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urgonnaneedabiggership · 1 year

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Could you make a fic where Miguel gets the female reader pregnant and they're happy but he's worried about her safety? Maybe have a villain find out? Cause some angst?

Risk Something (You're Losing Me)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara (Spiderman: Across The Spiderverse) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language. Spoilers (Miguel's backstory is mentioned). Angst! Alert!, Unplanned pregnancy!Alert.

Word count: 4.3K

A/N: Since I had already established some background and emotional intimacy, I thought I could write this as a sort-of-sequel to my previous one-shot Host of a Ghost. I was so excited to write this, especially because I don't usually write angst but I like to push my boundaries and leave my confort zone. Hope that it pays off and, of course dear anon, that you like it <3

Part III

You’d never really believed in long-distance relationships. After being witness to so many unsuccessful ones, you’d cataloged the entire concept into a box labeled “certain failure” and tucked it away in the back of your head. And yet, with an inconsistency worthy of your friend Hobie, you’d gone and gotten yourself involved in no less than an interdimensional relationship.

How? Well, that was a good question.

All it took was five simple steps:

Step one: Live a regular life. Go to school, graduate, and try to go for a Ph.D. that gets you working near genetically modified insects for just the right amount of time for you to become careless enough to let one crawl onto your backpack, take it to your apartment, and let it sting you. Throw in some negligence, forfeit going to the hospital, and go on about your afternoon. Warning, some side effects like loss of consciousness or intense headaches can be expected.

Step two: Congratulations! You’ve now become a super-powered person with abilities that range from climbing walls and performing gravity-challenging parkour to creating a sticky web-like element that helped you swing from one building to another. Toy around with your new talents, and grow comfortable with them before realizing that you can actually use them to be the much-needed help your city needs.

Step three: Turns out you’re not the only one with this kind of ability out there. There’s a whole Spider-Society full of similarly enhanced people who try and do their best to keep their own dimensions safe, and you’ve not only caught their eye but have actually been invited to join them. Let your new guide Jess Drews show you around, and explain all the benefits that come from joining a team such as theirs. If you decline, you can go back home and that’ll be all.

If you’re interested, it’ll be necessary to convince the leader but they could use some extra help so it shouldn’t be particularly hard. It sounds like an amazing chance. Information you wouldn’t have access to otherwise, mind-blowing facilities where you can polish your newly acquired abilities, possible new friends that actually know what you’re going through…Say you’ll think about it. Right as you’re about to leave, the most fucking gorgeous man you’ve ever seen in your entire life walks past without paying either of you any mind, busy while speaking to another Spider-Person. You ask who that is, turns out he’s the aforementioned leader, “will I ever have to work with him?”, you ask. “Probably, eventually” Replies Jess. Ask when you can start.

Step four: Do your best to earn your place in this elite group. Successfully improve your fighting skills, read everything available on interdimensional traveling and the multiverse. Understand it almost instantly because that’s how smart you are, kudos to you. Realize that for some reason, despite never actually interacting with you, Spider-Society leader Miguel O’Hara tends to stare. A lot. Is it because you’re progressing as fast as Jessica says or because she’s a complete liar and you’re actually doing it all wrong? No idea. All you know is that even during mundane scenarios like laughing in the hall with all the newest additions to the team or in line at the cafeteria, you feel a certain tingle in the back of your head that makes you turn around. Of course, the moment your eyes meet, he turns around and leaves. An odd one, yes. But you’ve also heard things. Rumors, here and there about his life before creating the Society. Whispers about a lost family and some video archives being the only evidence that they even existed in the first place. And, of course, the fault he had in the destruction of their dimension. You sympathize with him, despite his apathetic attitude towards you. You’ve seen him interact with those he’s closer to, and you know there’s more to him than he lets on. You’d be elated if he ever let you take just one look at the smidge of his old self that sometimes peeked out from behind the iron curtain. Well, not really. One look wouldn’t be enough. If anything, it would only cement your feelings for the man.

Step five: Curiosity killed the cat. We all know that. You know that. And yet, you decided to go snooping around Miguel O’Hara’s computer and personal files until you accidentally switch his computer on for long enough to let the videos he’s always watching start playing. He…his daughter…an entire lost life gone before his eyes. Then, before you could do the right thing and turn the computer off, an eerily familiar voice called at him from behind the camera. So, of course, you had to keep watching. Long story short? All those oddly constant stares, that coldness towards you, unwillingness to look you in the eye, was because of two reasons: first, you were a nearly identical interdimensional variant of the wife he’d lost in the dimension he unwittingly erased from existence. Two, as he’d confessed after realizing you’d found out about the truth, Miguel had come to terms with the fact that he was in love with you, not as a replacement for somebody from his past but as a new presence in his life that he’d been struggling to watch from afar, unwilling to let all his repressed feelings spill out like water from a broken dam. Until that night, of course.

Now, eight months later, you’d come to realize there was actually a sixth step you’d never actually considered until now that you were in this…situationship.

Step six: Uncomfortably avoid every and all circumstances in which interdimensional disparities and canon consistency regarding your relationship could come up. Don’t say anything like “Well, it’s been nice but I’ve got to go back to my own dimension” because that would remind him that his dimension was not yours too. That you were after all still a stranger in a strange land. Which of course also meant never inviting him to stay in your dimension.

Deep inside, you knew that all those details would eventually cause problems, especially regarding the inner conflict Miguel was always dealing with knowing what he was doing…what you were both doing, went against his strongest principle. But by God he was happy. Happier than he’d thought he could ever feel again. More than he deserved. So he just ignored those intrusive thoughts and focused on whatever task was at hand. And you were too. Even after just eight months, life without him already seemed unimaginable. He was your first thought in the morning and your last before you went to sleep, and more than once his presence beside you had been not just a figment of your imagination, but a part of your reality as you felt his strong arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer whenever you strayed too far from him in bed as he groggily whispered, “¿Y a dónde crees que vas, preciosa?”, Or when he buried his nose in the crook of your neck, lining it up with soft kisses that sometimes ended up in both of you being late for your assigned tasks. With so much on the line, you were more than happy to avoid those spiky subjects. It seemed like such a small price to pay with all you were getting in return.

You weren’t sure of where all this was going, but none of that mattered. Right now, you were together. Inside the Spider-Society you were a great team and each one was a valuable asset. Outside, every second spent in your arms was enough to make him forget Spider-Man. To you, he was Miguel and nothing more. And that was all you needed.

Life was good. You were happy with the way things were. Until, as it usually happens, a necessary disruption came quite literally crashing into your life in the shape of a fifteen-year-old that carelessly swung around a corner and crashed into you after you’d been chasing him like the rest of the Spider-People after receiving Miguel’s message.

“Miles?” You asked, recalling his name, which you’d actually been hearing for quite some time since the circumstances of his existence started being a problem for your boyfriend. The boy didn’t answer. He just looked at you, his eyes filled with confusion and fear until you hesitantly took a step aside to leave the escape route open for him. If anything he looked even more baffled, but when the noise of his pursuers reached your ears he rushed down the hall and you lost him after he took a sharp turn.

Before you could be spotted, you ran in the opposite direction and hid around a corner as you tried to call Miguel on your watch. Of course, it was in vain. Well, Plan B. Fortunately, this time you did get a reply.

“(Y/N)?”

“Peter! Yes, it’s me! Where are you?”

“Where do you think? I’m going after him like everybody else. I need to get to him before…sweetie, please just get back in there, Daddy’s on the phone right now…I need to get to him before- “

“He’s already left the headquarters,” You informed him.

“Wait, you saw him?”

“About a minute ago. He was on his way to the North exit.”

“(Y/N), are you sure you should be a part of this chase right now?”

“Why not? Jessica is there, isn’t she?” You replied, smiling to yourself. Good old Peter B., looking out for you like some sort of self-appointed brother figure.

“Well yeah, but she’s not running, kid. Although I don’t think she should be on one of those death machines either, I don’t what she’s…”

While he kept on rambling for a bit, you looked around and wondered if you’d ever seen the building this empty.

Empty.

Your eyes slowly ran along the pearly white walls until they landed on the hallway that led to the room where the Go Home Machine was kept. Practically unchecked, if Spider-Byte had joined the pursuit.

“P.B., I’ll talk to you later,” You absent-mindedly replied, hanging up on him without waiting for an answer as you dashed down the hallway.

You kept thinking about that poor kid’s eyes. After having all that information unloaded onto him, instead being given enough time to somewhat process everything he now had to escape from the very people he was supposed to feel safe amongst. When he sat on the floor right in front of you right after the crash, he was sure you would immediately hand him over. Maybe a few months ago you would’ve done it without hesitation but now…things had changed.

There it was. The Go-Home Machine. You thought you saw a purple blast inside that let you know Byte was still there. However, if your theory was correct, Miles would have to go through that hall and therefore, you. A few minutes later, a sudden voice booming from your watch startled you.

“(Y/N)!”

“Miguel? Where are you? I’ve been trying to…”

“(Y/N), listen to me! Miles lured everybody out on purpose, he’s trying to get to the machine. I can see your location back at the headquarters and he should be coming your way in less than a minute!”

“Alright. I’ll handle it.” You replied, ending the call before he could ask you to elaborate on that.

Sure enough, light footsteps came in your direction shortly after. Right as Miles entered your field of view, an alert issued by your watch made your stomach drop and a dreadful feeling fill your chest. However, you’d made up your mind. There was no going back now.

Mile spotted you at the end of the hall and stopped in his tracks. His eyes were determined, not as afraid as a few moments earlier. If he was there that meant he’d somehow gotten past Miguel. You fought back a smile when you wondered how pissed he’d be about it. Having his ass kicked by a teenager was something that, maybe under different circumstances, you could tease him about.

“He’s a delight, isn’t he?” You finally spoke, trying to somewhat lighten the mood while taking a step toward the kid. However, he got in a defensive stance, furrowing his eyebrows in distrust.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk.” You assured, showing him both your hands, “Miles, listen very carefully. This is exactly what Miguel was talking about a while ago. At this very moment. Right now, I’m supposed to stop you from getting to that machine and handing you over,”

Of course, he took another step back.

“Miles I’m not going to do that,” You assured him.

“Why not?” He immediately asked, constantly looking behind him, wondering if this was just you trying to stall him like, unbeknownst to you, he thought Peter had tried to do a while ago.

“Because I’m sure there’s a better way to go about all this. I love him so much, I do, but he’s so afraid that I don’t think he’s willing to see other possibilities and by the time he does, it might be too late for you. Now go before anybody else gets here.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. Miles darted past you as soon as you finished talking, taking a second to look back before reaching the dimly lit room where his ticket home was. His eyes scanned your face and darted down for one second before he looked up at you, a new worry in his eyes that had you wondering whether his spider-sense was strong enough to perceive something you’d just found out yourself.

“Are you going to be okay?” Miles asked, his eyes looking down for a moment once again. Did he know? Did he mean “you” as in just you or as in…?

“Yes, don’t worry. Now get out of here.” You insisted. With one last hasty “thanks”, he ran into the room as your left in the opposite direction. You weren’t worried about Spider-Byte. She was a good kid, and she’d do the right thing.

The right thing. What did that even mean anymore?

You’d deal with the moral implications later. For now, as you found yourself on the other side of the headquarters, your mind was set on finding Miguel. Maybe you could try and talk some sense into him, make him reconsider whether this was…

“What the hell was that?”

By now you’d gotten used to Miguel’s habit of sneaking up on you. Usually, hearing his voice coming out of nowhere brought a smile to your face. This time, you closed your eyes and winced as you felt his presence behind you.

“Don’t even try lying. I know that voice you used in the call. The one for when you’re about to ignore whatever order I’m about to give you, so I checked the cameras.”

“Miguel, I…” You began to explain yourself just to be harshly cut off.

“(Y/N), what were you thinking? Do you realize what you just did? Do you have the slightest idea of the consequences…?”

“I do realize that you just asked a fifteen-year-old child to stand by and let his father get killed right before calling his existence a mistake, Miguel. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking of our safety, and that includes Miles’. You’re right, he’s a kid and that means he’s selfish and immature enough to endanger everything we’ve all been risking our lives to protect for years.”

“Miguel, listen to me,” You insisted, “You’re scared. I know. I am, too, but have you ever considered that maybe there’s another solution? Do we even know for sure that allowing the kid to go and try to save his father is going to cause any real damage?”

“What if it does? Are you just going to tell me “Sorry, Miguel, you were right” and that’s all? (Y/N), Dios mío, piensa. Gwen said the same thing but we couldn’t trust her with being objective because he’s her friend,”

“Wait, what do you mean couldn’t?” You asked. Miguel clenched his jaw and turned away, unable or unwilling to look at you.

“Miguel, please tell me you didn’t send her back. Not with how she left things back there,”

His absolute silence told you everything. Shaken, you took a step back.

