs turned out alright”.

And I think this is it. I might be overlooking some important details but that’s what we know and what we don’t know.

So. Conclusions. That’s what you missed on Glee. I do believe the album is, if not mostly done, partially there. And yes, this post is pointless and never-ending but it’s all in here if you need to tell Louis “Hey, you said this, mate”.

#LT2 #Louis Tomlinson #Faith in The future #369 #Louis #LT #new music #idk what this is #but it's long #pinned

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tenskittens · 3 years

Text

Not Enough - part 1.

Smut <3 Fluff <3 Angst (lots of angst) <3 sex, foreplay, ass, outdoor reader x Johnny pairing. Mentions of johnten pairing.

Not Enough - part 1 - the first part of the JohnTenReader saga.

Wordcount - 2.5k.

You chose to study at NCIT because you had heard that there were great opportunities in technology, and you knew coding was your strongest skill when you were younger. A few years into your time there, you realised that, whilst you were alright at computers and tech - especially for a girl, as some of the younger guys would frequently point out - you were nothing on the natural talent that seemed to have been bestowed upon most of the guys here. In fact, you’re pretty sure you only got a place on your course for some sort of diversity purpose, and the fraternity lifestyle you had ended up being dragged into certainly wasn’t helping your case. Going into your final year, it’s your last summer - you’ve been contemplating leaving the frat house - and the chaos that came with it - once the new semester started.

“Hyung, we’re leaving!” yelled Ten down to the rest of the house, dragging Yangyang out of the door with him. You knew he was yelling goodbye to his closest “friend” in the house, John Suh, and didn’t actually care about the rest of the frat boys hearing him. Ten just wanted to make John jealous because he was taking Yangyang out to one of the more inclusive bars in Itaewon. He initially planned on going out with Johnny tonight, just the two of them. But Johnny wasn’t really down for it today - he had thought he was supposed to be going out to a restaurant with just him and Ten, and when Ten suggested Itaewon John just presumed that it meant everybody else was invited out, too. These two were always getting into these complicated misunderstandings in their entangled feelings, and you’re pretty used to dealing with it by now. But actually, Ten was just as annoyed that Johnny wasn’t out with him tonight. He loves Yangyang, his closest Dongsaeng, but he wanted to spend tonight with Johnny. This whole situation was just a misunderstanding, but neither Johnny nor Ten realised this. “Bye guys!!” yelled Yangyang, excited for this rare occasion that he got to spend with Ten, now that Ten and Johnny were both all-but-dropped out of NCIT.

Once Yangyang and Ten had left, the house was quiet. The others were mostly working on assignments and projects, as they tend to do in the late evenings. Doyoung and Taeyong were probably upstairs bickering about the most efficient way of writing a code, Yuta almost certainly glued to his screen typing out a written assignment - the only one of the group also studying a language alongside computer science. Haechan, Jaemin and Mark were probably out at the student union Dream bar. That left just the two of you - you and John Suh - alone in the frat house.

“What’s up, Johnny?” you ask, putting on a slightly dramatic pout to try to invoke some sort of response from your most-likely-stoned-over best friend and boyfriend. “Nothing, y/n, just don’t ask” replied Johnny, sort of bluntly which took you by surprise. You wait in silence for a moment. “Except, look, I did my hair and makeup to go out with Ten and he just goes and turns our date into a party night and then I don’t even end up going and -” Johnny is interrupted.

“Date??”.

You both shoot your heads around, and sat in the corner of the living room, slumped against a beanbag in a hoodie that disguised any level of his presence, was Jae.

“Yeah bro, you know, was supposed to just be us guys tonight nothing out of the ordinary I jus-”. Jae interrupted again.

“John, you know how often i’m lurking in here and nobody notices me? You don’t need to cover this shit up with me”.

You and Johnny look at each other, and back at Jae. You wonder how much he knows. To the others, you and Johnny were basically a married couple, and Ten was your best friend. What they didn’t know was that, of everybody in the house, the most involved pair was certainly Johnny and Ten, and you didn’t mind that. You were best friends with both of them, and romantically involved with Johnny, but nothing made you happier than knowing how happy Ten and John - the two polar-opposite NCIT dropouts - were when they were together.

“Y/n, come outside with me a second?” asked Johnny, seeming genuinely stressed and upset.

Stood on the roof of the frat house, lined with bottles and scattered with cigarette ashes and joint ends, Johnny opens up to you.

“Y/n, Ten was so mad that I’m staying with you tonight, but I was so mad that he went out with Yangyang. There’s some shit going on here and I don’t feel comfortable and, you know, I really like you y/n but it seems - agh, whatever, that’s not true” - Johnny rests his hand against your cheek and looks down at you. “Y/n, I like you both, but its so hard keeping this shit with Ten a secret and shit like this always happens and y/n I’m so sick of coming to you being stressed and -”.

You raise your hand to Johnny’s cheek too, and brush his hair behind his ear.

“John, you’re so beautiful, you’re so fun. You’re the best friend - and boyfriend - that I could ask for”. He places a kiss on your forehead, and you look at him with wondering eyes, gazing into his dark irises and losing yourself for just a second, stood there under the night sky feeling safe in the arms of Johnny Suh.

What Johnny wanted to tell you, you know, is that he can’t really handle dating both of you anymore. But the thing is - you know that, and you understand that. Right now, though, you don’t want to accept that. You just want your best friends. Johnny seems anxious, and he mutters something you don’t quite hear, although you know for sure you heard an “I love you” slip from his soft, gentle lips. But Johnny isn’t one for romance - not for more than a few minutes. His vulnerable side is only ever present for you and Ten, and it’s always suddenly replaced with his intense energy and both caring, yet intimidating, control.

You didn’t realise John’s hand had moved to the band of your panties, and he had been playing with the lace for a while now. You tune in as you feel his passionate and dominating lips crash down on yours, pulling you in tightly and resting his palm across the small of your back. He drags his sharp, manicured nails across the line of your underwear, shocking you compared to the softness of the hands that were holding you close and tight. You’re feeling vulnerable and lost, knowing that you’re so close to having to let go of the man you love the most, and all you want to do is feel close to him. To submit yourself to him, and to be under his control and to feel his passion and his love, is all that can comfort you right now. Johnny feels the same - you both need eachother.

“Y/n, are you okay with this here?” Johnny asks you. The rooftop is pretty secluded - nobody was around and it was very unlikely anybody would appear up here at this time. It’s not necessarily the most comfortable of places, but the slight risk of being outside, practically in public, sort of turns you on even more, and you can tell Johnny is desperate. “Mhm, please Johnny, just have me” you whisper breathlessly, looking at the ground and avoiding eye contact with Johnny out of shame for how desperate you are for his touch. “Look at me, y/n,” Johnny commands. You look up at him, and he crashes back onto you, moving his hand back under your pants and roughly taking hold of your thigh as he holds the back of your neck with his other hand. You can feel how much he needs you, and you need him.

“So wet, y/n. So needy and yet so patient for me. Such a good kitten”. You shift under him as he finds your clit, gently feeling for where he knows he will get the strongest reaction from you. He’s right - you’re dripping for him. You’re just imagining him taking you against this wall, pressed up against the cold, rough bricks as you support yourself with the pipes running alongside the building. You already need him inside you, but he’s just playing with you - teasing your folds carefully and attentively, occasionally pausing to place kisses on your neck, breathing deeply onto your neck, his breath against your ear making you shudder. Each delicate kiss is followed by the movement of his fingers as he edges closer towards being inside of you, teasing you strongly enough to encourage you to play games with him in return.

You shift your stance to allow Johnny to grind himself against you, and you ensure your thighs place a decent pressure against the bulge in Johnny’s joggers. Johnny moans in pleasure and annoyance as you move against him, and - possibly to stop you from edging him closer to his own orgasm - he pushes his fingers deep inside you, causing you to draw in a sharp breath. He stays there, and looks at you with deep and wanting eyes. You return the action by grinding up against his bulge, which also moves his fingers deeper into you. Johnny takes this opportunity to curl them up, hitting your spot and letting out a mischievous “mhmm” as he does.

“Y/n, are you playing with me? You can’t win, you know that” Johnny announces playfully, with a tone of seriousness that reminds you who is in charge. Johnny rhythmically curls his fingers towards your spot, his thumb playing carefully with your clit, driving the little moans to slip out from between your lips, the sound landing in between the two of you and filling the atmosphere with a sense of vulnerable pleasure.

“Johnny, please, just fuck me here” you beg, the words tumbling from your mouth. Johnny’s eyes darken and he takes on his dominant tone once again. “Y/n, you’re so pathetic, look at you falling apart under my fingers”. He continues to edge you closer, grabbing your ass hard with his other hand, pressing your face into his chest and leaving you in blackness, lost in the pleasure and your quickening breaths as he curls his fingers over and over. You can feel how his other hand keeps you steady but, at the same time, he is ensuring that your leg continues to slightly ride against his bulge. Johnny needs you - his y/n, who wants him more than anybody else has ever wanted him. But he still feels hurt, and Ten crosses his mind again for a split second, frustrating him enough to pull out of you and flip you around, pushing you against the walls so he has full access to your ass. You take a moment to orientate yourself, looking over your shoulder to see Johnny stood there, his hair now sweaty and the veins in his arms pulsing. He looks so naturally beautiful, looking down at you with lustful eyes. You can tell from his expression that he’s feeling distracted and frustrated, and you don’t care. You just want him to take out his feelings on you. You want to feel vulnerable for him. Johnny feels your ass, pressing his thumb against your entrance. He bends over you and wraps his arms around your stomach, stroking your nipple for just a second before stopping, and simply holding you. With his head resting on your shoulder, he tells you “I do love you, y/n. I do”. You both stop there for a moment, heartbeats pounding in unison. Johnny is still holding himself, preparing to take you. “Do I get to come then, Mr Suh?” you ask playfully. And with that question, Johnny snaps back into his dominant position, guiding himself carefully into your pussy whilst still gently teasing your ass. He’s always gentle with you to ease you in, but you’re quite used to his size now so you push yourself back onto him. This catches him by surprise, clearly, as he lets out a tense moan and mutters “fuck you, y/n”. That was all he needed to know that he could take you harder, so he grabs your hips and fucks you, and you both moan together each time he pushes all the way into you.

You gasp for air, feeling johnny is now also moving his hand hard against your clit and driving you further and deeper into a blissful, well-deserved orgasm. You can feel the warmth of his precum, the extra lubrication heightening your senses as he doesn’t stop fucking you. “Fuck, y/n, I’m going to c- fuck, y/n, fuck” Johnny loses control of his words as he comes inside you, the feeling driving you to do the same, as your knees shake and you grasp onto the metal pipe that is stabilising your position. Johnny pulls out of you, and for a second stops to once again hold himself against you, feeling your hearts once again. But Johnny knows he doesn’t want to let you down, and he knows you haven’t finished yet. Within moments of his own orgasm, Johnny’s own lips hit your throbbing and sensitive clit, lapping up the sweet honey that you’re creating, and passionately licking and kissing around your clit. Your breath once again quickens as you feel yourself about to come - and John teases your ass again, just enough to send you over the edge. “Fuck, Johnny, there - yes, please Johnny”. “Sweet kitten, come for me” Johnny commands, and you come undone over his face, knees collapsing as your eyes roll back in bliss. He places steady kisses on your clit, your thighs, and up towards your nipples. He kisses your neck, past your ears, and finally places a kiss on your forehead. Right back where you started, you stand in the comfort of Johnny’s arms, under the stars.

You both stand there for a minute, breathless and warm, Johnny keeping you steady as your orgasm continues to pulsate gently through you. A tear rolls down your cheek as you think about how this can’t last for much longer - you know things are going to end one day. But you don’t want to lose a single part of Johnny, not as your boyfriend and especially not as your friend. You love him, and he loves you too.

“Y/n, shall we head back inside?” Johnny asks you, feeling you shivering from the cold nighttime air. His breath is warm, and his voice gentle and steady. “We should probably get some sleep”, he tells you. You shrug and hold him closer, but Johnny turns you around to head back inside. And when he does, standing there, right behind you and looking at the floor with a tear trailing down his cheek, is Ten.

Ah, fuck.

Read Part II here.

#johnten #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct frat #johnny smut #nct reader insert #wayv smut #ten smut

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

See, How The Most Dangerous Thing Is Love

Where you go I'm going So jump and I'm jumping Since there is no me without you

She can’t stop running and, like an idiot, he keeps chasing.

warnings: i don’t think there is anything to warn against which seems odd... considering... but I did use some weird fucking metaphors and I don’t know if they make any sense...

Hotchniss

If the tension between Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss wasn’t apparent upon their reunion following Elle’s leave, it was painfully clear after Tobias. Eggshells be damned. He inquires around her compartmentalization, tone dark, and judging where JJ had just meant to build a bridge. He had aimed to tear one down. To remind her just how out of place she is in this unit.

There can only be one lone wolf in the pack.

“You came off of a desk job--”

She narrows her eyes, feet shifting. He’d come out of nowhere, as she’s finding he often does, and that just aggravates her even more. She’s a trained spy and Interpol agent, he shouldn’t be able to sneak up on her. The shield she throws between them does nothing when he already has his own firm in place. Feet planted in preparation for her attack.

Her revenge is sweet.

It starts with the way her back draws tight as a bow.

“No, stop. Stop. All right everybody right now-- what’s my worst quality?”

The flip of her dark hair, drawing the limp branch of a tree towards her chest. Poised ready to strike out towards him and the tight coil of childish glee derived from mischief in her chest. Her words the fiery snap of its release, the edge catches his cheek to leave an open, jagged wound. “You don’t trust women as much as men.” The room’s attention lays in the silence of that lashing. Their eyes watching the dark crimson of his blood trickle down his cheek.

And he wipes it away. Unflinching as he powers on. He can see it in their eyes, the way they keep looking back at the wound on his cheek. Thinking about the words and their implications. How they each drew back and laid into him with their strikes.

He can see it in Emily, the way she awaits her second chance. She’ll draw that branch back again. There are more branches, he suspects, in her forest of mistrust and impatience with him. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a few branches of his own he’d like to hit her with.

It is only in the most fundamental way that they trust one another.

“Don’t get me wrong, Johnny.”

A drop of sweat runs along his hairline and down the back of his neck. The heat of Alabama in August is worse than Virginia and even stripped of his suit jacket, the weather is insufferable. The rickety old pisshole of a house groans under the weight of the four adults standing in the attic. With no draft and dust covering every visible surface, it smells like something’s crawled up here and died. He suspects, if he were to look hard enough, he’d find that to be true.

Johnny and Mark Wrights have been murdering and raping teenage girls from the local high school. Grown men covered in grim and old denim-- the epitome of the white trash that comes to mind when they set out to solve these kinds of cases. It makes Hotch feel a deep shame for being raised anywhere near the south. Now, as he stands pinned to Johnny’s chest, the heavy scent of pig shit and sweat covering the man, he feels deep condemnation for the south.

He wants to get as far from this town as possible.

Prentiss’ gun is steady. As far as agents to come to have his back, he’s lucky that it’s her. Her brows raise a fraction when she steps into the room, surprised that it’s him. It takes him off guard that she’s choosing empathy with these men. She repeats her earlier statement. “Don’t get me wrong, boys,” she shakes her head and her eyes flicker to Hotch. “That’s my boss you have there.”

Johnny digs the barrel of his gun into Hotch’s face, the metal biting his flesh. He’s antsy. Emily must see that… surely, she must know that she won’t be able to talk her way out of this.

“Now,” she smirks. Her inflection has risen to nonchalance as if talking to a friend. Her shrug of indifference makes his chest feel dangerously tight. “He’s a dick,” she informs them. “Makes my life a living hell.” His eyes glued to her index finger. She’s talking and moving and if she’s distracted him with her words then she’s distracted the Unsubs too. “He’s got a little boy at home though,” her eyes flick to him.

He’s hit with a sudden understanding.

“So…” he watches her back once again. A bow, bending to snap. He ducks, this time, when her branch comes flying back at his face. Throwing his weight to the side, he takes Johnny by surprise, and before he can blink there are two quick shots that ring the end.

For a stunned moment, he’s laid out on his back. His eyes are on the ceiling just breathing and shaking.

She comes to stand at his side, offering him a hand up.

He takes it.

“Don’t,” she says before he can thank her. Her eyes are dark. She’s displeased. Not only with him and the stupidity that got them in this mess, to begin with, but for the girls. Emily had wanted to bring those girls justice. To sit at Johnny and Mark’s court hearings. To drink herself numb and to see them thrown in jail so they’d never see the light of day ever again.

Executed in the attack of some rickety old house just isn’t the same.

He nods his head.

They part ways.

But he can see her back.

And she sees his hands.

She lashes out and he pulls scabs apart. He agitates old wounds. His thumb works across his finger, picking at a scab, and then he draws blood and she watches as he dumbly looks down at his hands. As if he’s confused at why it would bleed.

A serial arson typically leaves little room for emotional collateral but, of course, he makes an exception. He digs his thumb into his finger, rubbing back and forth, voice breaking, and attention split as he makes connections that no one else sees. Gideon steps to his side, calming Hotch and stopping the trickle of blood over his callused hands. Holds his own hands over the wounds.

She sees that day, the scars that litter his ledger. The scabs… Aaron Hotchner is an open wound. He can’t let anything go. Won’t let the wounds heal. He needs the pain the way she needs the bows. She hates that she’s starting to understand this man that she hates so passionately.

Hearing him shout, the pain in his voice as he tears viciously after Evan Abby makes her falter. There he goes again, picking at wounds that should have healed. Who exactly is he saving? It’s not Abby. The man is a walking corpse, riddled with cancer. Watching as Hotch sinks into Morgan’s arms, his dread and hopelessness bringing him to his knees.

The blood falls down his hands.

But he picks at a wound that makes her bow and all is right, once again, in their little world.

“I want you on that plane with me.”

She finds him on a bender a few days later. The case is solved but that doesn’t mean she feels any better about the way that they left things. A boy swept up in their carnage-- “the boy brought me this last one. Didn’t even ask him to.” She sits down one barstool away from him and wonders if he’s thinking about that too.

But he’s scratching. Not at his hands but at the tumbler he twirls lazily around, mesmerized by the amber liquid in it. He throws what little is left into his mouth and grimaces, not at the taste but at the scab he’s just pulled free. She watches the blood fall.

He gets good at stopping her attacks.

“There’s nothing we could have done,” he breathes, the hurt in his voice the only reason she doesn’t shoot him down with a scowl. For some reason, he takes the seat across from her and pushes a coffee to her. She looks at the mug and then at him. His head dipped, eyes on the sludge he’s calling a peace treaty.

She wraps her hands around the mug. The effect of the warmth is immediate. “I know,” she admits, sipping at the liquid. God, that pisses her off. He always makes the coffee perfect. She can’t even make her coffee the way she likes.

He hums, shaking his head. “I think…” he glances at her and looks out the window. “I think I’m still trying to convince myself that.” The soft admission is so… unlike him. Where is the gruff push? The fire in his eyes. She finds only hard truth. Standing rooted where he is, he frowns with something he can’t convince himself isn’t worry.

Where does she go? Tonight, he will go home and find it empty. Which is fine because he can’t be around Haley and Jack on a night like this. He is no husband. No father. He needs to remind himself of the emptiness that is Aaron Hotchner. The pain and the torture. He’s not meant to be a father and he pushes his father’s legacy a little harder each day he pretends his marriage is a happy one.

If she can not get lost in these faux realities… What does she do?

Him. She does him.

For a month he convinces himself that he can fix the little pieces of his marriage but finds his hands covered in the jagged wounds of the glass carnage. As it turns out, some things simply refuse to go back together. He bleeds and bleeds and Emily, of all people, comes to mend his aches. Moving him away from the fragments, forcing him to let go.

The sex is harsh. He’s rough and she lets him. Urging him on with the roll of her own hips, his hair gripped tightly in her hand. They’ve hurt one another gravely and to know his weaknesses makes her that much better at drowning out his pleasure. She’s surprised to find that his mouth isn’t just good for smart ass remarks.

It sparks something deep within them both.

“Garcia thought she heard…” JJ tightens her mouth, forcing her smile down. She glances over at Garcia, the two sharing smiles that can’t be hidden. For the first time in a while, Garcia came with them on a case. Meaning their usual splitting of the rooms didn’t work so Emily, instead of rooming with JJ, roomed with Hotch.

Garcia smirks at Emily, “I just heard someone up last night.”

Emily knows exactly what they heard. She feigns innocence none-the-less. “Late?” she asks. “I was in bed as soon as we got back.” Which is true because she had Hotch pinned to the wall with a hand down his trousers before the door could swing completely shut behind them. It didn’t take long for him to flip the script and have her on the bed. “I doubt it was anyone from the team, weren’t you all exhausted?”

Garcia accepts that as an answer. For now, that’s reasonable enough. It’s rather silly, is it not, to assume something is going on between Hotch and Emily, of all people. They really sell their pitch with the heated, just under their breath, argument that they have only an hour later. Though it isn’t to save face but because he’s an asshole sleep-deprived and she’s, truly, exhausted for the same reason. JJ and Garcia both feel rather stupid for having thought the commotion the night before could be them.

Six months later, it happens again.

“We were arguing,” Emily offers with hefty-sigh. She’s not just selling her role. Lately, they’ve had to repeatedly come to a heated, uncomfortable debate. Their relationship, what it is and what is really isn’t, is being questioned. Are they enough to power through the last year? Should they be something that makes it through the next?

She rubs at her eyes, careful to keep her hair brushed over her neck. While she’d checked and double checked this morning for any marks on her neck, Hotch has been rather nippy (in all sense of that word) and the last thing she needs is explaining some rogue hickey he’s placed. Unlike him, she doesn’t have a high collar to hide behind.

JJ raises an eyebrow but says nothing. The two of them are going through something, the whole team has noticed. Though, if they’re honest, they don’t suspect the rocks and tumbles of a relationship getting onto its feet. They’re waiting for one of them to snap. Whether it be Emily, who will likely pack up her belongings and leave. Regardless of her love for the team. Hotch… well, he’s losing his grip on his so solidly built and reinforced shields. His pain and discontent are slipping through his armor.

“Arguing?”

Emily sighs, nodding. “He’s an asshole,” she mumbles. “What do you want me to say?” Her tone, tense and defensive, raises a little more attention than she meant it to. Lowering her head, she digs her fingers into her temples. She’s not sure if it’s better or worse that Hotch notices immediately as he walks into the room. There’s a tense moment, the two of them just staring at each other, before he clears his throat and jumps right back into the problem at hand.

The case always comes first. Their relationship after every other conceivable thing.

It makes sense, for them, until it doesn’t.

“This isn’t what you signed up for.”

Up until that moment, he’d considered himself hiding fairly well behind his scowl. Aaron is safely nestled where Hotch can’t hurt him and, what scares him even more, is how protected he is from Prentiss. Because Emily might have tears streaming down her face right now but he knows he’s looking at Prentiss. From the steel in her dark eyes to the conviction that feels, and is, so misplaced.

He swallows around the stupidity that tries to come fumbling out of his mouth. Something sentimental, foolish. “I don’t understand,” he manages. It has taken him his entire adult life to admit to that. To find the courage to say when he doesn’t follow and all for what? To sit here, at her hospital bedside, and grit out the confession. He can’t fucking say I love you but he can consume the poison of letting go.

To succumb where he should fight.

“Please,” she whispers, softly. But she hadn’t been the other half watching. Unable to do a damn thing while her screams, the muffled sounds of her body hitting the walls, had filled his head. He’d listened as Cyrus beat her. In a way, no he didn't sign up for this. No one in a relationship wants every thought about their partner to be about the end. Will it come soon? Leaving one partner to grieve the other longer than they knew each other? To answer to that mourning call-- what is left when all you are is taken? What parts of him are really her?

“If it’s what you want.” he rasps.

She turns her head, barring to him the sight of the bruise that takes up the right side of her jaw. That’s answer enough.

Dave takes her home from the hospital that evening, wondering what exactly it is that’s happened. He noticed the two of them today. He’s not stupid. “How are you feeling?” he asks, looking over at her on his passenger seat. Getting hurt happens but this is the first time she’s ever had to call someone to pick her up. Dave knows, in that way a parent knows that the silence of their children spells encroaching doom, who was supposed to drive her home tonight. One might call it, also, parental intuition.

She doesn’t lift her head from the window. Doesn’t even look at him. “Fine.”

Dave knows Hotch will answer with the same answer Monday when they return from the office.

Calling the two of them tense is an understatement.

Emily returns to work and they steer clear of her. The whispers follow her weary body around like a cloak. That she can manage. That is nothing.

It’s his absence that she feels.

Her coffee tastes odd. She’s grown used to the way that he makes it. Too strong and with no creamer but no matter what she does it just doesn’t taste the same. He’s even ruined tea. His mouth always tasted of Earl Grey or the bitter remnants of his coffee. Now, even smelling Earl Grey twists a knife within her. One she buried herself.

He’s fucking everywhere.

It’s driving her mad.

The worst part is that he’s not there.

In her bed, she rolls over. Throwing a leg over where his hips would usually be. She finds nothing but soft, used cotton. Not even the pillow carries the lingering scent of him.

His sweater hangs over a chair in her room but it’s absent of his warmth. She’s worn it too often and now she can’t even bring it to her face to pretend he’s here.

Nightmares plague her sleep and she wonders if this is penance for breaking his heart or if he’d just kept them away.

She watches, one night, as her nightmares crawl out of her ears sneer right back at her.

“Where’s Hotch?” Emily falls into step with JJ.

The blonde shrugs, “I called him twice. He’ll just have to meet us here when he wakes up.”

Though she falters, body stiffening and pausing, she tries to carry on unbothered. Seemingly unbothered by this progression. Hotch never lets his phone go to voicemail.

She’s the one that finds him four hours later. Lying supine, unresponsive in a hospital bed. The doctor’s words roll right off her, she takes in only that he will, eventually, be okay. And she wonders what it would have been like to really lose him. Not to just yearn for him but to not even avoid his eye in the hall. To hover with her finger over his contact and for there to be no possibility that he’ll answer.

Dead.

He could have died.

Stupidly, foolishly, she takes his hand. His eyes crack open and she pretends she doesn’t see his immediate relief followed far too closely by the pain. Physically brought on by the wounds of both her hands and Foyet’s. “I almost lost you,” she says.

He closes his eyes when she kisses him but when they pull apart he grimaces. Consciousness is painful, miserable. Her hand clutched by his, he manages a few weak breaths. Each one builds the strength to speak. “You can’t lose what you never had,” he answers, a moment later. By the time the cruelness of his truth has hit her, he’s slipped back under the drugs. His hand limp and clammy.

He’s right, though.

They both knew where he was coming in. The ins and outs of his embrace. That he’d pull her in and push her away in the same breath. Afraid, too afraid, to try at this again and, yet, he’d tried. He might not have had the strength to manage love but he’d held her through the nights. He knew her favorite foods and was never shy about tearing her apartment apart for missing the heating pad if she needed.

And what had she done for him?