“What is wrong with you?” You hissed the disappointed look in your eyes hurting like a sharp dagger to his chest.

“(Y/N), mi amor, I’m just trying to…”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” You angrily spat out, “You go around preaching about how important sticking to your stupid canon is and the delicate balance of the multiverse when you know damn well that what we’re doing goes against every single one of those things,”

“No, no, that’s very different,” Miguel disputed,

“How is it different?” You argued back, boldly moving closer to him wishing you were taller so you could face him, “I’m from another dimension, there is no way that we were supposed to meet from the beginning. You had your world, this world, and when you tried to live another life in a different one, an entire dimension was destroyed. I had my world, and for all I know maybe there was somebody there that I was supposed to meet but thankfully I ended up here first so I could meet you. But you know what? My universe is fine, yours is too and I swear I had never been happier in my entire life.”

“You’re right.” He muttered in deep thought.

“Yes, I am. And maybe…” You started to say, a relieved smile tugging at the edges of your mouth until he looked up and the expression in his eyes made your throat dry up.

“We’ve been messing with fire all this time. There is probably somebody you can be with without endangering your entire dimension. And this…this is the hand I was dealt and I should just accept it and live with it. You’re right. Maybe this was all a mistake from the beginning.”

“No. No, come on, you don’t mean that.” You shook your head in denial, lifting both your hands to cup his face in your hands, to bring him close like he had done the night you finally could let all the love you felt for him escape its confinement in your chest.

Miguel grabbed your hands before you could touch him and moved away from you before releasing them as he finally built up the courage to look you in the eye.

“Are you serious?” You asked, your voice quivering with anger as you felt tears begin to dwell in your eyes, “So that’s it? You’d rather sacrifice us than find a different way to solve this?”

“Well, what did you think was going to happen, (Y/N)? That this would go on forever and we’d keep pretending everything is fine and that you don’t have to wear a fucking machine on your wrist every time you come to see me because even the cells in your body know you were never supposed to be here?”

“Oh, right, so you expect me to believe that you always knew this was going to be temporary? Then what was this? Something to take the edge off after a rough day until you decided it was time to stop fooling around and just be done with it?”

Deep inside, you knew what his response was going to be, but every inch of your heart silently pleaded for you to be wrong. To pull you into his arms and apologize for trying to send you away and promise that you’d get through this because you loved each other and that was all that mattered.

“I don’t know why you thought it was anything else,”

For a minute, you wondered if this was all actually happening. Maybe this was all a nightmare fueled by all the training simulations you’d gone over lately, and you’d wake up crying just to find Miguel asleep next to you, his wide back slowly rising and sinking with every calm breath he took. Your crying would wake him up and he’d furrow his eyebrows and ask what had happened.

“I had a nightmare, that’s all,” You’d say, wiping your tears off and trying to downplay it. But he knew better. He always knew better. He would pull you close and bury your head in his chest, placing a kiss on top of your head while warning you that he was the only one allowed to have nightmares because otherwise he’d have to start comforting you too and neither would get a full night of rest. And you would laugh softly as you drifted off, lulled by the warmth of his chest and his smell of sage lotion and cheap fabric softener.

But no. You were very much awake, and instead of comforting you with promises and reassurances, he was walking away from you after delivering the final blow to your heart.

Since he had his back turned to you, you felt free to let the repressed tears freely fall down your face as you helplessly watch him go until he disappeared around a corner. All of a sudden, you felt as if the walls of the headquarters had begun to close around you to asphyxiate you, and the sound of the returning Spider-People made you realize you didn’t want to be there for one more second.

Thanks to your watch, you were back “home” in a few seconds.

“Home”. Your empty apartment where you’d lived alone for years. Where he’d never set foot, and at least in that way it was free of his memory. Or so you thought until you looked over your shoulder at the ajar bathroom door. Inside, atop the porcelain sink, still rested the positive pregnancy test you’d left there before having to rush over to the headquarters to help with the latest anomaly.

That memory felt so distant now. As if it had happened years ago, in a different life. You suppose in a way, it did belong to another life. A life that was over now.

Numbly, you made your way toward the ragged sofa, collapsing on top of it as soon as you were close enough. It was only then that the full weight of the last day and a half sank in and, as you gently wrapped your arms around your stomach, you let the tears fall until your throat burned, the dusty cushions muffling your broken sobs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard correctly, you did what?”

The seriousness of the situation was enough for Peter to fasten a small strap in Mayday’s baby carrier to make sure she won’t go anywhere for a few minutes as he waited for his friend’s platform to reach ground level. He couldn’t be chasing his toddler around and ripping Miguel a new one at the same time.

“I did what I had to do. It’s for her own good,”

“Right, because you’re such an arrogant…” He paused to carefully place his hands over Mayday’s tiny ears, “…such an arrogant dick that you think you know what’s best for everyone, including a fully grown, intelligent, woman like (Y/N)”

“Shit, Parker, do you think it was easy for me?” Miguel uttered, pinching the bridge of his nose before resting his face against the palm of his hand, “What I said about this being the hand I was dealt…I don’t know how I’m supposed to deal with that. Hell, I don’t even know how I’m going to keep myself from showing up at her dimension to try and get her back here the first chance I get.”

“And why would you have to keep yourself from doing that?” Peter asked patiently. It sounded like a better alternative to “Miguel, I love you man but I swear you’ve got the emotional availability of a tree stump. Beats me how (Y/N) was able to get you to admit your feelings without prying your chest open with a jigsaw to see your pounding heart for herself.”

“She was right. We were never supposed to meet in the first place. Not like this. It’s not…”

“Miguel, I swear if I hear the word ‘canon’ even once in this conversation I’m going to drive my head through a wall,”

“Just because you don’t take anything seriously doesn’t mean everybody’s the same,” Miguel hissed back.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Last time I didn’t take something seriously, I ended up just like you will unless you get your priorities sorted out. Alone, and regretting not focusing on what was important,”

“This is important,” Miguel stubbornly argued.

“More important than what you had? Look at yourself. Just forty-eight hours ago you were as happy with (Y/N) as you’d been for the past eight months. And as happy as I’ve been with Mayday and my wife who, by the way, wouldn’t even be with me if it wasn’t for that kid you just called a mistake. And do you see my dimension going up in flames? Or yours? Or hers?”

Unable to find an argument against that, Miguel remained silent, his eyes fixed on an empty spot on the wall in front of him.

“Listen, I know you’re afraid. You don’t want her to get hurt, but if you love her as much as you claim to, then you’re taking the choice of a coward right now. And you can’t afford to be one, especially now.”

“Especially now?” Miguel inquired, turning to look at his friend who, much to his surprise, pressed his lips together as if he’d made a mistake and instead focused on getting Mayday’s hair out of her face.

“My point is; I know you well enough to know you worship that woman. And she thinks you’re pretty decent too. And I can tell you from experience that you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life if you let this come between you.”

Not knowing what else to add, Peter gently patted Miguel’s shoulder before leaving the room, hoping he’d given him enough to think about. Hopefully, enough to make him change his mind.

Meanwhile, Miguel hadn’t moved since Peter left the room, mulling his words over.

Two, particularly, had stuck with him for some reason.

Especially now.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x female reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #spiderman 2099 #spiderman atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv #angst #female reader #reader insert

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justanotherwriter140 · 3 months

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Kung Fu Panda 4 - The Movie

The last really, really long discussion post (for now).

Major spoilers ahead!

This review is full of spoilers, so please refrain from reading through it until you've watched KFP4. I would highly suggest doing so, as I want everyone to form their own opinions without my influence. The movie has its flaws (some of which admittedly being a bit distracting), but it's a fun film that has things to offer.

Kung Fu Panda 4 is a fun movie (take that as you will) that takes its audience on an action-packed, surprisingly funny, yet relatively contained adventure on which Po doesn't really do much. It's an inconsequential, safe sequel that doesn't really hurt the franchise but adds close to nothing.

I had a good time watching the movie. It was obviously produced with its theater experience in mind and the action scenes especially reflected that priority. The humor was actually funny sometimes and I enjoyed Po and Zhen's dynamic. During the film, I was able to put most (most!) of my grievances aside and take the movie for what it is. I've discovered that the best way to watch KFP4 is with low expectations and an open mind.

I have a lot of things to say about KFP4, both complaints and compliments (though the former might be taking the forefront in this review), and I hope this review can help those of you who have seen the movie organize your thoughts. I've been having a lot of trouble with that specific aspect of things myself. Those who get it get it.

With that said, let's get into my full review of KFP4! I've been waiting for nearly 2 years to write this and I'm so excited to share every single thought.

I'm going to follow the format of my first discussion post and curate a bulleted list of my thoughts, followed by an analysis of each of these points. Keep in mind that everything I say is IMO and this is more of a rant post than anything else.

Here are my main points:

The Furious Five's role is comically minuscule in the context of the film. Their actions are inconsequential and add nothing to the plot (a confirmed last-minute add), and they have 30~ seconds of screen time. Shifu is also largely irrelevant.

Mr. Ping and Li's presence has little to no effect on the movie (though I won't complain too much because they were pretty fun to watch and this movie has bigger problems). In almost any scenario, I am adamantly against having characters present that don't add anything to the narrative; however, Mr. Ping is an exception. I love Mr. Ping. James Hong is a gem.

Zhen's screen time is not utilized well and her character is underdeveloped. She definitely wasn't annoying, but I didn't find her either compelling or funny enough to warrant the screen time she was given, especially considering it wasn't used to establish a backstory/strong motives. This makes me feel bad for the character because the movie kind of screwed her out of any substantial development.

The Chameleon, while complimented greatly by Viola Davis, is an underwhelming villain. Viola Davis is amazing in this film and I would suggest watching it for her performance if for nothing else, but the Chameleon is underwhelming considering the super cool concept behind the character.

The film feels very rushed. Apologies to those who disagree, but I think the pacing is atrocious and the final fight is anticlimactic. The movie felt like a word-vomit with no discernible intermissions that stops abruptly when the film ends.

I felt as though Po didn't change/grow as a person and the audience never had a chance to either bond with or relate to his character. His internal struggle is kept to a minimum and we don't spend a moment alone with him as an audience, which is disorienting and distracting. Watching the film felt like running into an old friend at the store who's too in a rush to have a real conversation.

The action scenes were strong with few exceptions. Creative art direction was utilized and I thought the martial arts choreography was entertaining and dynamic. I love the color palette of the film and many scenes were very impressive visually.

With my main points established, I do believe it's ranting time. Strap in, folks.

Let's start strong with the Furious Five: I'm gutted. Chagrined, despondent, crestfallen, etc.

The lack of the Furious Five negatively affects KFP4 so much, because not only does their absence hurt the atmospheric integrity of KFP as a franchise, it also forces KFP4 to bring in a slew of different characters—all while still noncommittally including the FF at the very end because I believe the marketing team required it—that clog up the cast a bit. It all goes to show how important strong, established side characters are.

The Furious Five are side characters, but the role of "side character" does not equate to being irrelevant, expendable, or exchangeable. I recognize that the Furious Five aren't super developed as characters beyond a handful of lines that allude to traits sprinkled sparingly among the members; however, I believe that the tiny bits of development we have been given have proved impactful in the past. Tigress's development in KFP2 is a prime example of how much narratively conscious changes (however small they may be) can positively affect these movies.

Because of limited runtimes, the Furious Five often operate as more of a singular unit than five individuals. Even so, I don't think discarding them is valid. They're so important to the KFP universe (to Po's universe!) and not having them with him feels so wrong. The Furious Five are fully integral to the heart of Kung Fu Panda, which is why I believe a lot of those who have seen the new movie have expressed something feeling "off" or something being missing.

I agree with this sentiment. To me, KFP4 didn't feel like a KFP movie. I don't need a Furious Five spin-off movie and I can be fully content with a KFP5 centered around Po's journey as an individual as was intended from the beginning, but he can't carry an entire movie on his back. As strong as he is in every sense of the word, he is only one character. He's the centerpiece of the franchise, but a centerpiece can only go so far without the rest of the design, so to speak.

For me, the Furious Five's absence is one of this film's biggest faults. It's huge and glaring. I know I'm not the only one who feels this way, either, because the friends with whom I saw the film refused to talk about any other aspect of the movie after seeing it. Seeing them at the end was better than nothing, of course, but it was a disappointing culmination after eight years of waiting.

That all is to say I feel robbed. Despite all of this, though, I understand that there were reasons why the Furious Five weren't included in the movie. I don't believe the production team would exclude the Furious Five unless they weren't given a choice.

Shifu and Po's dynamic continues to be thoroughly delightful but their interactions are short and simplified. I would have loved to see more of them in this film, especially considering the extreme relevance of teacher-student relationships in KFP4. I (somewhat) digress, though, because the idea of Shifu having to live at the Jade Palace with only Po for an extended period of time is hilarious enough on its own. Maybe that's what the short film is about!