She’d tricked him. Lured him in with the lies that she could do this. But she’s still drawn tightly. A bow that lashes out. Hurting others before they have a chance to hurt her and, as a result, she’s killed him more than Foyet could have dreamed.

Mostly, what he means is that she never allowed herself to have him. She never had him and, yet, she misses him every step of the way.

They have one another one last time.

She settles her hips over his and looks everywhere but the agitated, raised scars across his chest. He’s not cleared for strenuous activity but if he can’t have her, can’t feel her lips moving up his jaw and her fingers snaking up his side he’s certain that will kill him far sooner than any strain to his body. He’d rather die by her hand anyhow.

After that, there is no more, but it lingers thickly in the air.

She’s still Emily when her name comes out of his mouth. She still watches his lips, wondering if she were to capture them with her own if they would still taste the same. He looks for her first when things get dangerous and it’s his name she wakes up crying.

Haley dies. Emily puts distance between them but he still looks for her first.

“Please,” she places her hands on his chest. Forcing his body away even though just the feeling of her palms pressed to his chest sends yearning straight down her spine. “Aaron,” his name comes choked. “Please, if you knew me, if you had any idea of the things that I have done you’d run. I need you to run, don’t you understand that?”

He looks down at her, mouth open. Can she not see him? That he is a man made up of scars and scabs. A wound that bleeds. He picks and pokes and he bleeds all over everything. “I don’t run,” he says. He hadn’t run from the carnage of his marriage. Can’t she remember picking him up after that whole affair. Digging the glass from his hands where he’d stabbed and ripped himself to shreds to catch the falling debris of a life he thought he still had.

She deflates, sinking into the realization that her love is the worst thing for him right now. It’s a drug to him and she’s given him far too much. “I know,” she says, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Because you never know what’s good for you.”

His fingers ghost over her cheek and holds her face in his hand. “You let me decide what’s good for me,” he whispers. “I can protect myself, Emily.”

Not against this, she thinks. Not against her. He’s never known when to pull away and when to fight harder. It’s going to get him killed.

But it’s her laying on the ground, impaled, gasping for breath.

Hotch sees her blood all over Morgan’s hands. The hitch in the younger man’s choked breath as he recounts what happened. Attempting and failing to keep the details straight as he tells Hotch, in great detail, what happened. The way she’d lost reality for glimpses. Asked for him. Called out for Aaron, not Hotch, but Aaron. And Hotch doesn’t know what to say when Morgan rises to his feet and challenges-- “What the fuck was that about? What did you two do?”

But it’s fine because JJ comes out and places Morgan right back into his chair, silencing him with seven words. All hitting a little harder, too solidly across his shoulders. “She never made it off the table.”

Emily Prentiss never let herself love Aaron Hotchner but that never stopped him. And, in the end, she’d been there. Through Foyet, she’d been there. Where was he when she needed him?

He sends her to London with JJ, his goodbye rushed, and guilt.

She’s in London. He goes to Afghanistan. Neither make it home entirely alive.

She should have known.

Admittedly, she is a little wine drunk. Tipsy, really. Inhibitions lowered in the warmth of Dave’s living room. She’s missed them all so terribly that the ache of their absence being lifted has left her exhausted. She’d been in a near daze when she’d taken her wine and moved to the couch. Leaning into Dave’s side when he’d taken the seat beside her. While Jack and Henry recount the events of every day she’s missed according to their greatest accuracy.

Their silly little stories are well worth the soft laughter it draws from the others.

“Where are you going?”

So now, as she stands and leaves Dave’s side cold-- she’s not sure what she was expecting to find in the depths of his eyes but the fear is startling. “Water,” she says, holding up her empty glass. “Water and to pee, I’ve had way too much wine.” She tips the glass and winks at Jack. Trying her best to lighten the mood she hadn’t realized she’d tank just by standing.

Garcia peels herself from the chair she’s sharing with Morgan, ignoring the way he seems to startle at the aspect of losing her pressed into his side. “I’ll join you on the bathroom run, pumpkin,” she says, collecting her glass and Morgan’s from the table at their side. “Another drink, my chunky hunky?”

Morgan smirks but shakes his head, “no thanks, Baby Girl. Someone has to be sober for the drive home.”

As good as that plan sounds, Hotch still grunts. The room’s attention shifting to their leader. He’s been startlingly silent, even for him, all afternoon. Seemingly tucked away from every encounter they’ve had amongst themselves. “You’ve all had too much to drink to drive home,” he says. “You should… calls cabs.” The strength of his interjection leaves his voice as Emily meets his eyes. He lowers his gaze and with it, the point of his statement.

Dave does not fail to notice this. Clearing his throat, he agrees. “I’ll go call your cabs.” He stands, rubbing a hand down his face. Fingers working into the creases of his lips. “Aaron,” he nods his old friend over. “Give me a hand?”

That sets about the motion of the room.

Emily’s making her way down the hall when Garcia catches her. “What is it,” Emily asks, playfully. She waits for Garcia to catch up to her, holding out her hand for what she’s expecting to be a trip full of the secrets of her and Derek’s relationship. Something good. A win.

“Can you make him stay?”

Emily desperately wants to pull from Garcia’s hold. Her grip is intense, desperate. She tries to pull away from Garcia’s hold. “What?” she asks softly, looking over her shoulder for some help. “Who? Who needs to stay?”

The desperation in Garcia’s eyes is unsettling. She lowers her voice even more pulling them closer. Her voice breaks as she says it. Tears swelling and running against the mascara over her eyelashes-- “Hotch.” She clenches her teeth, showing the most self-restraint Emily’s seen since they stepped foot in this hall. “He left us,” she breathes, sadly. “A month after you were gone. I went to his office--” her eyes dart as she speaks. “I started bringing him coffee every morning to cheer him up.”

Emily swallows thickly around the guilt that creeps up. Her death had broken them. She’d known that, of course. She just hadn’t considered Hotch. Brave and strong and it’s so hard to tell when he’s hurting. Then to bare her lie? Another cross on his back. More weight on his shoulders.

“I went in--” the tears fall as Garcia’s voice shakes. “He wasn’t there. He’d cleaned his office up and you know how he is.” That big oak desk is always littered with paperwork. One side to the other. He stacks it everywhere. Leaving pens from one end of the room to the other. You can’t even sit on that old couch of his without getting stabbed in the ass by a pen he’s lost. “Clean,” Garcia whispers. “He just left, in the middle of the night. By the time we came in, by the time we could find him he was already over there. Afghanistan.”

The word makes Emily’s chest tighten. What the hell could he be doing over there? That station is always looking for profilers but it’s a death trap. Hotch had said it himself, warning her when they’d sent her the special request. They’ve been operational for five years and gone through seven profilers. All of which have died. No one makes it out of that station alive.

And he’d gone.

“Why would--” she doesn’t even want to finish the question. Doesn't want to put the truth into action. Admit that she knows exactly why he did it.

At least over there he’d die a hero. Leave his son a flag and another parent to bury.

It’s faster than anything he could swallow over here.

Garcia squeezes Emily’s arm, bringing her back to the present moment. To the thing in question. “Can you bring him back,” she whispers frantically. “Can you make him stay?”

Emily doesn’t honestly know. Has she ever been able to make him do anything? “Garcia, I--” Her mouth snaps shut as the man in question steps into the hall. His eyes dart between them and Emily feels rather like a mouse caught in a trap.

He clears his throat and scratches uncertainly at the beard he’s let grow back in. “I was just…” he looks at Garcia and then back at Emily. Clearly caught off guard. “Dave-- I… You’re, ah, the hotel is close to me. I thought I’d save you the cab fare if you wanted to ride back--”

“Yes.” Emily nods, far too quickly. “Thanks,” she says, looking anywhere but at him. “I’d, ugh, I’d appreciate that.”

Hotch looks between Garcia and Emily, before nodding and ducking his head. He leaves the hall, with a slightly awkward nod and steps out. Hands going to his pocket. Hiding.

“Will you try,” Garcia whispers.

Emily watches him walk away. The apprehension in his hesitant movements. His hand scratching at the back of his head until he can hide behind the shield of Jack’s eager talking. Sinking down beside the boy on the couch and hiding himself there. “I don’t know,” she admits, honestly.

The only person that can pull him from the ledge is Hotch and she’s seen him toe it once before.

Packing things up is simple enough.

Hotch stands towards the edge of the hall, Jack slowly falling asleep in his arms.

“Sleepy,” Emily asks Jack, running her fingers through his soft brown hair. Jack shakes his head but doesn’t raise it from Hotch’s shoulder. Hotch has wrapped him in his jacket rather than choosing to fight the boy into it. It’s more a blanket. She pulls it up around him a little better. “You’re not tired,” she asks. “I am. I can’t wait to get to bed.”

Jack smiles but doesn’t admit to the exhaustion weighing his little bones down. “Are you gonna sleep with us?” he asks. He looks down at her with the soft of his father’s. Same impossible depth is hidden behind light brown iris’. It breaks her heart to see the turmoil within him.

Emily frowns but she’s not forced to tell the little boy no. Instead, Hotch’s hand comes to the back of his head. Cupping his neck as Hotch turns to face her. “You don’t have to do anything,” he clarifies with an all too familiar look in his eyes. Mischief. A plan. “We do have the guest room. With clean sheets. You could come home with us.”

Home.

To a real bed.

“I…” she can’t force out the polite no her mother has solidified in her mind the answer to be. No because that’s not fair or right or-- she really wants to sleep in a normal bed.

He bumps her shoulder, “just say yes.”

She looks at him and then at Jack. It’s not a hard thing to want to go home with the two of them. After Foyet, she’d spent many nights camped out on their couch. Waiting for father or son to wake in a panic. He’d done the same in the hospital after Doyle, sleeping on an uncomfortable little cot just so the first thing she saw each time she woke up was someone she knew.

Now it’s different. The dynamic has changed. While he might not know the course of the night has changed, she does.

She just doesn’t know it’s a futile battle.

There is no use fighting over stupid things like sleeping. He tucks Jack into his bed and meets her in his room. She’s already pulled on his shirts over her head. Refraining, forcing herself from burying her face in the material.

It doesn’t stop her from curling into bed beside him. Pressing her face into his shoulder and focusing solely on his hand slipping under her shirt. “You tired…” he asks. She shakes her head. He hums as he thinks. Dragging his thumb over her hip bone, stroking the soft skin. “First crush,” he whispers, ghosting his lips over her neck.

She laughs at that, twisting in his grip to tilt her hips across his. Settling closer to his chest. Drawing her hand up she draws against his skin. “This girl named…” she taps at his chest as she fails to remember the girl’s name. “I can’t remember her name,” she admits, faintly. Blushing. “Does that surprise you?”

Hotch’s eyes have slipped shut, his face turned into her hair. He hums, scrunching his eyebrows. “Surprised about what,” he asks softly. “That you can’t remember her name or that it’s a she?” He pulls her closer, wrapping an arm around her hips.

Emily just… looks at him. He hasn’t even opened his eyes. He’s not even going to comment? She bites her lip and lowers her head back down. “What about you?”

“None. It’s… I’ve only ever--” he blushes, averting his eyes. “Only Haley and you.” He clears his throat… “That’s why I always tried,” he whispers. “Why I tried so hard…”

“It’s not like I didn’t try,” she defends, pulling away from his embrace. “I was trying to protect you from this whole mess. You’re the one who didn’t know when to stop.”

“I don’t know where you get off blaming me,” he says, pulling himself away. He sits up in the bed, turning himself so she can sit and stare at the wall of his back. Little scars marking up his back as he places his arms on his knees. “You ran, Emily. Every single time, you run. Not me.”

Neither look at the other.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” he announces. “Stay. Don’t make me explain to Jack why you’re not here in the morning.”

She stays where she is. She turns this over in her mind. His words are an open palm slap to the face. She sleeps in his bed, holding onto his pillow and burying her face into the scent. She doesn’t leave but only because she doesn’t want to have to walk past him. This feels like winning so she stays. She eats breakfast with them in the morning, playing and laughing with Jack like she always has.

Like she always does.

“I leave Thursday, if you care.”

She says nothing which is perfect because he’s not sure he can handle anything she might think of.

She knows, without having to be told, that they blame her for not being to keep him here. And, maybe it’s her fault, because she didn’t really try, did she? She did what also does, she hurt him. Now she’s sitting here all alone, wondering what she could have done differently.

Everything.

“We’ll see you when you get home.”

She stands at the back of the group, watching the other’s pull him into hugs. Dave holds Hotch for a long moment, speaking softly so only the two of them can hear what’s being exchanged. Hotch pulls away from that hug with tears falling down his cheeks. “Don’t make me bury another son, Aaron. Please be careful.” And that’s when he sees her.

Derek pushes her forward and she feels all of them watching as she makes her way to him.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he confesses. He doesn’t care that the others are watching. They know enough. They’ve always known.

She feels guilty and she should. “You told me goodbye,” she reminds him. He’d kissed her right before they sent her to London with a packet of new names and passports. To be someone other than Emily. For a second chance. “It--” she looks away. She’s running, again, she knows. And she has to stop running. “It was the only thing that kept me alive, Aaron. I couldn’t let you leave without having told you the truth--”’

He glances up and back to her. Just for a moment, he wonders if the others should be hearing all this but--maybe they’re past all that. Pretending is how people get killed, they learned that with Emily, and he really doesn’t feel like being their repeat.

“I love you,” she confesses. “I know you love me, you always have. I’m sorry that I keep--” fucking it up. “I love you and I need you to come home, okay? So I can stop running.”

He doesn’t believe her. He wants to believe her but everything about Emily Prentiss always hurts and he knows it’s stupid to trust her. “Okay,” he says, afraid anything more will send her for the hills before he can even leave the country. And like an idiot, he bends his neck into her touch. Letting her rise up on her toes to kiss him. “I promise,” he whispers.

Jessica gets the call at midnight. The Bachelor finale had ended hours ago but she’d been sucked into some History channel rerun about ancient Mesopotamia. It’s the haze of the light hour, the warmth of the undertones of sand, the steady deep voice narrating, and the blanket curled around her shoulders that puts her to sleep. She doesn’t stand a chance after the day she’s had.

The call comes at 12:34 and the urgent ringing of her cell-phone makes her heart kick painfully at her chest. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand, she accepts the call without looking to see who it is. Not that her tired eyes would have recognized the caller anyway.

Not serving as a soldier, the process for notifying the family of any health changes requires a different take. For Aaron Hotchner, it’s put into the FBI’s hand. He’s their tool after all, not the US Army’s.

“I’m sorry to wake you, ma’am,” the voice offers.

Jessica scowls at the formality, sitting up on the couch and desperately searching for the remote. She kills the screen and the room is bathed in silence, aiding her ability to understand and think about what’s going on. “Ugh, can I help you?” She pushes her hair up out of her face, searching the ground and coffee table for a spare hair tie.

“I’m calling in regards to Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. I understand this number is supposed to be the personal line of Jessica Brookes? You’re his emergency contact--”

He deployed in October. Giving her only a week’s heads-up. He’d had the decency to look ashamed of himself, of the state of being he’s caused for them all. She’d understood his situation. Losing his friend had broken him irreparably and he’d wanted to talk about that even less than he had Haley. At least he’d warned her, she knows he hadn’t extended his team the same courtesy.

The man on the line goes on. Something about moving bases and a promise to get back to her as soon as possible.

“Thank you for your service,” the man concludes.

Jessica blinks, frowning at the phrasing. Aaron wasn’t serving. He was punishing himself. This was penance.

“Goodnight.”

She sits back on the couch, eyes vacantly taking in the wall in front of her. He’s on his way home. That’s good but she can’t help but… he’s hurt. Hurt enough for them to discard him back here. How bad is it?

Emily can’t deny her horror.

His eyes move to the blanket. To the empty space of where his limb once was. “It’s… It’s just a leg,” he whispers. He blinks heavily once, twice, and sighs softly as he fails to keep his eyes open. Humming, he parts his chapped lips but can’t find any more words. He’s too tired. “Could be…” his voice slurs and he exhales a heavy breath. “...worse.”

Emily wants to hit him but she’s done being defensive. She’s tired of being the first one to pull away. For once, she just needs to be the one that holds onto a hug a little longer. That lingers. “You could have died,” she whispers thickly. Gently, hesitantly she touches his hand. To her surprise he is the one to move, intertwining their fingers. She sits by his side, eyes glued the empty part of the bed. The nothing of where his leg is supposed to be. Does it really matter that much, though? A single leg?

Not to her. She’s had months to pretend. Every night she has escaped to a new reality with him. Come up with every variety of reality that might occur. What she’d do if he’d come perfectly fine and how they’d have kids and he’d never wake in the middle of the night with nightmares because she’d kill his monsters. How she would cope if he came home horribly disfigured or entirely different. Would it matter? They’d still be Aaron and Emily.

“I’ll never walk again,” he informs her. His head is tilted into the pillows, casually watching his news wash over her. He wants to know if she’ll stay if he can’t go. If all these years were about the chase, would she stay if he can no longer follow?

She sits down in the chair pulled up to the side of the bed. People have been in and out all afternoon but she’s the first one to receive this news. The other’s don’t really matter because he knows the script, can imagine how each of them react. Garcia will cry. JJ will too but not until she’s leaving. Dave will take it well but he’ll utter something strangely sentimental and sober with the realization that walking was never the priority of Hotch coming home. Morgan and Reid are his wild cards and he doesn’t want to tell them at all. But that’s just not how this works.

“At least you won’t go running off on me.”

He knows what she means, the implication and the diversion. With a huff he raises an eyebrow, “I’ve never been a runner, Emily.”

Emily.

No, she supposes, he never has. “If you can’t run,” she says, heart skipping around in her chest. She feels it pulsing in her throat, tossing itself around in her stomach. “If you can’t run then I won’t run.” She stands, swallowing thickly around the swell of fear in her throat. He watches her, looking up at her as she hovers for just a moment. When she kisses him there are no sparks. Something cold, icy runs it’s fingers into the grooves of her spine but she’s not gripped by any startling realizations.

It’s too late for that.

But he tastes like Aaron and to a girl who’s never had a home in one place, she’s only ever running. Here, against him, she knows what people mean they say a person can be a home. Because she wants to curl into him and forget the edges of Emily. Aaron. It’s always been Aaron.

It surprises him that she stays. She waited until things got hard.

“I’m going to have to go to physical therapy every week.”

She shrugs, “I’ve got a library of books waiting for me to read them. I’ll tackle my reading list.”

“I can’t walk,” he reminds her.

She raises an eyebrow, “so? I didn’t love you before because of your ability to walk.”

“Emily--” he needs her to understand this isn’t as easy as she’s making it. Using the bathroom, showering, sex isn’t even going to be easy. She can’t just brush it off like it’s not going to bother her. It’s bothering him! “Emily, I can’t hold your hand when we go downtown. I’m going to need your help taking a shower and getting to the bathroom. I’m going to have to look for a new apartment because the one I have, there’s no way I can work a wheelchair around in it. It’s-- I’m not the same! We’re not the same!”

She knows. Yesterday she asked Morgan to rig up something in the bathroom. She spent hours with Morgan trying to put a handle or a rail in beside the toilet without ruining the wall. Ordered a shower chair last week that Morgan is probably putting together right now. Garcia and JJ are looking for apartments with larger floor plans because she doesn’t want to be presumptuous and assume he’d want to move into a house with her. But she’s waiting for the right time to bring it up.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” she says. “That we’re not the same. I’m different too.” Does she need to create her own list? Dedicating it all to words for him to comb over. She can’t sleep through the night. Even though it had been a wooden stake that had “killed” she can’t hold a knife. Her hands tremble, this weakness she can’t explain. Her abdomen is just scars, riddled with ugly skin hardened by trauma. Is he prepared to see that?

“Look at me,” she says, squeezing his hand. “It’s been me and you for years. You’re the only thing I really know. So, I’ll take you as you come. However you come. You loved me when I ran, I can love you with a little baggage.”

He frowns, trying to find an out. Not or himself but for her. But she’s unwavering. “Baggage,” he finally caves. He smirks, shaking his head. “Of all the words in the language you know and you pick baggage?”

She cringes, shrugging, “I didn’t really think about it. It just came out.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

She smiles, “you love it.”

He hesitates for a moment but nods, “I do.”

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfiction #hotchniss

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trulyinspiringmovies · 2 years

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Hotel Transylvania 3: Summer Vacation

“Hotel Transylvania 3: Summer Vacation” felt like a standard third entry in this franchise but the end completely lost me.

Count Dracula is feeling lonely after hosting a wedding at his hotel. It reminds him of his late wife and has him yearning for a connection again. Mavis sees her father’s sadness, but misinterprets it as being overworked. After seeing an advertisement for a cruise on television, Mavis decides to book a stay for everyone. On the vacation, Dracula meets a human woman named Ericka and zings with her. What Dracula doesn’t realize is that she is the daughter of his rival, Abraham Van Helsing.

Unlike the first and second films, “Hotel Transylvania 3: Summer Vacation” does not really use its premise to talk about real-world issues. It’s a shame too since these movies are a great and subtle way to teach kids about racial tolerance. There’s a small hint that Mavis is upset with Dracula for finding someone else because she never expected him to love someone other than her own mother. I feel like this movie could’ve done so much with that premise. It would’ve flipped the character arcs and had Mavis learning a lesson. It would’ve been a powerful message for people with reconstituted families. Instead, we’re not given an actual confrontation and understanding between Mavis and Ericka. The conflict just resolves itself. I think I figured out why these movies feel so lackluster to me. Their premises are extremely simple and they fill the bulk of their time with gags. Sure, the gags can be creative, but they can never substitute for an actual story. This film is the most egregious out of all of them. The whole plot could be summed up in two or three sentences. The side characters are sidelined for the majority of the movie. Murray and Griffin are given nothing to do and the side characters who do have things to do are inconsequential for the actual plot. Even Johnny isn’t given anything to do. He’s just here to be in the background and do stupid things. I will say, I was enjoying the set design for this movie. There are lots of locations that looked amazing. There’s also a really fun plane scene that makes fun of cheap flights. I felt like this was just going to be a movie I breeze by and barely remember until the ending. The ending of this movie has a battle so cringeworthy that I could barely look at my screen. The final battle is a DJ battle with generic EDM and old tunes that don’t fit the situation they were in. The whole time, I was wondering if kids would even like the ‘good’ music they were playing. Sure, I like the songs, but they’re not songs to fight off a giant Kraken. This movie truly feels like it was phoned in and it makes me wonder why people are so upset about the latest installment.

★★

Watched on January 19th, 2022

#Hotel Transylvania 3: Summer Vacation #July #2018 #Children's #Comedy #Adventure #Fantasy #PG #Genndy Tartakovsky #January 2022 #2 stars

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unibrowzz · 3 years

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Mod (finally) reviews all 67 winners of the Eurovision Song Contest Part IV: The 1980s

Ah yes, the 80s. One of my favourite decades for music overall, and one of the only decades in Eurovision where I wouldn’t immediately jump at the chance to change most of the songs that won, the other decade being the 2000s.

But at least with the 80s there was more quality songs per year, whereas the 2000s was mostly drivel.

I also count the 80s as being somewhat of a turning point in the contest’s history, and by that I mean it always seemed to me like it was the decade where the UK really began to stop caring. Most people know the song that won in 1985, but nobody knows what won in 1986. Everyone knows Johnny Logan won twice, but couldn’t name his second song. Everyone knows Celine Dion competed, but can’t remember if she won or what she sang.

That and countries also started experimenting with more modern sounds and outfits towards the end. The early 80s is just an extension of the 70s I swear.

But that’s enough of all that, how do I find the winning songs?

1980- What’s Another Year?

Country: Ireland

Artist: Johnny Logan

Language: English

Thoughts: Ah yes, the song that makes every 50something woman in the UK and Ireland all doey-eyed and rosy cheeked as they remember back to when they were a teenager watching this on TV and drooling at the lovely looking sad Irishman singing his sorrows into the microphone. Or that’s my experience with this song anyway. Another experience is that most vintage fans I know tend to dislike this song on the grounds of it beating out [insert song here] Everyone has their favourite from 1980 since it was honestly a pretty strong year, but even though this song isn’t my first place for that year I can still clearly see why it won. See, 1980 had a lot of pop songs, so a slow, sad song like this one was bound to stand out, whether it was popular or not. Luckily for this one, it turned out to be a popular choice. Other songs wouldn’t be so lucky… Back on track though. Like I said, this is a very sad and melancholy song with sad and melancholy lyrics, which not only made it stand out in its year, but also made it stand out amongst other Eurovision songs of its time. It’s strange to think, but at this point in the contest’s history there hadn’t been a winner with lyrics so solemn and personal. See, in modern Eurovision, every other song is the artist baring their soul about their horrible ex-boyfriend, or their depression, or past abuse, or whatever, so knowing there was a period where songs like that were so rare is just… surreal to me.

Is this my personal winner for this year? This or Greece tbh, I don’t mind this one

If no, what is? Greece- Anna Vissi- “Autostop”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 23rd

1981: Making Your Mind Up

Country: United Kingdom

Artist: Bucks Fizz

Language: English

Thoughts: Ah yes, the UK winner that nobody really likes, but the BBC still forces at us anyway because they’re proud they came up with a gimmick that everybody remembers. Or maybe it’s not that well remembered, but nobody would know that because we’re reminded of it every year. This song is… alright. Just alright. The first listen of this one is always the best, because after a while it just gets kind of annoying. The singing ESPECIALLY starts to grate you for a while. Even in the studio version the two girls sound unbearably shrill and whiny, and I’m not sure if that’s their fault or the songwriter’s (since if I remember correctly only one of them was a professional singer). I’m seriously convinced there’s no way for a female vocalist to pull this off without sounding terrible. Again, this one’s perfectly fine and serviceable, but that doesn’t mask the fact it’s still the worst UK winner and the worst winner of the 1980s too.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Portugal- Carlos Paião- “Playback”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 58th

1982: Ein Bißchen Frieden

Country: West Germany

Artist: Nicole

Language: German (Translation: “A little peace”)

Thoughts: This song gives me a really warm, nostalgic feeling, and I don’t know why. I mean, I know this one did well internationally, so it’s possible I just heard it as a kid, but given how I grew up in the early 2000s, “Eurovision is a shitty freak show full of weirdos from the USSR who gang up on the UK and don't vote for us on purpose” era Britain, that’s highly unlikely. Anyways, this is such a warm, fuzzy kind of song. It has a lovely… round-the-campfire, singalong kind of vibe, like this is meant to be sung by a load of long haired hippies with flowers in their hair and CND symbols drawn on their cheeks. And it’s… … Also kind of bland. If you’ve been reading my personal winners so far, you’ll have noticed I definitely have a soft spot for old German entries, so it’s a shame I find the one song they actually won with to be so… generic. It’s like they got tired of being unique so decided to send the same saccharine fluff everyone else was sending, and guess what, it paid off majorly, because this song was a huge hit at the time. Something about that kind of bothers me, like, out of all the entries they sent, it’s the one that’s the most “Eurovision-y” that ended up winning. And there’s something depressing in that.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? United Kingdom- Bardo- “One Step Further”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 50th

1983: Si la vie est Cadeau

Country: Luxembourg

Artist: Corinne Hermés

Language: French (Translation: “If life were a gift”)

Thoughts: You want a tip on how to stand out amongst Eurovision fans? Say you like this song. Probably won’t make you very popular, but you’ll stand out at least. I will confess, I, too, was part of the hate-wagon for this song. Like most fans I knew, I’d complain about how boring and uninteresting it was and how it, ahem, “robbed” so many other entries, and how basic it was, et cetera, et cetera. But… honestly? It’s not even that bad. Sure I had other favourites from 1983 (the ones I could stand watching anyway, the host that year was so unimaginably terrible I gave up watching halfway through. I DARE you to watch the whole thing without wanting to neck yourself), but this song gets way more hate than it deserves. I honestly don’t think this song is half as bad as I made it out to be myself, or as bad as the fandom makes it out to be. It’s got a decent melody, some solid vocals, some appealingly 80s instrumental, like there’s a lot I like here. …Until you read the lyrics and realise they’re almost as half-assed and lazy as All Kinds of Everything’s, but I digress. Did I prefer other songs from that year? Of course. Am I going to complain about this one winning? Nah. It’s alright.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Sweden- Carola Häggkvist- “Främling”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 41st

1984- Diggiloo, Diggiley

Country: Sweden

Artist: Herreys

Language: Swedish

Thoughts: Whenever I was a younger fan I used to describe this song as being drunk-dad-at-a-wedding-music performed by three sentient Ken dolls, and I still stand by that statement. And I don’t really know how else to describe this one. It certainly has its charm, and it’s still a likeable song, but it also feels very… vapid. Like if this song were a person, they’d be a bit of a bimbo. And I mean, the song’s about how the singer’s oh-so-happy and prancing down the street in his brand new shoes, so that’s probably a fair description. Part of me wonders if that’s down to old Eurovision songs being vapid in general or if it’s down to the schlager genre itself requiring songs to be kinda neutered and happy-go-lucky, but even though I do like this song, it does come off as being a bit bland. A bit by-the-numbers and playing-it-safe. And I don’t mind songs like that, but I’d rather they didn’t win, y’know?