The comedy is odd but has some jokes that stand out. Po maintains a healthy relationship with his inner sass, which I think makes him more fun to watch and kind of eradicates the man-child verdict. Some jokes don't land, of course, but I genuinely thought KFP4 had some funny moments. Mr. Ping was consistently awesome and Po had some good lines sprinkled throughout the film.

As for Mr. Ping, he and Li Shan are the subjects of the film's B-plot as they follow Po to Juniper City out of shared concern for their son's safety. In my mind, they don't add anything to the story that couldn't have been brought about by other characters, but they had their moments of being entertaining. I enjoyed their silliness and thought they had a cute dynamic if nothing else.

Speaking of other characters, I want to discuss KFP4's deuteragonist and why I genuinely feel bad about the way her character was treated.

I want to let it be known that I'm still not on board with Po passing the Dragon Warrior torch to another character. While I agree that his arc is now calling for him to have a student, I disagree with the notion of him retiring from his DW role.

As I stated in my first discussion post:

Didn’t the initial significance and nuance of the title come from the fact that there is only one person who can be the Dragon Warrior, because the concept of the “Dragon Warrior” isn’t so much a title as it is Po himself? The universe (Oogway) must choose the Dragon Warrior because they are a singular being of legend. It is one person, and that person is Po. Wasn’t the point of the first film that the title ultimately doesn’t really matter because there is no “secret ingredient,” so to speak? The title doesn’t actually give Po anything. “It’s just you,” Po says, and that was the resolution.

When it comes to Zhen as a character, contrary to what I predicted I would think of her, I thought she was okay. While I was still a bit distracted by how out-of-place her design looks, I wasn't truly annoyed by her at any point and she and Po had some cute moments. Even so, I think their relationship could have been a bit more refined and developed.

While it's evident that Po and Zhen are meant to have a teacher-student/mentor-apprentice dynamic, I think their relationship feels half-baked. There were parallels that contradicted one another and ended up being confusing come the film's conclusion, and the nature of their relationship seems to vacillate depending on the scene. Additionally, the strength of their bond goes from zero to one hundred within thirty-ish minutes and left me with a bit of whiplash.

We're shown that Po and Zhen care about one another, but we're never shown why. They have a brief conversation during which they bond over being orphans, and Zhen says at one point, "You're actually a good guy," but that's it. This obvious lack of development is a bit disorienting because we're later led to believe that Zhen and Po care very deeply for one another when there's almost nothing to back it up.

A scene that sticks out to me when discussing this is when Zhen attack-hugs Po in a way that explicitly mirrors Tigress's hug from KFP2. This happens around the beginning of the third act, and while it had the potential to be an endearing moment, I think it fell flat.

The impact of Tigress's hug was brought on by her character's hardcore nature and reputation of being heartless, further strengthened with the knowledge that she was hugging Po (which was obviously way outside her comfort zone) as a show of companionship and fundamental understanding. Tigress hugged Po because he needed someone to recognize his strive for closure.

Zhen's hug had little to no impact because she had no reason to do it and it didn't indicate growth. She hugs Po because she's sorry for betraying him and doesn't want him to be killed by the Chameleon, but neither of these things are newly-established via this hug; we have already gathered by now that Zhen regrets betraying Po and doesn't want him to get hurt.

The hug is far from the movie's weakest point, but I think it's unnecessary given the context. I'm big on hugs in movies (an underutilized form of platonic affection, in my opinion), but it didn't fit here. I don't hate it, and I see it as an honest effort to bring emotionality to Po and Zhen's relationship, but it seems arbitrary.

Zhen and Po's relationship has a lot of potential and I'd be open to seeing more of them in the future, but I think some more thoughtful development needs to occur before I can humor it further. Even so, I can see myself featuring Zhen in some future post-KFP4 one-shots—sparingly, of course, because we have a lot of Furious Five content to compensate for.

Overall, they had a cute dynamic and some sweet moments but I'm not attached. I'm on board with Po having a student but I think their relationship needs a lot more development, something that this film unfortunately didn't give them time to either accomplish or earn.

Now, onto the Chameleon!

The concept of the Chameleon's character is admittedly super interesting. She's the deuteragonist's fastidious mother figure who feels that Zhen owes her a debt and as a result holds her to an impossible standard. That dynamic had the potential to be so interesting but I didn't think it was explored at all. There is no indication of Zhen having any internal conflict about fighting the Chameleon, no emotional complexity between them at all; it's disappointing because I think it would've added a bit of earnestness to the film.

Additionally, the idea of a shape-shifting villain is versatile. A shape-shifting villain gives those telling the story a lot of room to experiment with the protagonist and different ways in which the main character can be challenged and tested. It's yet another good idea utilized poorly. Just one idea: the Chameleon could have disguised herself as one (or several) of Po's family, friends, etc. and brought to fruition a new arc with his character (seeing as he arguably doesn't have one in this film), but she only disguises herself as Zhen very briefly in the movie.

Furthermore, the Chameleon completely relies on the powers of previous villains to pose any sort of threat to the main characters. She summons Po's former nemeses from the Spirit Realm (despite there being little logic in doing so considering Kai's literal evisceration) and takes their kung fu abilities for herself.

An excerpt from my first KFP4 discussion post that I think is relevant to the point I'm trying to make:

I don’t think it would be in the best interest of anyone if the past villains were to come back in any way that’s not a flashback (even then, I’m not sure I’d see the point). In all honesty, I thought that the whole point of the villains was that they died and stayed dead. They were defeated by Po once and for all as a testament to the idea of establishing Po's character growth and journey as a person through the bad things he’s able to overcome. It’d be highly contradictory to the messages of the other films if these villains were to suddenly come back.

While there was an honest effort made to portray the Chameleon as intimidating, I never felt as though any of the characters were endangered by either her or her army of lizard henchman. She's a visually appealing character (aside from her eyes, which I thought more resembled those of a gecko than a chameleon) and I greatly enjoyed Davis's performance, but overall I don't see the Chameleon as a notable villain.

The return of Tai Lung (had he been on his own) had the makings to be an excellent story, especially considering the importance of teacher-student dynamics in KFP4. To see him interacting with Shifu would have been incredible and could have led to further closure on Tai Lung's end (because I think that's kind of what the team was going for anyway), but it didn't happen.

It was nice to see Ian McShane reprise his role, but I wish Tai Lung's characterization had been more reminiscent of the way he was in the first film and more complimentary of his overall character arc. Tai Lung isn't a one-dimensional villain with a singular goal and motivation, and I couldn't help but feel as though the complexity of his character was simplified for the sake of KFP4's narrative.

Tai Lung's presence in KFP4 may be odd, but Shen and Kai's appearances are even more so. Kai, if I remember correctly, was fully obliterated by Po, reduced to literal particles on screen (which is kind of wild now that I think about it). Shen being in the Spirit Realm makes sense all things considered; however, Po and Li had no visible reaction to his presence, which seemed a bit unlikely considering Shen's deeds. This plot hole can likely be attributed to the fact that Shen and Kai's cameos (to my knowledge) were last-minute additions to the movie.

I have to talk about the pacing. I have to. I'm sorry, bear with me.

To me, the film's pacing is erratic and disconcerting. While I can appreciate a quick-moving narrative that doesn't dawdle on storylines that aren't interesting/important, KFP4 kind of flings itself too far in the opposite direction and ends up being frighteningly fast-paced. Once the credits began, I felt like I had been holding my breath for the entire movie.

KFP4 is confusing because while the runtime is standard for a KFP movie, it feels incredibly short. At the same time, the film's story moves at a breakneck speed and leaves little time for heart and development. These things culminate into a barreling boulder of a movie that simply doesn't have time to let its characters, story, or audience take a breath.

A fast pace is not inherently negative, but I don't think it worked in the favor of KFP4. The KFP franchise has always been very emotionally grounded (and just very grounded in general), so to see a film in which emotion/heart takes an aggressive backseat in comparison to action and comedy is jarring. While I think it's unreasonable for fans to expect the same emotional integrity as the original films to be present in the current and upcoming ones, I still think there's room for Po to grow and I felt as though the notion of him developing further was brushed aside in this film.

As for Po's growth, I felt it was nearly nonexistent. The previous trilogy wrapped up his character's journey beautifully and I know that KFP4 was bound to struggle with this particular aspect of making another KFP film; however, just because the strongest pillars of Po's character are established doesn't serve as a valid excuse to reverse his development and repeat what he learned in KFP3.

In KFP3, Po learned firsthand that he is capable of spreading wisdom and teaching kung fu. He also learns that he is constantly growing and that change is inevitable; there is always something more to learn.

"If you only do what you can do, you will never be more than you are now."

"I don't want to be anything more, I like who I am!"

In KFP4, Po pushes against this narrative despite fully accepting it in KFP3, actively reversing crucial parts of his character development achieved in the latter. KFP3 was non-ambiguously about learning to cope with change and responsibility, and I can't help but feel like KFP4 is simply copying this message while not adding anything to it.

Additionally, I felt that KFP4's Po generally felt less personal than he has in the past. In every KFP movie up to the franchise's most recent addition, I felt very connected to Po as an audience member. I felt like I was truly seeing the world of KFP through his eyes. I consider this to be one of the franchise's most impressive feats; it's incredibly difficult to build a universe around a character without making the audience feel limited to one perspective and one part of the world.

With KFP4, I felt both limited and disconnected. The world didn't feel as vast and all-encompassing as it has in the past and Po didn't seem fully like himself. This could be me nitpicking (as I'm prone to do), but I can't recall a single moment in the movie in which Po was alone on screen. Scenes like these are crucial for me because I see them as a meet-cute between the character and the audience, a moment for us to cross the bridge into their world in a way that's silent and intuitive. These little bonding moments are absolutely integral to feeling connected to a character.

Po's dream sequence in the first KFP movie is one of the best examples of this. It presents his aspirations, alludes to his way of life up to the point of the movie, and showcases his personality. During Po's dream sequence, the audience is quite literally inside Po's mind; we're there with him, seeing what he sees, subsequently feeling what he feels. Po is a dreamer at heart and makes the audience feel like dreamers, too.

In KFP4, I felt like I little to no point of reference when it comes to how Po was feeling. I didn't feel immersed in him and his world.

I know I've been very "doom and gloom" throughout this post, which is an exhausting mindset for everyone involved. I want to end my critique with something positive because I think some praise is deserved. Let's just say the movie could have been a lot worse, the details of which I'm sure you're all well aware.

The color palette of the movie is beautiful and somewhat reminiscent of the first film. While the animation style of KFP4 is far more simplistic than its predecessors, I was very impressed with its use of shadow and light. Po's many faces were also hysterical, props to those who helped make him as expressive as he is.

Additionally, the movie's action sequences were clearly thought out and discussed in great detail. The experimentation with camera angles was really fun to watch and I enjoyed the majority of the film's fight scenes. They were fun, bouncy, and entertaining, and quite likely reinstated audiences's love of watching a cuddly panda kick butt.

Congratulations, you've reached the end! Thank you so much to all of you who took the time to read this unnecessarily long and detailed review. As long as I help someone translate their conflicted feelings into coherent thoughts, I'll call it a win.

I want to reiterate that I don't hate Kung Fu Panda 4 and I had fun while watching the film. It has its flaws and there are a lot of aspects that I dislike, but the effort of the crew is obvious and I greatly admire and respect the hard work put into the film by those who worked on it. This does not at all excuse my issues with the movie, but it's worth saying.

As for the future of the series, I only hope that the next installment is more considerate of the franchise's origins and why Po's story is being told in the first place. I fully believe that another sequel could be good given a strong, passionate crew with a great understanding of the characters and world (and I wouldn't be averse to some previous directors returning, just to put it out there).

Thanks again to those who took the time to read this crazy excuse for a movie review. Feel free to either disagree with me or add things in the replies/reblogs, I'm always looking for more thoughts to think.

Until next time!

#kung fu panda 4 #kung fu panda #dreamworks animation #kfp #kfp 4 #movie review #i'll add the actual picture of the furious five's cameo when i can get ahold of one of decent quality #my time has come #it wasn't THAT bad #i didn't love it #but it is what it is #it's a tentative 6/10 all things considered #free the five #perhaps i treated kfp3 too harshly #don't get me wrong the movie had good qualities and i can tell a lot of work went into it #a lot of missed potential imo #a lot of characters done dirty #i didn't even mention the score but i thought it was just okay #i wasn't wowed #i know close to nothing about composing though so i should probably just not even go there #credits were the best part both cinematically and musically #i feel mean but i'm not going to be dishonest #bc obviously you all simply must know how i feel about the silly panda movie #a more detailed version of the grievances i have w the dragon warrior plot can be found in my og discussion post if anyone's interested #as well as my thoughts on bringing back old villains #might make some edits to this in the future but this is all i have to say for now

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sparkle-fiend · 1 year

Text

Inspired by this post by @kedreeva (I’m not sure I quite did the original prompt justice, but hopefully some of the emotion comes across.)