Is this my personal winner for this year? Not really

If no, what is? Italy- Alice & Franco- “Il Treni di Tozeur”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 15th

1985- La det Swinge

Country: Norway

Artist: Bobbysocks

Language: Norwegian

Thoughts: Ah yes, the song which finally hauled Norway into first place after years of being a regular last-placer. Maybe the UK should take some notes instead of blaming Brexit. Or Russia. Or Iraq. Or anything other than their own apathy, for that matter. But this is about La det Swinge and not the UK, so what are my thoughts on it? Well it’s… It’s the kind of song I imagine my mom and aunt would sing at a wedding if they ever attended one. It’s a very fun song, a little cheesy, sure, but it’s hard to not like a song that’s this upbeat and cheery. And yeah I know it’s because it’s schlager and that’s generally a really cheerful genre by default, I touched on that in the review above,

Is this my personal winner for this year? This or Israel

If no, what is? Israel- Yizhar Cohen- “Olé Olé”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 14th

1986- J’aime la Vie

Country: Belgium

Artist: Sandra Kim

Language: French

Thoughts: This song is an enigma because I’m an absolute slut for 80s pop, yet, for some reason, I find this song painfully average and uninteresting. Now, I’ll get it off my chest and say that 1986 was also a painfully average and uninteresting year, and most of the time I just felt myself remembering the singer more than the song, and even then I struggle to remember what some of the acts even were. It was just such a boring blur of a year I’m surprised the juries even managed to stay awake to pick a winner. And I GUESS you could argue that this song is so upbeat and peppy that it woke them up, but that doesn’t excuse how bloody generic it is. Like, this is the most generic 80s song you can imagine, and not in a good way. It feels more like stock music than an actual publicly released pop song. Had it not won, I doubt it would’ve stood out to me at all; it would’ve just faded into the background with all the other muted, 80s-coloured mush from this year. Basically, there’s a reason the singer’s age is the only thing noteworthy about this song.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Not really

If no, what is? Luxembourg- Sherisse Laurence- “L’amour de ma vie”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 49th

1987- Hold me Now

Country: Ireland

Artist: Johnny Logan

Language: English

Thoughts: Ah yes, the superior Johnny Logan winner. And I’m not sure why everyone forgets this one because Mother of Mercy this song is in another league entirely compared to the other schlock Ireland’s won with. Like this is their best winner, no competition. One of their best songs overall as well. One of the best entries from the 80s, one of the best winners of the 80s, one of the best winners… Yeah, I really like this song. I’ll admit to sleeping on this one for too long myself, always dismissing it as some boring Irish ballad to go with all the other boring Irish ballads they somehow managed to win with (we’ll get to that later), and always agreeing with people who said XYZ country (always Yugolslavia) should have won instead. Basically I learnt the hard way to never judge a song on its country and genre. But one day I found myself in the midst of a revisiting trip, going back to winners I didn't pay much attention to, just to see if there was anything I’d missed the first time round. And something about the lyrics in this song resonated with me a lot more than I thought they would. In a strange way, it made me feel older; like I’d grown up and was able to relate to the words in a song and appreciate it more than I could when I was younger. The line “what do you say when words are not enough?” especially hits harder than it should; as someone with autism I tend to find showing emotions difficult, even in virtual conversation where I’m not using my voice or face, because… Well, what do you say when your words aren’t enough?

Is this my personal winner for this year? Yes

If no, what is? N/A

Personal ranking (out of 67): 2nd

1988- Ne Partez pas Sans Moi

Country: Switzerland

Artist: Céline Dion

Language: French

Thoughts: Telling people Céline Dion won this thing is a new favourite hobby of mine, just to see the confused reaction. And that’s the most interesting thing about this song because it’s… fine, I guess? It’s a perfectly serviceable 80s power ballad, but there’s no bells and whistles to make me sit up and declare it any better than just “okay”. It’s basically the ballad equivalent of J’aime la Vie from 1986, in that it’s extremely 80s and also in French, but there’s nothing to make it that memorable aside from the singer herself. And even then this isn’t the song that made her famous anyway. Even her singing doesn't make this one stand out, partially because the song doesn't do anything special with it, and partially because she just blends in with all the other good singers of this era. And that’s kinda sad to think about.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Hmmm....

If no, what is? Greece- Afroditi Frida- “Clown”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 22nd

1989- Rock Me

Country: Yugoslavia

Artist: Riva

Language: Croatian

Thoughts: So this is another song it really took me a while to get into (there’s lots of those, trust me) and one that was very briefly in my top three overall favourites. It’s slid down a few slots since then, though I would still say it’s… Somewhere in the top 15. I don’t really have a lot to say about this one, if I’m honest. It’s just a good, fun, solid song which stood out in a very dull and ballad-saturated year, nothing more, nothing less. The lyrics are nice too, being about a bored musician who learns to love music again by teaching himself how to play pop songs to entertain his friends. That’s a unique subject and I can imagine it resonating with a lot of people who’ve fallen out with a hobby they used to love because they took it too seriously (providing they either speak Croatian or have looked up the lyrics, of course). I mean, it resonates with me at least. All in all, I just like this song for its message more than anything else.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Portugal- Da Vinci- “Conquistador”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 9th

#Eurovision #mod's winner reviews #posting now because the tag will be CHAOS come 7 lmao #esc winners

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toxiccaptain · 4 years

Text

You’ve got some nerve.

Warnings: strong language, violence, slight sexual themes (its nothing graphic dont worry, just like,, one reference to sex)

Characters : Johnny Vincent and Gord Vendome (mentioning of other clique members)

Johnny Vincent was exhausted, the day had been extremely draining with the run-ins he had with the preps thanks to Lola, only for her to break yo with him- great... all the man wanted to do now is relax and smoke, he didn’t care about what was going on around him for he didn’t think he had the energy in the first place. For the most part it was quiet, getting darker and darker out by every minute that passed him by even getting colder as it did, it was winter after all. As the man inhaled and exhaled the cigarettes light brightened and dimmed down, smoke rose to the sky fading the higher it got-

‘Finally, peace and quiet’

He thought to himself tilting his head left, right, back then forward stretching his muscles taking a glance at the cigarette between his fingers, remaining silent for what felt like a just seconds before huffing out air at the thought of Her. “Why you gotta be this way Lola?” He quietly, softly spoke out lowering his head in shame at his own stupidity. As the cars passed, the tunnel he was in echoed back the sounds with both the engine and the sound of the tires against the street. Johnny listened in to the environment sounds hearing footsteps coming up beside him but didn’t bother looking at who the hell it was, he just wanted to be left alone so he hoped it was just some adult. Until the footsteps stopped, just a few feet away—

He looked at their shoes frowning his brow just before looking at the person who stood there. “The hell you want runt?” Vincent’s tone grew aggressive as he threw down his almost finished cigarette and stepped on it shifting his body to face them. “Now now Vincent, let’s not get too excited-“ the boy said holding his hands up to show he wasn’t a threat “tell me what the hell you want before I break your face in gord.” Johnny stepped closer causing the prep to step back “I’ve come to- talk.” Gord announced keeping his distanced from the greaser. “Talk eh? The fuck you wanna talk about with me, huh? I’m not your little friend to be chit chatting up storm with.” Johnny kept walking towards the prep cracking his knuckles which were muffled by the leather gloves he had on to keep warm “it’s about Lola.” Gord told him which caused Vincent to stop walking and to stand there, mixed emotions ran through his head but anger slowly began to take over everything. Gord shivered a bit from the cold air just gettingnside tracked for a bit thinking how Johnny could just stand out In the cold before being cut from that thought when Johnny grabbed him and slammed him against the tunnels wall “What About her!?” Johnnys voice grew louder with clear signs of nothing but anger and aggression towards the small prep.

Gords back was being pressed against the wall by Johnnys weight as he was just held there with a strong grip breathing in the cigarette scent the greaser leader gave off “I swear if you just came here to rub it in that we broke up you’ve got another thing comin’. She’ll never be yours, Never!” Johnny nearly yelled causing gord to flinch from the fear of getting hit shaking his head quickly “If you would just listen to me-“ gord tried to speak but Johnny has pulled him forward only to slam him back against the wall but had him lifted off the ground by an inch. Gord slightly hung his head having hit it against the wall with the quick motion but he kept himself composed and spoke again “listen to me- I’m through with that whore of a girl.” Gord looked Johnny dead in the eye which caught Johnny off guard a bit. Hearing that made Johnny’s grip weakened causing gord to slightly lower from where he was just until he was able to stand on the ground again “w- what are you saying..?” Vincent questioned slightly narrowing his eyes at the prep still not fully trusting him and not breaking eye contact with him. “I don’t want her anymore Vincent, I came to tell you my days of going after her are over. She’s a more waste of time than you’d think-“

Johnny quickly slammed his fist across gords face upon hearing him say that causing gord to fall out of his grip nearly knocking him to the floor. Gord managed to keep himself up from the painful swing that was brought to his face but continued what he was saying rubbing his cheek “ you’re getting..worked up on someone.. who problably only uses you ..for the sex.” Gord looked at Johnny lowering his hand from his cheek to his nose wiping off the blood that has just began to run down “it’s very pathetic. Not that I expected more from you.” He continued letting the blood run down his face and into his expensive scarf and sweater. Johnny kept his eyes on gord with his fist clenched and his breathing getting heavier and heavier as could be seen from the cold air the more his mind ran with thoughts “and what the hell would you know?” Vincent snapped back gritting his teeth. Gord just stayed there stretching his arms a bit telling him keeping it casual “look at it this way, you’ve been fighting for her for how long? Haven’t you questioned what you’re even fighting for anymore? Clearly the more things happen the more she just gets worse for you.”. Johnny felt something tug at his chest when he heard the prep speak in such a way- was it because he right..? Johnnys fist slightly released from how he had them before and continued to listen “ Lola is old news honesty. Your friends even say how much you don’t deserve the treatment. They’ve seen you chase your own tail for this girl, but do you even know for what?” Gord questioned. Johnny thought long about it, he thought he knew the answer but only managed to come out with “because I-“

“You don’t love her. Don’t give me that crap. You know this isn’t love.” Gord stopped Johnny from finishing that thought glancing down at Johnnys hands watching his fingers twitch slightly just before looking back up at him “you know she doesn’t truly love you, and if she says so it’s not you. It’s the idea of you.” Johnny got closer clenching his fists again getting in gords face “You Know Nothing!!” Johnnys voice was loud, very loud— gord just watched him gritting his teeth snapping back at him "I'm not making this up! I’m not just some Dumb Rich Prep you all see me as!” Gord spoke louder but kept himself as professional as he could only giving a bit of attitude back. “And what would you even know?!” Johnny just towered Over gord at that point making gord slightly stumble back but kept himself up “Because Vincent, unlike you I’ve been studying psychology and I see the patterns. How dedicated you are to her, and how much she never truly liked you, how you dont truly love her back-” Johnny shoved gord back and kept doing so multiple times with each getting harsher and harsher having gord almost reach the other end of the tunnel which was the new Coventry territory and repeatedly told gord to ‘shut up’ getting louder and louder. Gord continued “I’m telling you the truth. I know me and you aren’t on good terms as of lately and that I'm suppose to hate you but do you really thing I’d be telling you this if I really hated you? Sure you’re a pain in the ass and you along with your clique are low-class but c’mon, I know you’re not that thick minded of a man to be This blinded.” Johnny eventually stopped shoving gord back and just stood there watching as gord almost fell back but kept himself balanced but never stopped listening “and why are you telling me this?” Johnny asked huffing

“Because I feel bad, okay?” Gord snapped at Johnny which created silence between the both of them for a minute or so. Johnnys hands twitched , as his whole body shivered with rage because deep down he knew gord was right, he didn’t wanna admit it, he didn’t wanna admit that it hurts but it deeply did and hes tired of it all. Johnnys breathing was heavy, extremely, his chest rising and falling as his expression of anger began to break slowly into more saddened ones from the realization. He got close to gord, qiickly grabbed the preps collar pulling him close with his eyes tearing up, his teeth clenched together “You don’t know us, you don’t know me..” he said quietly between them “you can keep telling yourself that but, I can see differently, I could've kept this to myself but I thought this would bring more good and have these childish games come to an end.“ gord softly said keeping his eyes locked with Johnny's, right before Johnny finally broke down. Vincent lowered his head keeping his grip on gords sweater, gord watched feeling Johnnys body shaking as he slowly touched Johnnys arms. Johnny couldn’t restrain himself from letting the tears fall so they did, his breath hitching as he tried his hardest to keep himself together not wanting a prep from all people see him this way but the emotions were too much and he ended up crying.

Gord has just stood there holding Johnny feeling bad for him once more knowing how much he’s held back and is just letting it out. They stayed that way for a good 5 minute, maybe more before Johnny eventually calmed down and lifted his head letting gord go, stepping away from him which made gord let go of him, and allowing his hands to drop to his sides. His breath went from being heavy to light for the time being which was good, but gord didn't know how long it would last giving Johnny's high temper.

“You may see me as some stupid rich asshole but I’m not as stupid as you think I am. And I know the only real history we have is me messing with lola, but—“ he cut himself off holding his arms still shivering from the cold weather. He was sure of himself and felt like it wasn’t right to just tell the man his reasons for doing what he did.

“But what..?”

Vincent’s tone was normal at first but the longer gord just stood there the more he began to grow impatient, gord knew this and grew slightly paranoid at the man that could knock him out right then and there, maybe even kill him- but gord exhaled deeply, he breathed in the iron scent the blood dripping down brought him and stared directly at Johnny “but..because i enjoyed messing with you.” Gord spoke out after what seemed like forever. Johnnys hands slowly twitched once more he walked to gord close to hitting him again and gord backed up quickly putting one hand out out of fear “Wait! That’s not all.” Gord spoke louder but covered his mouth soon after “what more can there possibly fucking be..?”

“I’ve actually been watching the way you are Vincent, and I gotta say you’re more than just a handsome face.” Gord chuckled softly swaying his body side to side. Johnny stood there in silence for a good minute, stunned at the response he was given not knowing how to take it “what are you getting at-?“ gords eyes looked tired as he glanced at the ground keeping his gaze there “I’m just saying Johnny boy, you’re big tough outside is very attractive to watch from a distance but I’ve also notice how easy it is to bend and break your mind.” Gord spoke as he normally does, with a posh tone that irked Johnny but kept him listened to the prep, then gord continue “trust me I’ve thought about ditching Lola long before and focusing my attention to a Real man but the way you drooled over her just brought me more enjoyment. More excitement. You can really put on a show for that girl and I really, really, Really enjoyed seeing you get that way. It gave everything a more of a thrill knowing you were so focused on me, even if it was hostile.” Gord walked up to Johnny and looked up at him with his head slightly tilting to his right.

Johnny just watched gord get close but didn’t bother moving, he didn’t feel like he needed to. His hands were in a fist by than point but he wasn’t as angry as he was in the beginning of the conversation, he was honestly relieved— surprisingly

“Long story short Vincent. I like you. A little more than I anticipated.” Gord smirked, feeling accomplished as if he won some game. Johnny remained silent, for a while now processing what he was hearing, he knew gord was bisexual because hopkins showed the other side of that prep but the idea that gord actually liked him and not Lola is what throws him off a lot. Johnny didn’t know how to feel at that moment staring in gords brown eyes as if he was shearching for an answer there, somewhere. Gord wiped his face from the blood that had stopped ripping down now it being dry on his face before just getting closer to Johnny and asking “have you ever wondered what it’s like to kiss a rich boy?”

Johnnys expression went from serious to surprised, his brows rose and his eyes slightly widened but he didn’t breaks eye contact “I- I’ve- I-“ he was trying to find the words but nothing much came out but a stuttering mess. Gord just said fuck it, placing his hands on Johnnys arms slightly leaning up to him closing his eyes easing into it. Johnny watched, but didn’t pull away- instead he thought he’d just try it out, to see what can happen and hie far it can go. So Johnny placed his hands on gords waist when he came close, closed his eyes and leaned down slightly until his lips met with gords.

This was new to Vincent, hes never kissed a boy and he never saw himself doing it before but there he was, a prep in his arms pressed up against his chest just, making out with him for what seemed like forever. But forever only really lasts for so long.

Gord pulled away opening his eyes and looked into Johnny's eyes when he opened them as well. They were quiet, things between them seemed to lift away, and this was more like a dream to him, a dream he sure as hell has had before in the passed, a couple of times. Johnny slowly looked away and let gord go awkwardly saying that he should go, just leaving the prep alone in the cold dark winter night.

As johnny walked into his apartment he closed the door and held his chest leaning against it feeling his breathing quicken thinking to himself if that actually happened. He battled in his mind if he enjoyed it or not being so confused with himself and these new found feelings that he might be gaining. He slid his back on the door and sat on the floor staring into the dark corners of the apartment, eventually he closed his eyes and grinned to himself, taking off his gloves and pulling his hair back running his fingers through his hair-

'You've got some nerve'

((I'm not an expert at writing so here is something I had a dream about and I hope you enjoyed-?))

#bullworth academy #bully: canis canem edit #bully #bully: scholarship edition #canis canem edit #bully canis canem edit #bully scholarship edition #gord vendome #johnny vincent #Johnny vincent x gord vendome #crackship #fanfic #who needs lola when you got eachother amirite

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roc-thoughtblog · 3 years

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Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 26

Chapter 29, Pages 155-159

First week back into semester has kept me busy and distracted this week, I suspect it'll probably keep me further distracted going forward but hopefully I'll settle into some kind of rhythm.

Previously, the Dashwoods finally have their encounter with Willoughby. It's awkward. Really awkward. Willoughby no longer seems to care for Marianne as she still does for him, and, well, that's a heartbreaker. Hartshorn gets involved, and Elinor is left to wonder how lucky she is to not have had a messy breakup.

Willoughby is a dick. >:(

Readthrough below.

Chapter 29

Marianne's got that grief-stricken crying half-dressed 5am furious letter writing going on. This isn't something I've personally experienced, but somehow I can feel it. Emotionally devastated, go to bed early, but then you lie awake at 4am with nothing but your emotions burning cold fuel through your mind and so you get up to find some outlet to expel it and then you pick up a pen.

Well, she's writing what I presume to be a breakup letter to Willoughby but it seems the same to me. Elinor just watches silently because actual comforts are unwelcome right now. Marianne wants to be alone.

Ha... ha... somehow all this drama has flown completely over Mrs. Jennings's head. She still thinks Marianne's most madly in love and due to marry Willoughby any moment now. Well, I suppose the madly in love thing is still true, considering heartbreak to be the desolation of love rather than its immediate end. But Jennings still yet finds it all amusing, and goes about making incredibly ironic jokes about it. Ouch.

Well, we've all been there.

Elinor can't keep quiet at this though, understandably. She does the smiling berating thing that the Dashwoods do, chews Mrs. Jennings out for wantonly believing that Marianne would be engaged to Willoughby, and then prematurely spreading that around town. That's... very bad. Oh dear.

Well she's not going to make any progress on Mrs. Jennings who still treats it all as a joke, so she goes after consoling Marianne, who had just left earlier after receiving a letter. Presumably from Willoughby, and therefore presumably worrying.

she saw Marianne stretched on the bed, almost choked by grief, one letter in her hand, and two or three others laying by her.

A-ah.

Elinor drew near, but without saying a word; and seating herself on the bed, took her hand, kissed her affectionately several times, and then gave way to a burst of tears, which at first was scarcely less violent than Marianne's.

O-oh...

They really are sisters. This is a heck of a lot more emotional of a scene than I was expecting, coming from Elinor's perspective.

I have to say, while I can relate to a lot of things, or understand a lot of experiences I have never shared or are unlikely to share, this one is always the one that eludes me. The family one, the one that's emotionally intimate. Emotional intimacy in general is a little rare for me, but I do experience and understand it. But in a familial context... I can't do it. This is a sweet scene between sisters/of sisterhood as I understand it on a categorical level, but it also enters a territory that I find alien and perhaps downright intimidating. Maybe even terrifying.

If I even just pretended for a moment that they were just close friends then this would seem normal enough. But when it's contextualised as arising from a familial relationship... Well, that's just me.

Returning to the story, consolation by way of extreme empathy goes on for some time before Elinor turns her attention to the letters. Answers!

....

Can I send these answers back?

"MY DEAR MADAM, [...] I am quite at a loss to discover in what point I could be so unfortunate as to offend you,"

YOU SHUT YOUR TRAP WILLOUGHBY! >:(

You know damn well what you been doing! Ignoring somebody for weeks. Falling out of love isn't in any way inherently wrong, but running from somebody like that sure is!

"if I have been so unfortunate as to give rise to a belief of more than I felt, or meant to express,"

Uh-huh. Sure.

"understand that my affections have been long engaged elsewhere, and it will not be many weeks, I believe, before this engagement is fulfilled."

EXCUSE. >:(

I was joking when I said he was also already engaged! Eurgh, can we just trade in all these guys and start over? Or just ignore them! Ignore all the guys. Spinster it up. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt but Willoughby is now the bad worst. Coward! Eddie you're on thin ice, you're only so much different from Willoughby, four years engaged. Brandon... I mean you aight but seriously? The teenager? You're 35, man. I'm still pretending you ain't right now.

"I am, dear madam, Your most obedient, humble servant, “JOHN WILLOUGHBY."

You take your platitudes and shove it, Johnny. Your only suffering is the shame of your own actions. You get no sympathy.

With what indignation such a letter as this might be read by Miss Dashwood, may be imagined.

I'm imagining it alright.

Willoughby YOU ASS! COWARD! PRETENDING LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU'VE BEEN DOING! SHAMEFUL WORM! GET BACK HERE AND APOLOGISE PROPERLY!

.__.

Well, this chapter ain't done but I sure am, wow. It's a long chapter and I'm very tired. And also mad at Willoughby, though I suppose at this point I should've seen it coming like Elinor did.

#900 words #willoughby is a son of gautier #Jane Austen #Sense and Sensibility #readthrough #novels

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skyhopedango · 4 years

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season snapshot - Winter 2020

Because it’s Sunday night and I should be sleeping already but I’m not sleepy yet.

Carry-overs:

Babylon: Oh hey, this ended a while ago and I kinda forgot to write about it. Not that there’s a lot to write about, it was like Kado - started out well, took a sharp turn halfway, and ended as an enormous, steaming pile of shit. Except, unlike Kado which started out really well this was kind of shaky from the start, and in any case I'd already been prepared for a disappointment. I’m now certain that Nozaki Mado has joined Okada Mari on the list of writers whose works I’ll never give another chance.

It’s a shame, really, because despite its flaws the show did start out on the right foot, raised some interesting issues worth discussing, and if you started digging there were some interesting themes buried deep under the bullshit. But the writing handled all of them in the worst possible way, took them in the stupidest possible direction, and drew the worst possible conclusions.

Mairimashita Iruma-kun: Fortunately Iruma-kun is still going strong, well, as strong as a drawn-out adaptation like this one can be. But I don’t even mind, because it’s just so damn cute. I really hope there’s going to be a second season - recently it topped a “favorite NHK anime” poll, so there’s a good chance for that to happen!

Eizouken ni wa te wo dasu na: I... well, I appreciate this? I don’t even know. I really enjoy the visuals, I enjoy how it’s about anime production, I like how enthusiastic it is... but on the other hand, I just don’t find it particularly engaging, it’s not making me enthusiastic. It’s not even that I can’t connect with it on some level, I’ve worked on the fringes of the film industry, I know and have met creators and industry people who are uber nerdy about their fields, I’ve been involved in certain aspects of production. (Hell, I am uber nerdy about my field of work, too.) But I tend to have this problem with shows about The Anime Industry, that somehow they never seem to map onto my own experience with anime/animation, they’re never about the things that make me enthusiastic about animation. So I end up feeling like an outsider - just watching people geeking out over stuff they’re clearly terribly enthusiastic about, and learning about anime production and whatnot, and while I intellectually appreciate it, as a viewer I’m just kind of disconnected from it all. But well, at least the girls in Eizouken are not Cute Anime Girls, which gives it a huge edge over the likes of Shirobako which really grated on me.

Housekishou Richard-shi: Eh. I’ll readily accept that the novel is much better, but as for the anime, this is as far as I go. Seigi is one of those very few anime characters who genuinely annoy me (mainly because I’m supposed to find him endearing), Richard is, like... there... The gem shtick still feels like it could be literally anything else and nothing of significance would change, the stories are simplistic and their logic is more often than not shaky, and the relationship between Seigi and Richard, which I assume is supposed to be highlight of the show, is just terribly uninteresting. Really, I’m a simple person, I don’t need much to enjoy a shippy dynamic... but not like this, when it feels like mediocre fanfic. So there’s that. In a weaker season I’d probably keep up with the show, but as things are, I think I’ll just let this one go and read/rewatch Rokuhoudou Yotsuiro Biyori instead. That has pretty much everything this one is missing, plus stupidly delicious-looking food.

(But seriously guys, go watch Rokuhoudou Yotsuiro Biyori, it’s criminally under-appreciated! Or, if you’re more into live-action, the adaptation of Tokyo Midnight Diner is surprisingly decent.)