***

It’s been a while since Steve attended a high school party. It feels weird to go to one now, a year out from his own graduation, but Robin was insistent.

“Please Steve? Vickie invited me to come, but I don’t want to show up on my own – what if she’s busy and I end up standing in the corner by myself like some kind of loser?”

She knows that she doesn’t actually have to work so hard to convince him, but that’s part of the routine. Robin begs and pleads, and Steve agrees after making a big show of complaining about it (as if he wouldn’t walk through fire for her).

“Fine, fine! But you owe me one.”

“Yesssss, thank you!”

Now, as he surveys the crowded interior of Robbie Ferguson’s house, he thinks she owes him more than one. This isn’t just a high school party – it’s a band party. He doesn’t see a single familiar face in the crowd of high school students and recent graduates, although odds are most of the people here will recognize him. And the memories probably aren’t fond ones.

“Robin!” he hisses through his teeth.

She rolls her eyes at him. “They’re band geeks Steve, they don’t bite.”

He gives her one of his most annoyed looks, and she backpedals.

“I know, I know,” she says sheepishly, “but look! Eddie is here!” She points toward the corner of the room. Sure enough, Eddie is standing near the punch bowl with Gareth, Jeff, and Dave. He’s abandoned his usual layers in the summer heat, wearing just a red flannel shirt over a black tank top.

Steve is surprised to see him. Even though Eddie was cleared of all charges, there have still been some rough moments; a few holdouts causing trouble (mostly friends of Jason Carver). It’s made him understandably hesitant to go out much.

So to see him here, enjoying a party with his friends – it’s good. Really good.

“I take it that dopey grin means I’m forgiven?” Robin asks slyly. She knows all about his crush, teasing him whenever she gets the chance.

“Nice try,” he grumbles. “You’re covering all my shifts with Keith for the next two weeks.”

Before she can protest this outrageous demand, Vickie finds them.

“Robin, you made it!”

It’s Robin’s turn to be distracted, melting like chocolate under a summer sun as Vickie links an arm through hers – which is Steve’s cue to step aside.

“I’ll be over there with Eddie.”

Robin nods without looking, still gazing lovingly at Vickie. Steve snorts and heads for the punch bowl.

He grabs a solo cup and ladles in some of the vibrant red punch, wincing when he takes a sip – that shit is strong. Someone laced it a little too generously with vodka.

“Steve!” Eddie chirps when he joins the group, raising a cup in salute. “Look who it is gentlemen – our illustrious majesty, the former King of Hawkins High himself!”

Steve tries to hide his wince. He hates being called that, even if Eddie’s bright grin does take some of the sting out of the teasing. He taps the rim of his cup against the one in Eddie’s hand and says, “How many of those have you had already?”

“Too many and not enough milord,” Eddie says, slinging a friendly arm around his shoulders. Steve leans into the touch, just a little, and nods in greeting to the rest of the Hellfire club members. Jeff and Dave smile back politely, but Gareth just scowls - nose wrinkling like he’s smelling something foul. Even after all the time Steve’s spent hanging around lately, Gareth still hasn’t warmed up to him.

As usual, Eddie ignores the tension between them, launching into a discussion about how the newly released Aliens movie compares to the original. Since they recently watched both movies together, this is a conversation Steve can actually participate in.

It’s devolved into a heated debate on the merits of sequels in general by the time Robin and Vickie join them.

“Are we interrupting?” Robin asks drily.

“Not at all,” Eddie replies smoothly. “I know you’ve got some strong opinions on the art of cinema Buckley, what do you think of…”

“Annnnd that’s enough of that,” Steve interrupts. If the two of them start arguing about movies, they’ll be at it for the rest of the night (as Steve knows from unfortunate experience). “Who’s your friend?”

A vaguely familiar blond followed the girls over, watching the boys with wide eyes.

“Oh, this is Claire! She’s a flute player – she’ll be taking over as first chair next year.”

That means absolutely nothing to Steve, although he nods like it makes total sense (ignoring Robin’s knowing snort of laughter).

Claire seems happy to meet Steve, but she clams up when the rest of the gang is introduced – which leads to everyone standing around in a moment of awkward silence.

Surprisingly, Dave is the one to come to the rescue. “We should play a game. Truth or Dare maybe?”

The girls glance at each other and nod, and Steve shrugs. It’s certainly not the worst party game they could choose.

With a stop to refresh everyone’s punch, they migrate to the screened porch at the back of the house and settle into a circle on the floor.

It ends up being a lot of fun. The last time Steve played was with Tommy and Carol, and they were brutal about it – daring people to streak through the house or take hot sauce shooters until they puked. This game is much more lighthearted.

Although that’s not to say Steve doesn’t still have a bit of mean streak.

“Eddie, I dare you to sing Careless Whisper by Wham.”

“Ugh, critical hit!” Eddie yelps and falls to the floor, writhing like he’s been fatally wounded. Steve laughs and nudges his hip with one foot.

“Come on, you have to sing – or else you forfeit.”

“Have you no mercy? I thought we were friends.”

Steve just grins and starts humming the melody. Robin, Vickie, and Claire all join in until Eddie concedes; standing up to belt out the hated song with gusto. He makes it to the first rendition of the chorus before he collapses into helpless giggles.

“I don’t know, does it count if he didn’t sing the whole song?”

“It counts, it counts!” Eddie gasps.

The game continues in that vein - until Claire chooses ‘truth’. “Hmmm,” Vickie says thoughtfully. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone at this party?”

It’s the sort of question that could easily be answered with a ‘Yes’ or ‘No’ – no need for any revealing details. But Claire stares straight at Steve, fluttering her eyelashes flirtatiously as she says, “I think every girl at Hawkins had a crush on King Steve. I heard girls talk all the time about what an amazing kisser he is.”

Robin rolls her eyes and turns her head, pretending to gag. A year ago, Steve would have jumped at the chance to flirt right back. Now, it just makes him uncomfortable. Claire is like most of the girls he’s been with before - curious about his reputation, attracted by his looks or his popularity or his parents’ money. Completely uninterested in him as a person.

He wants to glance at Eddie, get a read on what the other boy might be thinking; but he’s afraid of what he’ll see. Or maybe afraid of what he won’t see – that Eddie will be totally unaffected by the fact that some girl is blatantly flirting with Steve right in front of him.

He doesn’t have long to worry about it, because Gareth is up next. He clears his throat loudly and points at Steve. “Truth or Dare Harrington.”

There’s no right answer here – Gareth is clearly eager to fuck with him, whatever he picks.

“Dare.”

The look of unholy glee in Gareth’s eyes should have been Steve’s warning.

“Well now that we’ve heard all about King Steve’s magic mouth, I think we need a demonstration. I dare you to kiss…” he draws it out, moving his finger around the circle like he’s taking his time deciding.

Claire looks eager, Vickie looks slightly uncomfortable, and Robin looks like she’s staring down the gullet of a slobbering demogorgon.

Don’t pick Vickie or Robin, he thinks fiercely. Don’t you do it. If Gareth picks either Vickie or Robin, his ass is toast. He doesn’t particularly want Claire all over him, but it would be the better option by far.

He never even considered the possibility that Gareth would choose… “Eddie!”

Steve must have had more to drink than he thought, because his head is suddenly spinning. He hasn’t felt his stomach drop like this since he was locked in a Russian elevator, plummeting to an uncertain fate.

The group erupts with shouts and laughter. Eddie jumps to his feet, waving his arms around grandly. “I see I’m collateral damage here! Guess I’ll have to take one for the team!” He bows and laughs, the same way he did when dared to sing Careless Whisper.

He’s so… casual about it. Totally unphased.

This is all a joke to Eddie. It doesn’t mean anything – not like it does for Steve. Everyone in the group just laughs and laughs, as if they wouldn’t look at him in disgust if they knew he wanted to kiss Eddie for real.

He meets Robin’s eyes briefly across the circle - the only one here that knows what’s going on in his head. She looks like she’s in pain.

Steve swallows hard and reaches for the cool, casual mask he used to wear so well. This is a game – just a party game. Exactly like the time he kissed Tommy on a dare at Jimmy Allen’s birthday party. He can do this.

He smirks and stands up, keeping his shoulders loose, subtly wiping his clammy palms against the rough denim of his jeans. He and Eddie face each other in the center of the circle.

The older boy has a faint smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose, and a tiny shaving nick by the corner of his mouth, near the scar that traces his jaw. His lips are so full, the prettiest mouth Steve’s ever seen. He doesn’t dare even look into those dark eyes.

Just a quick kiss and done, easy – no big deal. Steve licks his lips reflexively, wishing he’d put on some Chapstick or something, before he starts to lean forward. But then Eddie pretends to swoon, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like some southern belle in a movie.

Would he be this dramatic if they were kissing for real? Steve’s imagined it so often, a different way each time – sometimes soft and tender, sometimes silly and fun; just like Eddie.

He certainly never imagined the laughter in the background, or Dave shouting, “Come on man, do it already!”

Steve freezes. At the urging of his friends, Eddie takes the initiative and steps closer – until he’s stopped by a hand pressed flat against his chest.

“Stop. Please stop.” Is that Steve’s voice? He didn’t mean to say anything - but with that crack in composure the whole mask starts to fall apart, like a dam splitting open.

“I can’t do this. Not… not like this.”

Eddie frowns in confusion.

Of course he’s confused – it’s just a game. Everyone was having fun until Steve had to go and ruin it. He choked on the dare, and now he’s even tearing up - like an idiot, right in front of everyone.

There’s no salvaging this. He ducks away with a mumbled excuse about needing some air, practically running from the house. Hopefully everyone is tipsy enough that they’ll all just forget about it in the morning.

He doesn’t make it very far before he hears Robin behind him.

“Steve! Hey… wait up!”

He stops at the edge of the yard, where the house lights fall away into shadow, and waits for her to catch up.

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.” Even he can hear the choked waver in his voice.

“Steve…”

“It’s okay Rob, really.” It’s far from okay, and they both know it. “I think the punch just went to my head.”

They stare at each other, sharing one of those silent moments of communication that Dustin always points to as proof that they share a telepathic bond.

“You should go home then,” she says softly. “I’ll catch a ride with Vickie.”

He’s sure she’ll want to talk about it later, but for now… she’s giving him an out. “Thanks Rob.”

He watches until she’s back inside, just breathing in the smells of fresh-cut grass and a nearby cigarette – deep breaths in and out. Then he finds his car (thankfully not blocked in) and hightails it home.

****

(Continued in Part 2)

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington/eddie munson #my writing #I don’t know if I managed to make it as angsty as I wanted

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noxturnalpascal · 8 months

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The Chase (Part 1)

SerialKiller!Joel x F!Reader (5.4k)

DARKAU! SEQUEL TO THE HUNTED. POV will switch between Joel and Reader. This is dark, even darker than the first part. Read the warnings if you’re worried. Skip them if you don’t want anything to be spoiled.

Summary: Joel Miller is on the run after being released by his captor - a woman who claims to be a killer just like him. He’s so focused on trying to outrun her that he hasn’t killed anyone in months. Will her obsession or his own be his undoing?

Warnings for Part 1&2: 18+ MDNI. This is dark. Unprotected PiV sex, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation, kidnapping, stalking, bondage, violence, punching, kicking, slapping, choking, blood, mention of needles, talk of murder. *TW: Character Death*

A/N: REUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOD! When you see "*****" - that indicates a POV switch. This is Part 1, at 5.4k words (there is almost no smut here - sorry), Part 2 will be slightly longer and will have smut.

He’s been on the run for almost five months now, though it feels longer. He saw the hungry look in your eyes when he suggested you let him go in order to chase after him again, but when the needle went into his neck he thought it was all over. Suffice to say that ever since he came-to in that empty garage he has been scrambling to stay two steps ahead of you.

What he realized too late was that you still weren’t planning on playing fair. You left his wallet but took his driver’s license. His actual driver’s license with his actual home address on it. He also realized you had searched through his truck when you cleared out his cabin, taking all of his ‘hunting supplies’. And finally, it struck him much later than it should have that the phone you kept waving in front of his face was his own phone, which you also took with you.

So you have the location of his northern cabin, his home address, and would probably be able to find his secondary southern cabin with his map data in his phone. All three were burned. He has to start from scratch, and he has to do it all while staying hidden. He decides to risk it and immediately heads home, thinking there’s a chance that if he drives through the night, he might beat you there. If you didn’t head there as soon as you left, and maybe you didn’t - thinking it was too obvious of a place to start - he has a shot.

He gets there and the house appears empty, no strange car in the driveway, doors locked the way he left them. He thinks things are looking up. Then he finds another note on his kitchen table. It says ‘Miss me yet?’ in a looser, more erratic handwriting scrawled in the middle of a large piece of paper. Covering the rest of the paper are lipstick prints smooched in varying shades and intensities. Jesus fuckin’ christ, he thinks, you are unhinged.

He checks the house carefully, looking in closets and under furniture, but you aren’t there. You must have been there for a little bit, there is evidence you made yourself some food and took a shower, but didn’t stick around. He gets right to work on his plan. He showers, his reflection and another lipstick print staring back at him from the vanity mirror. Then he spends the morning packing up anything he thinks he’ll need into boxes and totes and limping them out to his truck bed, his leg wound still fresh.

He doesn’t pack much, he’s not that sentimental. He packs up some old photo albums, all of his non-perishable food, a bunch of cash, a variety of clothes, a variety of weapons, and all of his camping supplies. While packing he notices that you spent enough time in the house to go through a lot of his things. You have stolen a bunch of his clothes, his toothbrush, some photos off his walls, and his pillow.

He makes some phone calls to arrange for the packing up and donating of the rest of the items in his house and then selling the house itself, making up some excuse about moving to his cabin permanently. He gives his forwarding contact number as the burner phone that he picked up at a Walmart halfway back home.

Neither of his cabins were purchased through ‘regular channels’ and his real name isn’t associated with either of them, so they should be safe to hold on to for now but as long as you know about them he can’t step foot near them. He gives his truck a very thorough once-over for tracking equipment and leaves his neighborhood.

That was 21 weeks and 3 days ago.

He was so careful at first. He would constantly check his mirrors to watch for following cars. He wouldn’t use any roadside motels or even register at campsites, preferring to drive deep into public land and boondock in his tent. He washed up and did his laundry in creeks, ate the canned food he’d packed up, and even utilized his boy scout skills - foraging for edible plants and hunting small game animals.

He would think about you constantly. Not even because he wanted to, but because he was constantly gripped by the panic that you were on his tail. One time he could have sworn he heard your voice calling his name as he leaned over a mountain stream, the bubbling water carrying it downstream. He saw movement across the water out of the corner of his eye, but when his head jerked up, all he could track was the tall dried grass swaying in the light breeze.

After a couple months of this behavior his food supply was completely tapped out. He was tired of sleeping on the ground, tired of washing his body in cold streams, and tired of hiding away like a prey animal. He got in his truck and drove for three straight days back to the deep south, so he could escape the cold of winter where he had been further north. Halfway through the second day he was so tired he almost pulled over to sleep, but then it was as if lightning jolted through his entire body when he thought he saw your face in a passing car. A double take relieved him of that fear, but it woke him up enough to keep him going for another day.

He checked into an old roadside inn that he drove by twice before stopping. He didn’t see any security system outside of the building. In the office he inquired about a room and noticed that they weren’t even using electronic equipment, instead keeping a written logbook of guests. He paid for a week in cash and when they asked for his ID, he handed them one of his fakes, watching as they copied the false information into their book.

The musty smell of the room didn’t bother him, nor did the squeaking of the ancient air conditioner in the window, nor did the roaches that scurried out of view when he turned on the bathroom light. This place was such an upgrade to what he’d been living with, it felt like the Ritz. He took one of the longest showers he’d ever taken, groaning with relief at the warm water and the clean feeling of his skin when he’d slathered it with soap.

He gave his hair a proper wash, the first in many weeks, and felt just how long it’d grown. He ran his fingers through his hair and remembered your fingers in his hair, scratching his skull and tugging at his curls. He remembered your mouth on his neck, and your moans in his ear, and before he could stop his thoughts, he was half hard in the shower. He refused to touch himself and give any merit to those thoughts of you, that his traitorous body was enjoying.

What he should have been thinking about is not what happened last time you caught him, but what might happen if you catch him again. He knows you’re crazy. He thinks you’re like him, at least that’s what you said. And if you’re anything like him, then he knows you’re very dangerous. He tried many times to search for you with the limited clues he had, using his data on his prepaid phone. But with almost nothing to go on, any attempt at getting additional information about you had been futile.

After a week of sleeping in scratchy sheets and listening to the sink drip all hours of the day, he’s ready to move on. He didn’t just stop somewhere for the relative comforts. He stopped somewhere in order to stop running. He wanted to stand still for a time, to see if you would pop up behind him. He wondered if he could catch your scent on the wind, sense any sign of you approaching. It was a week of silence, of stillness, of nothing. It was a week of peace.

His next weeks of travel took him to remote towns along back roads. He didn’t spend more than a couple nights in each place, but he was able to replenish his canned food stash, wash clothes at a laundromat, do some repairs on his truck, and replace some of his hunting and camping supplies that had worn out with use. He even splurged and got himself a new tent, the old one having sprung a leak a week before he stopped using it.

The pressure to stay hidden starts to lift off his shoulders. He feels less like a frightened baby gazelle being stalked by a lioness. He doesn’t feel the need to constantly check over his shoulder, fearing the ghost of your hot breath on the back of his neck. He is careful but he’s more relaxed. He decides to stick by the Gulf of Mexico, and travels between four states now, repeating stops in little out-of-the-way towns. He sees familiar faces, but finds that it benefits him.

In another life he was handy, taught by his dad to build things, to fix them, to take them apart and put them back together. He has struck up a deal with some of the motel owners to do some minor repairs when he stays there, in exchange for a reduced rate. He doesn’t have to go more than a week now without a hot shower. He helps repair machines at the laundromats in exchange for free laundry services, so now he doesn’t have to re-wear dirty clothes.

Several food markets give him boxes full of dented cans and near-expired products. He may wait until he looks dirty and unkempt enough and stop by these places to give them the impression that he’s struggling and homeless. It very well may be a working ruse, but it also might not be a total ruse. He kind of is struggling and homeless, thanks to you. It’s been almost two months of this routine. He still uses fake IDs, pays in cash, and doubles back when driving well-worn roads.

To further conserve his cash supply, he alternates between stopping at the motels and camping on public land. If he’s honest with himself it’s also not just about saving money. He isn’t ashamed to admit that he enjoys the amenities that the cheap little roadside stops provide as compared to the backwoods camping he endures, but his urges start to creep up on him when he’s around people for too long. Sticking himself in a tent all alone in the middle of the woods keeps him from killing anyone.

One afternoon last month he entered a small room in a dump outside of Lafayette, LA, where the guest complained the door wouldn’t lock properly. Without even needing the masterkey, he entered the empty room and was overwhelmed with the feminine smell that hit him immediately. An open suitcase laid on the bed, items of clothing draped along the side. A bottle of perfume, hand lotion, and lip gloss sat on the dresser next to the TV. Each item his eyes landed on was more tempting than the last.

How badly he wanted to snatch a piece of clothing, to pocket the perfume, to leave the lock unfixed so he could return to the room later and put his hands around the throat of the woman who was staying there. It took every ounce of self control to only fix the lock and leave empty-handed. He couldn’t give into his urges. He couldn’t draw any attention. He couldn’t risk you hearing about his lapse in judgment.

He checked out of the hotel that very day and drove into Mississippi to escape the scent of the room with the now-fixed lock. You were on his mind the entire drive. He hadn’t thought about you that much in a long time. But as he laid in his tent in the growing dark, his mind was consumed by you. He couldn’t remember what you smelled like, but he imagined. He barely got the chance to touch your skin last time, but he fantasized. He definitely recalled what you felt like; the weight of you bouncing on his lap, the wetness of your tight cunt. Your moans played on repeat in his mind as he, not for the first time, fucked his fist while dreaming of fucking you again.

The moniker little bird passes his lips as his cum spills over his hand, and he wonders if this delusion will ever come true. Will he get to fuck you again? Will he want to? Will you want to? What will happen if you catch him? Sex might be the last thing on your mind. You’re fucking crazy. You might just kill him. He might not even see it coming.

Yesterday he was working on the back of a dryer in a laundromat and he listened as a young man, trying to impress a young lady, explained how he was traveling alone in an old cargo van across the country to the grand canyon. He listened to this man confess everything you don’t want a stranger to know, only to have the girl giggle and walk away, excusing herself while admitting that she doesn’t speak English very well.

Joel took almost three hours to repair the dryer because he spent so much time kneeled behind it planning a way to inconspicuously kill the young idiot without alerting you or the authorities as to his activities. By the time he had a plan in place and emerged from behind the appliances, the young man was gone. He allowed common sense to return to him before he could run outside to seek the camper out, and carry out his desire for blood.

And that is how Joel finds himself setting up his tent again, this time in the Florida Panhandle. He has once again had to run away from his urges, which grow stronger with each passing week. It’s been almost five months since you left him in that rented storage garage and almost six months since he killed anyone. He hasn’t gone this long between kills in a very long time. He likes to think of himself as methodical and controlled, even though you called his cabin disgusting and implied he was sloppy.

But he has self control. He doesn’t kill on a whim, he plans it. He keeps it discreet. No cop has ever come knocking on his door. No one at all has. Except you. Even if you picked berries in his yard instead of knocking, you knew what you were doing. You were hunting him. He had no idea. He thought you were alone. He thought you were scared. He thought you were weak. He thought he was in control. How wrong he was.

And how wrong he is now. How wrong he’s been to have stopped looking over his shoulder. How wrong he’s been to let himself get comfortable with his surroundings. How wrong he’s been to ever doubt that you could catch up to him. Because as he turns around to reach for the rainfly to his tent, there you stand. Hands on your hips at the tailgate of his truck, smiling.

“Hi honey.”

*****

You watch him intake a quick breath, his face falling in dismay, his pupils dilating. It’s so obvious how hard he’s trying not to look at his rifle, which sits on the tailgate behind you, partially covered up by his tent’s rainfly. He makes a quick calculation as his brows knit on his forehead and you see him twitch forward an inch.

“Watch it now honey,” you point one finger to your hip, tilting your pelvis to display the 8” knife hanging from your belt. He freezes again and eyes the knife, then rolls his eyes. He must recognize it. You took it from his truck almost five months ago.

“Looks a little familiar,” he huffs.

“Does it? I had to replace the one I used to have…. left it somewhere a while back,” and you nod towards his leg. He winces, then looks at you for a moment before a cocky smile settles on his face. There’s that shit-eating grin you missed.

“I got myself a new one too,” and he tilts his own hip, showing off the sheathed knife hanging from his belt loop. “It’s ten inches.”

Your eyes go wide in a mocking display and you tsk your tongue against your teeth. “Oh honey, haven’t you heard? It’s not about size…. it’s about knowin’ what to do with it.”

His smile turns ugly. He’s feeling confident. He slowly reaches his hand back as he takes a step forward, muttering, “oh trust me I know what to do with it.”

You quickly reach your hand back into your waistband and grab the small revolver out, pointing it at him with a smile. “This look familiar too?” You ask him, mockingly, watching as he once again freezes in place. His smile is gone, replaced by an annoyed look as he registers that the gun you now have aimed at him also once belonged to him.

“You don’t really look happy to see me, honey.”

“Should I be?”

“Well the way we left things, I just thought you were gonna be missin’ me a lot more.” He is frozen still, watching you wide-eyed, struggling to find the words that will piss you off the least. He kind of looks scared shitless, this is amazing. He looks down for a moment and when he meets your eyes again, his whole face has softened.

“I did miss you sweetheart.”

There he is, there’s your charmer. You can’t help the smile that flashes across your face.

“Oh you did? You missed me?”

“All the time,” he nods slowly. “Every single day,” he adds. Now he’s pushing it. You try not to roll your eyes. You don’t want to be a brat after all this time apart.

“What’d you miss about me?”

Silence. Too long of a pause. He holds his breath and then begins to stutter something out. It’s too late. You’ve caught his lie.

“You didn’t miss me you fuckin’ liar. You’ve been runnin’ away from me for months,” you seethe.

“Runnin’ away was the point sweetheart,” he attempts to soothe you. “This game we’re playin’. Me: Mouse, You: Cat. That’s the game, right?”

Maybe he has a point. It still annoys you. Maybe it even hurts your feelings a little. Feelings?

“I just thought you’d be sufferin’ more than you seem to be,” you try not to sound whiny.

“I’ve been so busy sweetheart,” he coos.

“Busy?”

“Busy tryin’ to stay two steps ahead of yo-”

You can’t even help the laugh that bursts out of you. You clap your empty hand over your mouth but it’s too late. He’s got his face scrunched up, watching you too closely. Oops. You might as well tell him.

“That’s what you’ve been busy doin’? Is that what you think?”

The crease between his eyes deepens, his body settling into his stance while also visibly tensing up. He’s bracing for your next sentence.