Pet: Weirdly enough I’m finding this one pretty engaging! Mainly because at this point I just want to know wtf is going on. It’s fairly convoluted in that these guys seem to be unable to do anything without mindfucking someone, and I also have a feeling that the story itself is not going to be all that interesting or deep. But I like how in every episode we see new layers peeled away from the main characters, and I find its handling of trust and letting others in and being manipulated and whatnot pretty nice.

ID:Invaded: For a show that I found kind of bland at first this one has sure grown on me! The actual id investigations are not all that interesting, but the show is turning out to be a pretty decent mystery (a bit Hannibal-esque what with the “manipulating people with certain tendencies into becoming murderers” aspect). It’s not as smart as it tries to be, but now I’m invested in seeing how things develop, how the characters, especially Hondoumachi, end up, etc. That said, if the inevitable Huge Twist is that Johnnie John Walker is actually the boss, they’re not doing a very good job of hiding it.

Oda Cinnamon Nobunaga: Not much to say about this one, it’s still stupid, I still love it. :D

Jibaku shounen Hanako-kun: Probably my favorite show this season! I’m really enjoying this one, except maybe the romance - I’m not really into that part, but hopefully it’s not going to get too much focus. Otherwise it’s a pretty damn solid show, lots of fun, gimme more.

#jibaku shounen hanako kun #id:invaded #eizouken ni wa te wo dasu na #housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard-shi no nazo kantei #mairimashita! iruma-kun #pet anime #mairuma #babylon #anime #winter anime 2020

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thebibliomancer · 4 years

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #216: “... To Avenge the Avengers!”

February, 1982

"Avenge us, Tigra! The Molecule Man must die!”

Eesh, the Avengers plus Silver Surfer have gone full Hamlet’s Dad on Tigra and she’s gonna cat Molecule Man and his plush himself to death. But he’s ready for it.

But why? Well...

Last time: Silver Surfer inadvertently gave Molecule Man the idea to eat Earth. The Avengers and the Surfer teamed up to stop him but he just Molecule Manned their sweet gear into nothing, captured them all, and then stomped them under a giant boot-o-matic crusher! Except Tigra who he kept around because he wanted someone to talk at and because Tigra had claimed that she liked him!

This time: “Tigra... the Last Avenger!”

Nice touch that the book name inside the book has been changed to match even if the cover hasn’t.

That is a tough hat to wear. Did you know its only been a little over a week since she joined the team?

And in that time she got thrown into space by an Elf-Queen, watched a founding Avenger have an emotional breakdown and try to kill his friends to make them like him again, had her soul set on fire, been repeatedly harassed in public, and watched the whole team be killed with her life only being spared because she begged for her life!

Is this the worst week and change in Avengers history? IT MIGHT WELL BE!

“She was spared. The fear of death has drained away now, leaving only emptiness behind. She has never felt so alone.”

This narration set in the same panel where Molecule Man is all but slapping the giant boot and going ‘this bad boy can crush so many fucking Avengers in it.’

Well really, its more like

Molecule Man: “Well, cat-lady, they’re dead! Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, and that Silver Surfer guy -- squished flat by my giant boot-o-matic crusher! You know, I made this thing out of molecules from a scrapyard! Yessir, I believe in recycling!”

But that’s about the same level of dissonance between jolly goofus villain rambling and hollow despair.

Anyway, Molecule Man calls her out on being such a bummer because she’s moping over there when he’s feeling good about killing the Avengers and really Tigra try to consider how he feels geez.

So she shakes off the despair and asks hey what exactly is Molecule Man going to do with her?

Tigra: “Am I going to be your mate or...”

Molecule Man: “What? Nah! I never got along with girls! I mean, you know... that way! Yessir, mom always warned me about... that! And she was right! You can be my friend! No! Make that -- my pet! Here, kitty, kitty!”

Wow.

That. That dodged a bullet in a cool Matrix bullet time way right into another bullet.

Let’s please not get too creepy with this, huh? You listening to me, comic published nearly forty years ago? Let’s not get creepy!

Molecule Man decides to be a responsible pet owner and feed his pet. He can control molecules so obviously it should be no trouble to just rearrange them into any configuration he--

Okay, its apparently really hard to make food! Way too complicated!

He’s going to be an irresponsible pet owner and not feed Tigra. And meanwhile he’s going to chow down on some undifferentiated mush or possibly a pile of dust. Its all molecules so its all the same to him.

Tigra didn’t even want food but asks him where the bathroom is.

Molecule Man: “Bathroom? Hmm... well, I really don’t understand how plumbing works, so I couldn’t make a bathroom! If you want, though, I could sort of fake it...”

Tigra: “No, I’ll be all right! i just feel a little sick...”

Molecule Man: “So go be sick for a while! I’ve got to get started on my little project anyway! If I’m going to eat this stupid planet -- I’ve got to prepare by clearing away all the living things from a few square miles of land.”

And he gets started! A giant ridge of land just peels up from the ground, like Molecule Man is skinning a fruit before eating. Also a volcano erupts. Pretty sure there weren’t any volcanoes in New Jersey before now.

Fairly sure.

Outside the dome, thankfully the army has been evacuating everyone in a fifty-mile radius or else a lot of people would be dead. VOLCANO.

Then the Fantastic Four arrive.

Yayyyyy! Oh whoa whoa, Fantastic Fourrr!

They’ve got the best Molecule Man mashing record so they’re here to do what they do do.

Which in this context is fail like champs.

Ben Grimm the Thing tries to shatter the dome with a punch and no dice. Then Human Torch cranks up to nova flame and applies the heat of a sun on one little spot on the dome.

Johnny about wears himself out doing it and still no result.

Guess Iron Man, Thor, and Silver Surfer > a pinpoint miniature sun.

Meanwhile inside, Molecule Man tells Tigra hey get a load of this. And then he levitates a couple billion gallons of water from the Delaware River and dumps it on the Fantastic Four, plus the army, washing them away.

Invisible Woman: “Reed, it -- it doesn’t seem possible!”

Mr. Fantastic: “Everything is made of molecules, Sue! Anything is possible for the Molecule Man!”

Molecule Man far too hax.

But meanwhile, gasp, the Avengers weren’t actually all killed in a book with their name on it! This is unprecedented!

And Silver Surfer is ready to explain their unlikely survival of giant crushing boot.

See, Silver Surfer wasn’t quite as knocked unconscious as the three Avengers so he played possum. When Molecule Man put the Avengers plus Silver Surfer in the crushing boot and when it was just about to crush, Silver Surfer used the Power Cosmic to disintegrate the bottom part of the boot so that the Avengers and him fell to a lower floor. Completely uncrushed!

So that’s good.

The bad is that Silver Surfer has to report that Tigra is still in Molecule Man’s clutches.

The awkward is that Iron Man and Thor lost their armor and hammer respectively so Cap is like ‘wait, what are Tony Stark and Perfectly Normal Dr. Donald Blake doing here??’

So Tony and Don come clean about his secret ID.

Tony Stark, Actually Iron Man: “I feel a little foolish about keeping that secret from you till now! I’m sure Don feels the same way...”

Donald Blake, Dr. Thor: “Right, Tony...”

So now Cap is in on the secret which previously bound Tony and Don together as the Best Friends Avengers Who Aren’t Beast and Wonder Man.

Remember when they discovered each other’s secret IDs? Good times. Well, weird times. That was the issue when that hates-robots group suicide bombed Vision for dating a meat woman.

Also, Tony was only wearing underwear under the Iron Man armor so Don gave him his suit jacket to wear as a loincloth. Mighty nice of him.

Silver Surfer has just been standing on the sides not caring about all this secret ID nonsense or personal drama so he chimes in to point out that Molecule Man is going to eat the planet unless they stop him.

Cap decides that he and the Surfer have to strike before Molecule Man realizes they’re alive. Tony and Don have the important mission to hide somewhere safe.

Tony and Don object to being sidelined. Strongly.

Tony: “You think Iron Man is just a suit of armor, Cap? Is that what you’re saying?”

Don: “I found this rod to use as a makeshift cane! It won’t change me into a thunder god, but it’ll help me get around -- if only to draw fire!”

Tony: “Like it or not, we’re with you!”

Don: “The Avengers stand assembled, Captain America! Now, lead us!”

Cap: “All right! I get the message! I should have known better than to think you’d -- I mean, you two are the best...”

Tony: “Save it, Cap! We’ve got work to do!”

Aww.

This is everything I could have hoped for out of secret ID reveal. Cap starts thinking of them as civilians now that they have real person names but ultimately it brings them closer as teammates.

I love it. Granted, I love it because my favorite form of Avengers is a group of friends and set of interpersonal dramas roughly shaped like a superhero team.

Later, in the nighttime and in the room that Molecule Man made for Tigra.

... Wow, Molecule Man.

Wow.

So we’ve got a giant cat shaped bed. A giant, terrifying cat head on the wall. And a giant ball of yarn. But not giant sized cat tree? Fie and shame.

Anyway, Tigra is sitting on bed lamenting and decrying the Fantastic Four’s failure. Especially as it pertains to her situation.

Tigra: “I -- I just can’t believe the Fantastic Four failed! How could they let me -- and the world down like that? How could they? Right now, Reed Richards is probably locked in his lab trying to invent a gizmo that’ll pierce the dome! Hmf! Who knows how long that might take? The Molecule Man plans to eat the Earth tomorrow morning!”

Nothing like a nice filling breakfast, I guess.

She grants that Reed doesn’t know there’s an everyone’s-deadline so instead Tigra bemoans that it’s all up to her.

Tigra: “I should have tried to jump him today! I can’t believe I didn’t! I was standing right next to him a couple of times! I’m cat-quick! Why didn’t I lunge at him and claw him to shreds before he could move? Could it be because my muscles felt like jelly -- ? I was trembling -- ? In shock -- ? Afraid of him? Hey, shouldn’t I be? I mean, I saw him crush my friends to a bloody smear! And I had a spooky feeling that he was somehow, secretly ready for an attack -- and hoping I’d give him an excuse to dice me into furry cubes!”

And because this is a Tigra character beat page, she also thinks about how easy the hero gig used to seem when it was for smaller stakes. But with the actual literal fate of the world at stake... “I never thought that when the big test came I’d be a scaredy cat!”

But she remembers what Cap said during the Ghost Rider story that its not wrong to be frightened if you don’t let fear dictate your actions.

So she creeps out into the night to Molecule Man’s bedroom.

Oh, that’s a neat touch.

Her shadow on the wall looks a lot like a tiger because her hair curls at the end like a tail.

Neat.

So anyway, she doesn’t understand how Molecule Man can be so confident that he’s just sleeping with his door wide open and with no defenses and wonders if there’s a trap or whether he’s just counting on her to think that there’s a trap.

She’s about five seconds from a full-blown I know you know that I know that you know episode.

The only way to find out is just go for it so she creeps into the room. The garish room.

This is even more wow than Tigra’s room.

But as she creeps into the room and up to the enormous, ridiculous bed, she realizes that she has to kill him. If she attacks and doesn’t kill him with the first strike, what he could do is too horrible for her to imagine.

But what she doesn’t realize is that Molecule Man isn’t sleeping soundly and isn’t unprepared.

He’s stretched monomolecular filaments across the room, too thin for even Tigra to spot.

Now usually monomolecular filaments is one of those ‘oops I’ve been cut to pieces by invisible wires’ thing. You’ve probably seen it in a couple of anime. But this is more like a bunch of cans on a string.

Tigra breaks one of the filaments while she creeps forward. Something that she couldn’t possibly know but which instantly alerts him.

And his response is a “Oh, ho! Just wait’ll she tries it! This’ll be fun!”

Because Tigra’s instinct was correct. Molecule Man was keeping her around just to kill when she finally tried anything. Its been a game. See how far he can push Tigra and how messily he can deal with her when she loses.

This is pretty tense stuff! Well, it lasts a page so it doesn’t overfocus on this specific tense scenario but still!

Tigra: “I’m in range! All I’ve got to do is spring and... and kill him! He murdered my friends! He’s going to destroy the whole world! I’ve got to kill him! Come on, lady! Do it! What’s wrong? He deserves it! He’s a murderer -- ! A rotten little wimp! He calls you ‘kitty’! Kill him! I hate him! I hate him! but... i just can’t kill him!”

And apologizing to Cap for not being able to go through with it, she slinks out of the room trying to think of another way.

Inside the room, Molecule Man sits up disgruntled, just not understanding at all why she didn’t go through with it. There’s no way she could have known that he was ready for her so why wouldn’t she try to do a murder!

And then as Tigra is wishing she had someone to talk to, someone grabs her and pulls her around a corner.

Boom, a comedy after all that one page of tension.

And it’s Cap because there’s like four people it could have been.

Tigra is elated that the Cap is alive, that she’s not alone anymore! And she tries to confess that she attempted to kill Molecule Man to avenge the Avengers. That maybe she should have because now she might lose them again!

Tony: “You did fine, Tigra! Relax!”

But she doesn’t feel like she did fine so she tries to explain that she let the Avengers down by giving into cowardice. She told Molecule Man she liked him to stay alive.

Cap: “Good strategy, Tigra -- preserving your life so you’d be able to carry on the battle!”

She tries to explain it wasn’t strategy so much as being terrified but she gets distracted because she’s just realized that in this group of Cap and Silver Guy there’s two people she doesn’t know.

Cap: “Dr. Don Blake, who’s secretly Thor and Tony Stark who is Iron Man’s alter ego!”

Her mood immediately flips.

Tigra: “You guys are really Thor and Iron Man? Really? And it’s okay for me to know? Really?”

Tony Stark: “Why not? Somehow those secrets seem pretty trivial, what with the world on the verge of being the Molecule Man’s breakfast!”