“Were you two steps ahead of me washin’ your laundry in that creek in Wyoming?” He’s holding his breath. “Or what about when you finally came back to civilization in Arkansas? Man, you really needed that shower. You stunk to high heaven!” His eyes look like they could pop out of his head. “How many steps ahead of me did you think you were in Mississippi, when you got in your tent, turned off your lantern, and whispered little bird into the dark?”

“What the fuck?!?” he gasps out, expression wild. “What th- How long- Did-,” he can’t even think of what question to ask first. “Was I ever even one step ahead of you?” he says through clenched teeth.

You just shrug your shoulders, trying your best to hide your smile, fully enjoying his realization and subsequent freakout.

“I shoulda fuckin’ known you weren’t gonna play fair,” he’s shaking his head, scowling.

“The fuck you mean by that? Play fair?”

“You always had the upper hand. You haven’t been playin’ fair. AGAIN.”

You mockingly frown at him. “If I wasn’t playin’ fair then why didn’t I just hide under your bed and kill you when you went home?” Men always have something to fucking complain about.

“I dunno. Probably has to do with the fact you’re fuckin’ crazy.”

What the fuck did he just say? Your right eye twitches. Your fingers tighten on the revolver.

“You had all the advantages,” he continues. “You had my first and last name, my home address, and my fuckin’ cellphone. I don’t even know your first nam-”

“And whose fuckin’ fault is that?” you interrupt, absolutely livid.

He snaps his eyes to yours, noting your tone. “I-”

“You never asked me my fuckin’ name did you?” you snarl.

“I-”

“You didn’t. Never asked. It was all wham, bam, thank you ma’am.” you glower.

“That’s not exactly how I remember it goin’ down,” he mutters under his breath.

“What’s my fuckin’ name?” you take a step forward, white-knuckle gripping the gun now.

His eyes flicker between yours and the revolver in your hand.

Your eyes bore into his, growing wider and wider. His mouth opens and then shuts, his pupils fully dilated. He swallows loudly, the only sound he makes.

“Get in the fuckin’ truck,” you growl, pointing towards the passenger side with the gun.

He stiffly marches to the passenger side and plops himself on the seat, pulling the door closed once seated. You raise your leg and stop the door from closing with your foot.

“Wait a fuckin’ minute cowboy,” you mock. You grab handcuffs out of your back pocket with your free hand, the other still pointing the revolver at him. You toss him the handcuffs and warn him, “make ‘em tight, this ain’t my first rodeo.” He clicks them into place and then you double check them, giving each a couple more clicks until the metal is digging into his wrist bones.

Slamming the door closed and walking around the back, your arm sweeps his rainfly and his rifle off the tailgate onto the ground. You close and lock the back up, and round the truck to the driver’s side door. You look in through the window and make eye contact with him, his face expressionless. You know that getting into a small space with him is dangerous even if he’s handcuffed. Better not to have a gun for him to grab.

Well below the window and out of his eye-line, you flip the revolver open and let the loaded bullets fall into the grass. You flip it closed and tuck it back in your waistband at the small of your back. Opening the door, you climb in the driver’s seat. You hope he thinks it’s still loaded. Part of you even hopes he reaches for it, so you can punish him for his indiscretion.

He lied about missing you. He didn’t seem to be suffering without you. He looked like he was having fun playing cub scout in the woods. He called you crazy. He said you weren’t playing fair. He’s acting like a fucking victim when you gave him 21 weeks and 3 days more to live than you had originally planned. What an ungrateful fucking asshole. He has ruined this reunion.

*****

You drive in silence, which he takes as a bad sign. He can vaguely hear you grumbling under your breath through clenched teeth and see you white-knuckle gripping the steering wheel. He thought he had you calm for a minute back there. He was smiling, you were smiling, things were looking up. And then he said something that pissed you off, right about when he said you weren’t playing fair. He’d insulted you and now you were taking him somewhere, probably to kill him.

He thinks about grabbing the wheel, about grabbing his knife, about going for the gun he’s pretty sure is back in your waistband. But he knows you have the knife on your left side and probably a syringe hidden somewhere waiting to stab him with if he makes the wrong move. He sits in silence during the short drive and feels slight relief when you pull his truck up to a cabin, smoke billowing out of the chimney. This is better than what he was expecting - a six foot hole in the ground.

You park the truck right outside the cabin’s front door, exit the vehicle and head inside, front door slamming behind you. You’ve left him out in the truck alone. He should run. But he’s handcuffed, and you have his truck keys. What did you do with his rifle? He slowly exits the truck cab and shuts the door as quietly as possible, watching for movement at the cabin’s door. He heads to the back of the truck and quickly realizes you’ve locked both the tailgate and the bed cap’s door closed. Looking through the windows he doesn’t see his rifle and assumes you left it at his campsite.

He might be willing to run for it with these handcuffs still on but he can’t leave everything in this truck and take off with no weapon at all. You’d catch him again in no time. He can’t run, he has nowhere else to go. He has to go inside the cabin, which of course you already knew and is the reason why you didn’t bother to drag him inside or babysit him until he came in.

He walks inside the front door and you immediately shout “SHOES!” His feet shuffle as he skids to a stop. You’re less than six feet away, at the sink of the small kitchen, not even bothering to turn and look at him. He toes his dirty boots off at the door as he looks around the small cabin, assessing the layout. To his left is a small couch, chair, and wood burning stove. Beyond the small sitting area is probably a bathroom and at the back of the cabin he sees a bunk bed through the open door.. On his right is the tiny kitchenette and directly in front of him sits a small dining table.

He can’t help but notice that sitting on top of the otherwise empty table is the small, shiny revolver. He can’t help but notice it because it’s glaringly obvious. It’s clearly not an accident. You left that there for him to see as soon as he entered the cabin, turning your back to entice him into grabbing it, probably so you could shoot him with a different gun you have tucked into your waistband now. It’s such an obvious trap, he’s actually insulted that you think he’s that stupid.

“Come ‘ere,” you snap, grabbing his attention.

He waits a beat but shuffles towards you, your back still turned. When he comes up behind you, you turn around, a knife in your hand. He flinches slightly and hopes you don’t notice. It’s a paring knife. You’re peeling potatoes. Knife still in your right hand you grab onto his handcuffs, pulling his arms up in front of him. You reach into your pocket with your other hand and produce the handcuff key, unlocking them without a word.

He resists the urge to rub at his wrists where the metal has been digging into his bones. You point towards the back, at the door he assumes is the bathroom, and then turn back to the sink. You still aren’t speaking. You must still be pissed but at least he’s still alive. He won’t test your patience. He heads into the bathroom and quietly closes the door behind him, noticing a cardboard box sitting on the toilet.

Inside the box is a change of clothes, a toothbrush, deodorant, and shaving supplies. He recognizes all of them as items you stole from his home all those months ago. He showers, shaves, changes, and takes a deep breath to steel himself as he exits the bathroom. You remain at the kitchen sink, the gun remains on the table.

He stands just outside the bathroom, able to see the entire cabin from his vantage point. Behind him is the bedroom, bunk bed on one side of the room and a double bed on the other. He can’t help but notice his old pillow on the unmade side of the double bed, presumably where you’ve been sleeping. The larger room in front of him is filled with the smell of dinner, a large stockpot simmering on the stove.

He slowly makes his way into the kitchen, looking into the pot and seeing a creamy stew, green flecks rolling along the surface as it gently bubbles. He approaches you timidly and sees you’re still armed with a paring knife, slicing strawberries now. He takes a risk and places his hands on your hips. You still your movements, but don’t move to stop him.

He’s pretty sure you have a weapon stashed somewhere. He slowly moves his hands along your hips towards your belly button. No gun tucked in the front. He presses the front of his body up against the back of yours. He hopes it’s not obvious that he’s checking for a weapon at your back now. He feels nothing but your hair tickling his nose. He inhales. You smell like a campfire.

He presses his nose deeper into the back of your head and inhales again. He faintly smells the shampoo from the shower. He realizes he’s still gripping you at your stomach and pulling you into him while pressing himself into you. He also notices his growing erection is pressed against you, digging into your ass. You haven’t resumed your strawberry slicing but you haven’t stabbed him either, which is a surprise.

He lets go of his squeezing grip of you and puts his hands chastely back on your hips. He waits while you slowly resume your preparation of the last of the strawberries. Impulsively, he moves his head to the side of yours and noses around the shell of your ear, his freshly shaved face brushing against your cheek. He can’t stop himself from inhaling again, memorizing your scent.

Suddenly losing all control, he closes his eyes, kissing just below your ear and slowly down your neck. A part of his brain tells him to keep checking for weapons and so he moves one hand up to cup your breast and the other hand down, fingers dipping below your waistband. He hears the clatter of the knife being dropped in the sink and his eyes snap open, you turn in his arms to face him. You gently push him backwards, his arms dropping back to his sides.

“Dinner’s ready,” as you nod to the table, an obvious instruction to sit down.

You ladle the stew from the pot on the stove into two bowls, setting one down in front of him and the other down in front of you. You drop a spoon in each bowl and sit down across from him, the revolver now serving as the meal’s centerpiece. He still won’t look at it, knowing it’s a trap. You bring a spoonful to your lips, blowing on the steaming liquid.

“Eat,” you order, your eyes not leaving his.

He grabs the spoon and mimics you, blowing on the steaming soup before taking a loud slurp. It’s very hot. You’re still watching him. What even is this? He thought you were going to kill him but instead you brought him here. What are you doing? You made him shower. You implied he should shave. You cooked him dinner. He swallows another burning spoonful. Are you playing house? What the fuck is going on?

This is just part of your game. You’re fucking crazy.

You’re still blowing on the spoon in front of your face, watching him. He lifts another spoonful to his lips, and freezes. You haven’t put that spoon in your mouth. You’re just staring at him, watching him eat. He looks down, past his spoon, into the bowl. What is this? What is he eating? He looks back to you, your eyes still boring into his own, still gently blowing on your spoon.

“Eat your dinner,” you bark, “little bird,” you quietly add.

What.

Is.

This?

*****

NEXT PART: The Chase (Part 2)

**CABIN LAYOUT POST IF YOU'RE A VISUAL PERSON LIKE ME**

#joel miller x reader #serial killer joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #serialkiller!joel x f!reader #joel miller #noxturnalpascal

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luimagines · 1 year

Text

Sequel to There’s Only One Bed Part 2

Masterlist

The first half can be found right here!

Part 1

Part two will follow along with the boys before hand which were Twilight, Time, and Wind.

Content under the cut!

Twilight

Twilight was right to guess that he wasn’t going to sleep much tonight. And frankly it was his fault.

You had no troubles with falling asleep after your banter and were gently clutching onto his shirt, breathing softly against him. With your head right on top of his chest, Twilight was sure that you would have been able to hear his heartbeat. Whether it would wake you up or lull you into a deeper sleep, Twilight wasn’t sure.

He sighed and ran his hand through your hair. It’s soft. How do you managed to keep it this soft while being out and about as much as you are? Maybe you’re just like that. Maybe you don’t do anything at all- unlike the Captain who spends an entire hour getting himself ready for the day.

Regardless as such, with you being so comfortable on top of him, Twilight can’t bring himself to move. He knows that it would be better for himself (and you in the long run) is he would simple close his eyes and go to sleep.

That’s not happening. He’s already tried. Multiple times, actually.

If he hadn’t fallen on top of you earlier, maybe it would be easier for him to catch some shut eye. But instead he was still able to feel your body completely pressed up against his. To be rid of his layers allowed him to be able to feel all your dips and curves. The only thing stopping it from being skin to skin contact was his shirt and yours-

He has to stop himself again. Twilight groans and shifts as much as he can without waking you up. He’s been dealing with his running thought for hours now and he doubts that they’ll stop anytime soon.

“I’ve got it bad.” He mutters to himself in the quiet of the night. “What right do I have to do this to you... and to myself... again?”

Twilight sighs, running his through his own hair in turn. His other arm comes up to wrap itself around you, keeping you both steady. The movement causes your shirt to rid up somewhat and Twilight can feel it.

He has to fight the urge to do something about it. This is absurd. You’re sleeping and he’s being a creep. Twilight can feel shame well up and climb through his body until he can feel it come over his face.

Why are you so... alluring? Captivating? Twilight huffs and throws his head back against the pillow. You shift against him and Twilight freezes. Did he just wake you up?

You make a small noise and Twilight has to cover his mouth or less he’ll do something dumb and wake you up even further. You shift again and make yourself comfortable against him once more. Twilight sees you blink your eyes open momentarily and his breath gets caught in his throat.

Is this it? Is the moment ruined? Is he going to have to live with ruining this entirely? Never seeing you again? You hating him? You thinking he’s a creep? A weirdo? He knew he should have taken the floor!

You let him go and grab the blanket, pulling it over your shoulders and over Twilight in the process. You snuggle into it, and Twilight, and fall asleep once more.

Twilight sighs of relief when you don’t move again. He can relax fully against the bed now that his minor heart attack has been dealt with.

At some point his brain is going to have to exhaust itself out, right? And then he’ll be able to sleep and get on with his life and forget about this? Right? Right?

Twilight closes his eyes and focuses on your heart that he can faintly feel beating against his own. They’re not at all in synch. His beats twice over and yours responds lazily to the tempo.

Whatever. Twilight will take it. It’s quiet. And peaceful. And at least one of you actually gets to sleep tonight. There’s so few chances for either of you to sleep on a real bed as it is. Twilight won’t ruin it for you.

Time

Time had woken up in the middle of the night with a violent jolt.

His arm swings in front of him, pushing you down and covering you with as much as his body as he tries to look into the darkness, searching for the threat that woke you up that way.

You’re rubbing your eyes frantically and he can feel your heart beat from under his palm. It’s racing.

When Time sees nothing, he looks back at you with a question in his gaze. You seem to catch it even in the dark. “Sorry.”

You try to breath and Time relaxes so that you have more room to move if you need. “Sorry.” You repeat yourself. “Nightmare.”

Time hums in understanding. He begins to relax again as well.

You’re quick to try and brush the moment aside and shove yourself back onto the bed and under the blanket. Time follows suit at a much slower pace and resigns himself to another night without sleep.

He looks over to you and your wide eyed expression.

Time sighs and reaches over, brushing over the side of your head with the back of his hand. “Sleep.” He says simply. “The danger has passed.”

You smile a bit and nod. “And I’m guessing you’re here to protect me as well?”

“Of course.” He smiles back. “I’ll watch over you.”

“Really?” You sound quiet. Time focuses a bit more and notices that you’ve grabbed the hem of his sleeve. That small action seems to have quieted any other doubts in your head about your safety. You’re already falling asleep again.

The thought is endearing and only serves to push Time to be even more vigilant in his impromptu watch of the night.

“Yes, really.” He run the back of his fingers over your cheek, pushing your hair aside and letting you hold onto his hand more fully.

You hum, only making a noise of acknowledgement before Time can see the sands of sleep overtake you once more. For Time however, he knows that it’s not going to be the same for him. Once he’s awake it’s near impossible for him to fall asleep again.

He can at least get comfortable.

Time rolls over and makes it easier on his arm, taking yours in his hand as well. You don’t respond to change but it makes him feel better about it.

Looking at you, Time is aware that you have lived very different lives. And yet the same curse plagues the both of you.

Anger and indignation war within him. It isn’t fair. It would be easier to accept if it was only him. Or perhaps if only the boys were included as well, but you? You’re no hero. You have no dealings with fate or destiny. You’re shouldn’t even be on this adventure with them to begin with.

The main reason you’re even traveling with them to begin with was because you had managed to make a very good point. You’re not from his world. You can’t fight monsters as well as they can and for the most part... There’s just very little other places for you to go. And if you go... Well... Time realizes he would miss you very much.

You breath deeply and pull his hand closer to your chest for comfort. Time’s chest o the other hand aches in your behalf. You’re entrusting him to protect you. And protect you he shall.

Time wraps his arm around you and pulls your closer to him. You can sleep worry free tonight. Time is going make sure that you continue to sleep worry free from now on.

Wind

As predicted, Wind had a particularly hard time falling asleep that night.

Every little move you made was amplified. Every little sound sent his nerves into over drive.

At some point he does eventually to tired his own brain out and catch some sleep. When he wakes up, it’s not what he was expecting. You’re directly on his chest, snoring softly and snuggled as close as you can get. His arms are around you and he can smell the faint soap that you used to wash your hair.

Wind gulps, trying his best to detangle himself from you, less you wake up and make things more awkward. Even if it’s neither party’s fault.

It doesn’t help however, that you seem to only cling onto him tighter and bury your face into his chest.

Wind can feel his face aflame now. With his earlier realization, he’s not sure how anyone is supposed to be still be normal after all of this. If he can get himself out of this without waking you up then he’s the one stuck with the memory. If he wakes you up in the process then that’s going to make everything awkward and he’ll feel bad about it.

He could pretend to go back to sleep so you can “wake up” first and remove yourself from him, but he’s already awake! He’ll still know how you react!

“Stop moving.” You mumble.

Wind freezes. “Uh-”

“You’re warm.” You say. “Five more minutes.”

Wind winces and gets comfortable again. Five minutes. He can do five minutes.

He has to be a little realistic with himself. He doubt you actually woke up. But the idea is endearing regardless. It’s almost domestic if Wind makes himself forget where he is right now.

And surprisingly, your pillow fort hadn’t collapsed on them while you were both sleeping, so that’s a good sign.

The five minutes pass and Wind tries to get out of your hold again. You don’t let go. “Oh come on... I need to pee.”

Wind reaches behind his back and unclasps your hands from his shirt. The legs are the easy part. He just rolls one over until yours fall back to your body. Wind still has no idea what to do with your hands.

Slowly, he puts them closer to your own chest and pulls the blanket over you, hoping that you grab onto that instead of his shirt again.

Now the main issue, at least in Wind’s eyes, is the fact that your head is still very much on top of him and he doesn’t know how to go about moving it without waking you up. He was only wiggling earlier and you gained enough consciousness to tell him to stop.

He sighs and rolls himself over, hoping that by placing himself on top, he could just push himself up and then he’ll be free and you’ll still asleep and he can pretend that he wasn’t aware just how sweet you look when you sleep.

It works.

Wind pushes himself and goes to move when you open your eyes. “Link?”

He freezes. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?” You yawn and rub your eyes.

A blush covers his cheeks at the sight. He gulps. “I was getting up. ...Good morning...”

You nod and roll back into the pillows, snuggling into those instead. “Good morning.”

Wind gets out of there as fast as he can. He’s thankful no one else has to know about this. Scrambling towards the door, he pauses....and takes out his pictobox.

Maybe he wants to keep this memory after all.

Part 3

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader

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secretwhumplair · 7 days

Text

Departure

1,424 words | The black prince [WT] (sequel to Ozriel)

Content | Power imbalance, mute whumpee, language barrier, mention of/implied: past captivity, past torture

Notes | Orafin and Elgar go on their way!

Taglist | @echo-goes-aaa @whump-blog @scoundrelwithboba @whumpcreations

Night had now properly fallen. The crown let them have their hug for a long moment—Elgar could feel their eyes on him like burning fire, and wondered what went through their head, seeing their regal brother so closely entangled with one like him; surely it reflected on them if it were known, somehow? he couldn’t imagine they approved, however affable they had been, but he desperately needed that hug—but eventually, they sat up all businesslike, and that little movement was enough to signal to the prince it was time to stop.

»You should get some rest,« the crown said, gently, when the prince turned back towards them. Their eyes, once again, grazed Elgar as well, as if they meant them both. »But we should lay out some plans. As soon as you feel ready to travel—«

The prince nodded firmly, and looked over at Elgar, who joined in, rather more hesitantly. Yes, no, he was ready to travel. He just wasn’t ready for this whole situation.

»I think the best thing will be to come back to Akreh with me, then Orina and her escort can take you from there. You’ll go to Borrim until you’re fully recovered, then you can return to Atcill. Although…« They sighed. »You should probably appear as soon as possible.«

The prince nodded, his eyes determined. Atcill was the capital of Ochuria, Elgar knew that much—as for Borrim, he could only guess. A sickhouse? Would a royal go to a common sickhouse, moreso if they weren’t physically ill?

The prince had scribbled something down on his slate, and now the crown eyed him with plain worry on their face. »If you’re quite sure.« Then they turned to Elgar. »You will travel to Borrim together, one of our countryside estates—it will be nice and quiet. His Highness has requested you go via our capital, so he may make a public appearance and put the people’s minds at ease about him.«

»Yes, your Majesty.« Elgar idly wondered if the offer to send him back home was permanent, or whether he had missed his chance. Not that it mattered, really. What could he do, anyway?

The crown considered him for a moment, then they nodded briefly and returned to the prince. »We’ll have to find someone to teach you to speak with your hands, of course. All of us, actually, when we have time. Why, of course,« they added with a small smile when the prince looked just about moved enough to start crying, giving him another half-hug. »And you,« they turned to Elgar once more, »will have to learn spoken Ochurian as well, if you intend to stay. It is probably best if you learn to read it, as well,« they added with a glance down at the prince’s slate.

»Yes, your Majesty. I—I would like that.« It was a terrifying prospect, to be stranded in this strange land with no way to communicate.

He wouldn’t be stranded, of course.

He would be at the mercy of the royal family. No one would be able to help him if things went awry.

He had to shove these thoughts down. The prince had promised to protect him. He simply had to cling on to that promise.

Presently, the crown smiled. »Very good. That’s settled, then. If you both are ready, we will travel tomorrow morning. After breakfast, you look-« They fell silent, their eyes filled with worry when they looked over their brother, skin and bones, worse than Elgar. He remembered how light the prince, who in his mind could not have been further from a prince then, had felt in his arms.

The prince swallowed, but smiled, and nodded.

* Orafin woke early, the first light of dawn barely creeping in, yet found Elgar already awake, lying with his open eyes resting on him. Ozriel was already up—they had gone to sleep beside him, but now they were at the desk, writing letters. It felt so warm and safe to see them there, all busy being monarch; although the thought was immediately followed up with the sting of knowing it would never be their mother doing these duties again.

They immediately glanced over to him when he sat up. He shoved the grief aside for the moment—there would be time to grieve, surely; now wasn’t it—, smiled, and waved good morning.

Their smile in return looked strained. »Good morning. One moment.«

Orafin looked over to Elgar while they finished their paperwork. He couldn’t do anything but smile at him and squeeze his hand and he couldn’t wait for him to learn to read, for both of them to learn to speak in and understand signs, and he couldn’t even tell him that.

Elgar smiled and squeezed back, but his smile, too, seemed strained.

Orafin wondered whether he was still in pain, now unhappily looking forward to travelling with it. He had told the medic he was sore, but he hadn’t elaborated—and Orafin hadn’t wanted to expose him—and whether his body had been able to fully recover in the past two days, while dealing with the starvation and the exhaustion and the obvious anxiety, Orafin didn’t know.

It seemed unlikely, after everything Orafin had witnessed. Elgar had never been given time to recover any more than he had, and though his injuries might be subtler, Orafin didn’t doubt they were still there, struggling to heal amid renewed assaults.

It would probably hurt him to ride. But Orafin couldn’t tell him to tell the medic without revealing at least some of what had been done to him to Ozriel or someone else, so he could only hope Elgar would know to speak up if things got too bad.

Orafin would hurt, too. He was bruised all over. But it would be worth it to see his sister, and go home, and see the rest of his family and friends.

Once Ozriel had finished what couldn’t be more than the sentence they had been writing, they called for breakfast. Two days of consistent food hadn’t been enough to take the magic out of it for Orafin. He briefly tried to remember his manners before the crown, like he was supposed to, but Ozriel just shook their head.

»Please just eat. No-one’s here to watch.« They were speaking in Teeradian, and once again included Elgar with a smile.

Maybe, if he stayed with them, he would eventually have to learn courteous manners. Orafin hoped he wouldn’t mind.

Then it was time for Orafin to get used to his legs again.

They felt fragile and weak under him, having been out of use for a week now. Ozriel helped him up and called for one of his attendants to support him on his way to the stables, so that Orafin could pick out a horse.

The soldiers cheered when they saw him, and his lips smiled all by themselves. He even managed a little wave.

Terrav was going with them, and pointed out the horse they had arrived on. By light of day, and with a clear mind, the mare was certainly nothing special; a pack pony probably, black and soft-eyed and small next to the crown’s horse, Maple, who stretched his head out to welcome his master.

Yet Orafin instantly knew he didn’t want to leave her behind. But now that he thought about it-

Elgar should have her. He took her.

The corner of Ozriel’s mouth twitched. »You’re right. This horse is rightfully yours,« they continued towards Elgar. »You took her as your prize. You can keep her, or you can sell her later when we can get you a better ride.«

Elgar simply stared at Ozriel, then at Orafin, who grinned at him, giving him an enthusiastic nod. »The horse… belongs to me?«

»Yes, if you will have her. You should probably name her.«

»Um.« Elgar stepped up to the pony, who was clearly indifferent to all of these humans around her, but accepted an awkward little face rub. »I think I’ll call her. Sparrow?«

He met Orafin’s eyes, and Orafin thought they were both reminded of the night they met the horse.

How Orafin had convinced Elgar to come with him by mimicking the protection of a vulnerable small animal. An injured little bird, perhaps.

Orafin swallowed down the knot in his throat, and nodded earnestly. He didn’t need to be reminded of his promise, and he would make sure his actions would eventually convince Elgar of that.

At sunrise, they left the outpost.