He says that but he still looks pretty annoyed at Cap just blurting it out.

And geez, Cap, you gotta let people reveal their own secret identities. Or make up some dumb excuse that everyone instantly believes.

Its the done thing.

In terms of Avengers drama though this is pretty good. Thor, Cap, and Iron Man have been working together for a really long time. Even though Cap didn’t form the Avengers he’s basically been there so long they consider him an honorary founder.

Cap learning Iron Man and Thor’s secret identities can be a ‘we should have told you sooner!’ thing.

Tigra just joined the team! Like a week ago!

They need to work together now and there’s probably no smooth lie that could paper over where Iron Man and Thor went and why these two are here now but its probably still a little galling that Cap just blurts it out to the newest person on the team.

Its great. I’d love to see the repercussions of this.

Anyway, time is short so Tony gets to explaining the plan.

He found his broken armor and managed to scavenge enough bits and pieces to make a little device he’s calling a screamer. It’ll emit a high-pitched noise that should disorient Molecule Man.

And then the device just poofs into smoke in Tony’s hand.

Whoops, Molecule Man overheard their plan to beat up Molecule Man and also heard Tony call him names.

So he pulls together all the loose dust in the room and uses it to strangle Tony.

Wow, they’ve gone from having a “layered assault” to watching someone literally choke on Molecule Man’s dust. That’s got to be the quickest turnaround from hope to nope.

Tigra goes wild, rushing at Molecule Man and screaming that she shoulda killed him before and she’s damn well going to scratch his face off now!

But Molecule Man asks her to talk to the hand. Zing.

Puns.

Although “Don’t scream at me, Kitty! ‘Cause I’ll slap you down!”

Sure. That’s good wordplay too.

Having just been comedically (although seriously) WHAP!’d across the room, Tigra has her own words to say.

Tigra: “You -- you weak, slimy excuse for a human being! How could I have stooped so low as to humble myself to garbage like you? So you’ve got power! Big deal! You were a nerd before -- you’re still a nerd! You were a mistake! You shouldn’t even have been born! You crybaby! All you do is blame the world for your own inedequacy! Go on, kill me, nerd! I despise living in the same world with you!”

Wow. She really took all those personal details he shared and slapped him upside the head with them.

Goes to show. Don’t try to destroy the world. People will have rude things to say.

Meanwhile, Cap and Silver Surfer are trying to save Tony but can’t clear the super condense dust faster than Molecule Man gathers it.

Cap tells Tigra to get Molecule Man because that’s their only chance but Tigra is too hurt from being slapped by a giant hand.

Molecule Man: “I’ve got to hand it to you guys, it must’ve taken some doing to escape my crusher! This time, I’m going to make sure you’re dead! Hmm... someone’s missing! But who?”

And he’s done process of elimination and realized that the guy Thor turned into is missing and figures he ran away when Entirely Normal But Furious Dr. Donald Blake tells Molecule Man to grit his teeth.

And then Molecule Man runs off yelling because Dr. Donald Blake can throw down. He possibly broke Molecule Man’s nose with that one punch.

Good job, Dr. Donald Blake.

With Molecule Man not focusing on the dust thing, Tony is free of the dust thing but unconscious. Dr. Donald Blake tells the others that he’ll take care of Tony and that they should go chase Molecule Man since they can run better than he can.

So Cap, Tigra, and Silver Surfer go off in pursuit of Molecule Man.

Silver Surfer reminds that he can track Molecule Man’s unique energies. Cap helpfully points out that they can also just track the trail of blood drips from Molecule Man’s nose. And Tigra goes ‘also I can smell him’ because its good to have three different ways to find a guy.

They find him in some sort of throne room (curled up in pain on the throne) and charge at him. But he’s not in the mood for their shenanigans.

So he sends a tidal wave of molecules at them.

Cap shouts for Silver Surfer to do something and he does do something indeed.

The Surfer blasts the wave of matter with the power cosmic so hard that it transmutes into raw energy and just explodes through the top of the palace in a beautiful pyrotechnic display.

It also completely exhausts the Surfer and he just kind of plops down for a nap right there on the ground.

Cap tells Tigra to watch the Surfer and then goes to take the Molecule Man on alone.

This isn’t a great plan but also their already small roster has kind of dwindled to this point.

And maybe Cap sort of doesn’t want to throw Tigra at Molecule Man when she’s already been hurt and was voicing all those doubts earlier. Can’t say for sure. She’s about to offer for help but Cap is like ‘WHOOPS NOW OR NEVER!’

Molecule Man must be in a whimsical mood, I mean more so than usual have you seen what he’s been getting up to? Because he converts some of the furnishings into a bunch of stars to shoot at Cap.

Its funny because Cap wears a star. It’d be ironic if he got smacked in the face with one, probably.

But Molecule Man activated Cap’s speechifying and that buffs him because nobody likes hearing Cap talk about freedom and justice and doing right more than Cap probably.

What I’m saying is that he leaps and gambols between the stars and I feel its because he has Stuff To Say that he’s doing so well.

Cap: “You make me sick, mister! They say power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, and you’re living proof of it! You might kill me! After all, I’m just an ordinary man -- but men like me have always found a way to bring high-and-mighty tyrants like you to their knees! There’s never enough power to save madmen like you -- from ultimate, bitter defeat!”

WAK!

And perhaps it wasn’t just his agility that was improved by inspirational speeching himself. Because he knocks Molecule Man down with that one punch and he doesn’t get back up.

Or maybe Molecule Man just has a glass jaw.

Don Blake and Tony Stark show up and Silver Surfer wakes up but he runs in with the rest anyway for some reason. Tony tells Tigra to watch Molecule Man while he has an Important Debate with Cap.

See, Tony has realized something. Knocking down Molecule Man is just the first step. If Molecule Man gets back up, he might start eating the Earth again and the Avengers might not be able to stop him.

So he asks Don Blake if there’s a medical way to just sort of keep Molecule Man knocked out.

Don Blake: “How? We can’t just keep hitting him on the head -- this isn’t a T.V. show! I mean, how hard do you hit him? How many times can you do that before causing serious brain damage... or death?”

Realism? In a comic book? What are YOU doing here??

Anyway, Tony doesn’t see any other option but to kill Molecule Man.

Cap protests that Molecule Man is a human being with rights to due process and a trial by jury of his peers!

But Tony is convincing the others. As an Actual Doctor, Don Blake doesn’t like to hear this. He wants to save lives. But he can’t refute Tony.

And Silver Surfer also seems on Team Tony.

Silver Surfer: “I understand what it is to sacrifice one life so that a multitude, a world might live! It seems clear that this Molecule Man cannot be imprisoned or held in check! He... must die to save the Earth... though I could never bring myself to slay him!”

Don’t you have the power cosmic? Surely there’s a power cosmic option available?

To be fair though his the power cosmic might be exhausted at the moment.

Still. Geez, Silver Surfer. ‘He gotta die but 1-2-3-not-it’ is really how you’re playing this??

Meanwhile, Tigra has decided that being asked to watch Molecule Man implies a certain duty perhaps even responsibility to tell him how much he sucks. Which is a lot.

And recall that she’s already told him how much he sucks earlier in the fight. So she has found a second wind in telling him how much he sucks.

Tigra: “You little jerk! Don’t you see? Cap was wrong! Power very seldom corrupts! It usually doesn’t change anything! It just magnifies what’s already there, whether it’s good and noble or evil and petty!”

“You were a nerd before... now you’re a powerful nerd! Big deal! Dummy! The shame of it is that with your power you can build... you can contribute! You don’t have to be a loser anymore!”

“Why are you such a fool? Why can’t you see that killing a planetful of people doesn’t make you even -- it just make you lonelier than ever!”

Wow. It feels like Tigra could hypothetically be talking about all different kinds of entitled nerds who then become the jerks as adults!

Anyway.

Tony and Cap are still arguing.

Tony, at least, isn’t going to ask someone to do something he wouldn’t do himself. I.e., he’s going to kill Molecule Man himself and save four billion people.

Cap: “Tony... please! I can’t let you do this!”

Tony: “You can take me in for murder afterward, Cap, but for now, stand aside! I’m warning you...”

Cap: “You’ll have to go through me, Tony...”

You’re warning him, Tony? You don’t have armor. You don’t even have pants. What are you going to do to supersoldier Captain America?

Logic aside, what strikes me is how much this foreshadows.

Before Civil War contrived that superhero registration, the big hot button superhero debate issue is whether superheroes should kill in extreme circumstances.

Spoilers for the NINETIES but the Regular and West Coast Avengers will come to schism and Cap and Iron Man will basically break up over whether or not to kill the Kree Supreme Intelligence after it engineered a war that killed 90% of the Kree people on purpose.

Shooter is long gone by that point but I guess someone is going to pick up the thread.

Because the debate doesn’t get settled here or rather does, sorta, in favor of Cap but not in a way he expects.

Interrupting the sad fist fight between Cap and a nearly naked man, Molecule Man pops up and tells everyone that Tigra has convinced him to turn his life around.

Tigra: “Guys, Mr. Owen Reece and I have talked, and, well, I convinced him to give himself up!”

Mr. Owen Reece: “Yes, I want to start seeing a therapist!”

Cap: “huh?”

Mr. Owen Reece: “I know I’ll have to go to jail... but that’s okay! It’ll give me time to think things out! I’ll make an opening in the dome now so you can call the authorities!”

Don Blake: “s-sure!”

God, that is just great. I love this as a resolution so much. This is a resolution that Squirrel Girl would bring us, although we’d get more of the actual convincing.

Still very, very good. Good to be optimistic in comics sometimes. Sometimes villains can seek redemption if only a cat yells at them long enough.

Although I think the best part is how baffled everyone is by the plot twist.

So with but a “Soon...” caption, the police have come to pick up Mr. Owen Reece and brought Miss Hanrahan who is going to be his therapist.

Holy crap, a therapist in Marvel who isn’t Doc Sampson but will work with superpowered nonsense!

Can we bring Miss Hanrahan back??

A couple things I like here.

One is that Mr. Owen Reece has changed off-panel into a suit instead of his supervillain costume. Now that’s him making an honest effort.

Two is Very Annoyed Tony Stark in the back of the pack of Avengers. He’s wearing a handkerchief as a mask because someone might recognize him as Tony Stark and then wonder ‘hey why is Tony Stark here.’

Three is the proud smile from Tigra when seeing Mr. Owen Reece meet his therapist.

Melts my heart a little.

Before he goes away to jail, Mr. Owen Reece takes a quick sidebar with the Avengers.

He retroactively feels just awful about ruining their various gadgets so he decides to make right.

He reintegrates Mjolnir, Toomie the surfboard, and Cap’s shield exactly as they were. Original molecules and all! They were so weird that he remembered where they all went.

As for Iron Man’s Iron Man armor.... look, he did his best.

Mr. Owen Reece: “But your armor, with all those complicated electronic gadgets is just too tricky for me to reassemble! You needed something more proper to wear till you get home, though -- so I whipped up some red and gold cloth and made you an Iron Man leisure suit! I hope it’s okay!”

Amazing. Simply incredible.

Although I think my favorite part was Mr. Owen Reece realizing ‘hey Iron Man should be wearing pants!’

Anyway, he also takes apart his Molecule Man Doom Fortress and puts those molecules back where he found them. More or less. He tries.

And, yes, he does rebuild the entire town of Netcong, New Jersey. Except the plumbing.

In a funny call back to Reece admitting he doesn’t really understand plumbing, none of the plumbing in the rebuilt town works.

Later, back at Avengers Mansion, Silver Surfer is offered a spot on the team but turns it down.

FOR THE PATHS OF DESTINY DO BECKON HIM DOWN A LONELY ROAD THAT MUST BE TRAVELED ALONE

Its the only who he has ever known. Except for all the time he spend with Galactus. Or the Defenders. Or later on when he has a companion to take on space nonsense.

Tigra also takes this time to say farewell.

Tigra: “I’m just not in the same league as you guys! I mean, sure I’ve got lots of super-ability, and, usually, I'm even pretty heroic -- but not up to your standard! I mean two of you, without your powers, no less, really showed me what it’s all about back there! And let’s face it, you guys mess with some heavy-duty opposition! I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead!”

Noooooooooo

But but but Tigraaa you were a source of joy and fuuuuuuuun

You only joined at the end of #211! It’s only been about a week in-universe!

Darn.

The three other Avengers all say their goodbyes.

Thor reminds her that she was the one who turned around Mr. Owen Reece but Tigra says she got lucky.

Iron Man gives her one of Tony Stark’s cards and tells her to call Tony Stark who is definitely not him anytime she needs anything.

Jarvis even tears up at her leaving, although he denies it because a good butler never dies on duty and then blames his allergies.

And then Tigra is off. Damn. If I didn’t know who might be joining the Avengers soon I’d be completely inconsolable instead of just very.

So now the Avengers are down to just three members. That’s not a team. That’s a crossover. Probably why Jarvis wonders if a membership drive is in order.

NEXT: The return of... Yellowjacket, the Wasp, and Egghead!

I’m game for Wasp coming back! Don’t think it likely that Yellowjacket is just going to come back to the team just like that! And Egghead? The villain who blew up a city with a killsat and killed Hawkeye’s brother? Unlikely recruit!

(No I know that’s not what the NEXT means)

Hey, follow @essential-avengers because the Hank Pym just keeps happening. Like and reblog too please. Be sad with me that Tigra is gone.

#Avengers #Molecule Man #Tigra #Captain America #Iron Man #Thor #Silver Surfer #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging #Tigra the Last Avenger #would be a good name for a book #Molecule Man is bad at bathrooms and being nice #never before has a flimsier plan so immediately fallen apart #the Fantastic Four have a brief cameo and they don't enjoy it

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