#whump #whump writing #mute whumpee #royal whump #royal caretaker #my writing #the black prince is apparently a tag that already exists #I'm getting a better and better feel for the whole story so maybe we'll have a proper title soon #orafin #ozriel #elgar

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angelinaheartshapedbox · 1 month

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morbid attraction

Ethan Landry x reader

AU where Stu Macher has an illegitimate child. During Scream 6.

summary: Y/n is a freshman at Blackmore University. They're currently pursuing a bachelor's degree in forensic science to become an autopsy technician. To further their research, and to make money, they pick up shifts as a mortuary assistant. Y/n must come to terms with the trauma of gruesome murders of their hometown, copes with the memories of their ex girlfriend Amber Freeman, and with the fact that their father was a homicidal maniac. Running doesn't get them far from their past as it chases after them into New York City. But maybe there's light at the end of the tunnel. And maybe, just maybe, the light is Ethan Landry.

!!WARNINGS!! graphic descriptions of gore and violence, PTSD, and dealing with trauma. Major content warnings will be placed before each chapter.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Voicemail (3)

The Franchise

Wordcount: 1.5k

Content warnings: none.

I sat at the cafe table across from Ethan. I was quietly eating my lunch. When I looked up Ethan was just staring at me. His eyebrows were knitted together and he pursed his lips tight.

“Everything okay?” I asked him.

“I should be asking you that,” he answered, “I’m worried about you.”

I laughed, shaking my head, “I really am fine, E.”

He looked at me like he didn’t believe me, and he shouldn’t. I was so not fine. I was horrified. The thought of someone in that stupid mask coming for me made my stomach churn. I felt ill thinking about feeling another knife pierced through my skin. I looked back at Ethan, feeling scared for him now too.

“You should leave.”

“What?”

I sighed, “I don’t want you to get hurt, or worse. I think you should leave. Stop being around us. Try to get the fuck out.” I told him, almost begging.

Ethan narrowed his brows and shook his head, “I’m not going anywhere. You guys are my friends, I’m not leaving you for dead.”

I let out a breathy laugh. I almost cried looking at him. I looked down at the floor.

“Please, don’t do this, Ethan. Don’t be the hero.”

Ethan reached across the table and put his hand over mine, “Don’t do this, Y/n. You don’t need to be tough all by yourself. Let me help you.”

I pulled my hand away from his.

“We should go. Mindy wants to meet up.”

Ethan just nodded and got up from his seat.

My phone rang. It vibrated on the table, face down. I made eye contact with Ethan. He flipped the phone over for me. It was my mother.

“Shit.” I thought. I still hadn’t told her. She’s probably flipping out.

“Hi, Mom,” I said into the phone.

“Y/n? Oh, my God. Are you okay?” my mother spoke frantically, “I just heard about what’s happening, why didn’t you call?”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I was busy talking to the police all night after the attack and then-”

“Attacked?!”

“I’m okay, Mom. I have it under control. They’re really close to catching him” I felt bad lying to my mom, but it was for her own good.

I heard her sigh, “Call me tonight. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t. I love you.”

I left the cafe, leaving Ethan behind. I meet Mindy in the courtyard where everyone is sitting together. Ethan runs up next to me and we walk over to our friends. Mindy spots us and points us out to the group.

“Perfect! Let’s get started, take a seat” Mindy orders us.

Ethan takes a seat next to Tara, but I stay standing behind the bench.

Mindy starts clapping to get our attention, “Okay, nerds, listen up! As terrifying as this all is, I’m actually glad I get a chance to redeem myself for not catching the killers last time.” Everyone gives her weird looks and she sighs, “It’s fine. Okay,” she adjusts her top, “The way I see it, someone is out to make a sequel to the requel.”

Anika raises her hand, “Um, what’s a requel?”

“You’re beautiful, sweetie. Let’s hold questions to the end” Mindy tells her.

Sam cuts in, “Stab 1 took place in Woodsboro. Stab 2 took place in college.”

“I would call it the original Stab. Not Stab 1” I say with a smile.

I’m ignored by the group.

“So we think that the killer is trying to copy the movies?” Chad asks.

“That is one possibility,” Mindy replies, “Heroes now in college: Check. Suspicious new characters brought in to round out the suspect list and/or bodycount:” she points at Quinn, Anika and Ethan, “Check, check, and check.”

Ethan scrunches his face, “I don’t like this.”

“But it can’t just be about Stab 2” Mindy declares, ignoring Ethan. I pat his shoulder.

“Why not?” Tara asks.

Mindy continues, “It would make sense if this were just a sequel. But we’re not in a sequel because nobody just makes sequels anymore.” Nobody says anything and Mindy gets excited, “We’re in-”

“A franchise” I cut her off.

She stares at me deadpan, “Must you always be the star?”

I smirk, “Can’t help it with a face like this.” I wink and she rolls her eyes.

“There are certain rules to a continuing franchise!” she restarts her rant.

“I had a feeling,” Sam mutters.

Mindy states the rules.

“Rule one: Everything is bigger than last time. Bigger budget, bigger cast, bigger body count.”

“Funsies” I intersect.

“Longer chase, shoot-outs, beheadings. You gotta top what came before to keep the people coming back!”

“Beheadings?” Chad questioned, writing in his notebook.

“Beheadings” Mindy doubled down.

I chuckle and do a slicing motion over my neck with my thumb. Ethan and Chad give me a disturbed expression.

“Rule two: Whatever happened last time, expect the opposite. Franchises only survive by subverting expectations.” She takes a pause, “If the killers last time were whiny snowflake film nerds with Letterboxd accounts instead of personalities…”

Ethan’s eyes go wide and he looks at the floor.

“You can bet the opposite will be true here. And rule three:”

She scans our faces, holding out for suspense.

“No one is safe. Legacy characters? Cannon fodder at this point. Usually brought back only to be killed off in some cheap bid for nostalgia.”

“So, Kirby and Gale?” I inquired.

“Not looking too good for them” Mindy answers. “Oh, and that’s not even the worst part!”

Chad looks at Ethan, “This is the part where she tells us the worst part.”

“The worst part is franchises are just continuing episodic installments designed to boost IP. Which means main characters,” her eyes travel from me to Tara to Sam, "are completely expandable now, too.”

Mindy lists a bunch of characters that died in their own franchises to continue the story.

“That means it’s not just the friend group. Any of us could go at any time, especially Sam, Y/n, and Tara.” The expression on her face is more hurt now.

Everyone is quiet for a minute. Me, Sam, and Tara look at each other.

“Wait, any of us?” Ethan asks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah” Mindy nods.

He looks concerned, “Am- am I in the friend group?”

“Yeah” Mindy and I said together.

“Am I like one of the targets?”

I groan, “Oh, my God, Ethan!”

Ethan stares off into nothing and then asks, “Am I gonna die a virgin?”

I put my hands on his shoulders, “Oh, no, honey,” I whisper in his ear, loud enough for everyone to hear, “The virgins don’t die.

“That was… a weird overshare” Mindy replies, “But it brings us to our current suspects: Ethan. The shy, dorky guy who no one suspects because he’s so shy and dorky.”

Ethan stammers, “Okay, wait why am I on the suspect list? Because I’m randomly Chad’s roommate.”

“Yes,” I replied flatly.

“Roommate lotteries can be juked. You could’ve fixed it to get next to us!” Mindy clarifies.

Ethan rolls his eyes with attitude. I laugh and ruffle his hair.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” I ask him, deepen my voice.

He waves me away from his face, “Not funny.”

Mindy moves on, Quinn. The slutty roommate. A horror movie,” she kisses her fingers, “classic.”

“Sex positive but… thank you?” Quinn says, confused.

“Mm-hmm. And how did you come to live with Tara and our deadly duo?” Mindy interrogates her.

“Do not call us a deadly duo, that sounds like we’re dangerous” Sam tells her. She looks at me for back up. I shrug in response.

“Uh, I answered their ad online” Quinn answers.

Mindy puts her hand up, “Okay, say no more. You’ve already implicated yourself enough!”

“It was an anonymous ad, Mindy” Tara states, “And you know we vetted her. Plus her dad is a cop.”

“And that makes it more likely that she’s the killer, because having a cop dad is a great cover. Do you not remember how these movies work, Tara?!”

Quinn looks at us concerned, “Is she always like this?”

“And finally, Anika.” Anika blows a kiss and Mindy blows one back, “Never trust the love interest.”

Sam starts to stand up, “Okay! So, we have our rules and we have our suspects.”

“But wait,” Ethan interrupts her, “What about you guys?”

“I mean, I think it’s pretty safe to rule out the five of us who went through this last year in Woodsboro” Mindy states.

Chad points his pencil at her, “Agreed.”

“Totally” I add.

Quinn speaks now, “Um, not agreed. What if all the trauma you all went through caused one or more of you to snap?”

“Yeah, or the fame you got from the killings made you thirsty for more,” Ethan says.

I look at him, disappointed in his words. I take my hand off of his shoulder and cross my arms.

He continues, “I mean, let’s be honest here, some of the theories online about Sam are-”

“Don’t you fucking dare” Tara warns.

“What the fuck, dude?” I exclaim. I get pissed and walk away. I can hear my name being called, but I just keep walking.

previous next

masterlist

#scream #scream vi #scream 6 #ghostface #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry fanfiction

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ganondoodle · 10 months

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just to note this, as much as i love botw, i am not uncritical of it, like while i personally like the weapon breaking and rain mechanics everyone else seemed to hate i do agree that the bosses and dungeons were kinda repetetive and there could have been more bigger sidequests, some more diverse epic music tracks also wouldnt have hurt tho i fully disagree with anyone trying to claim it didnt HAVE music, im convinced those people played it with sound off bc wth (edit. plus the unfortunately still orientalist design of the gerudo plus that belly dancer outfit for link ... that thankfully got removed in totk as far as i know but the rest still stands)

personal criticism id have that i would have prefered zelda never gaining her sacred powers but instead finding a different way to fight back, bc her gaining them like that kinda made rhoams abuse .. right, like turns out to activate her powers you need to literall kill everyone she cares about (at least thats why i feel a bit meh about that), her maybe not being as sidelined like that (tho youd have to change alot for that .. which totk had the perfect chance to and then kinda did it again but worse lol) and the yiga clan being less of one little side mission

(also way too many people kept hating on botw for the same few reasons, often without giving it a chance, i think we all heard all the endless complaints about usually little things so i dont need to retread all of that)

alot of those little criticism things got adressed in totk, which i LIKED, but overall its so much less in harmony, this should have been a game about rebuilding and recovering about working together and then zelda gets immediately booted off and we get introduced to characters we never learn enough of to really care and yet they still take away the mystery botw had left us for the world to feel more alive, they ripped out parts that were so internally organically connected to the world and pretended they never mattered nor existed, characters act off and i cant help but feel like the main 'plot' is, as much as i hate to use that comparison, a badly written fanfiction ... it builds on nothing and just leaves you .. or me at least feeling empty, like i am playing through a mockery of the game i loved ... like all the fun i had thinking about the things in botw, the theories you could come up with was all wasted time

i honestly cant describe it better than totk, despite the little QoL changes, and the changes i DID like, it just feels ... empty? not in a literal way but more ... mentally? it feels so shallow? like at multiple points i felt like the game was actively mocking me, when i reached the shrine of life and was faced with barren walls and a puddle of water i felt betrayed for caring so much about what botw had done .. i felt like i could hear the game laughing while i stood there not knowing what to think of it, and while this was the time when i felt the most actually physically compeltely betrayed, that feeling of being mocked kept happening, i kept feeling like i was treated like a dumb player character that just eats up anything they say without thinking or remembering the title this was supposedly a sequel of, like i should play with the little toys of glueing things together and forget the world around me like a 5 year old

that may sound harsh but that is how i, personally, feel about it

#ganondoodles talks #zelda #totk #like im pretty sure i remember being at the verge of tears when i discovered the shrine of life bign basically gone like that #i know im in the minority here but god i cant get over how much all the plot and story stuff in totk feels like an afterthought #like a way it all only serves to give a half assed reason to neat game gimmicks #while also giving it a ham fisted excuse that doesnt use shiekah tech again for some reason #most of the things you can do in totk could have been done with sheikah stuff too #and it probably would have felt more logically connected #like yeah you bet zelda is gonna do research on shiekah tech and bring all that back up #but oooh no we gotta use new other shiny thing i guess #DONT CALL IT A SEQUEL THEN #if you dont wanna reuse shiekah tech then FINE make a game with most of it gone but dont call it a sequel #i have HAD it #anyway #working on more concepts for the rewritten project

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billthedrake · 1 year

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DYNASTY

This story was inspired by A4F Tales' (@talesfromunderthemattress ) story Parental Unit. Consider this an unofficial sequel of sorts.

Kevin was driving. He almost always insisted on driving if it was the both of us. Now as I looked over at my older brother, I was glad he was behind the wheel since it gave me a chance to scope him out. Even now, after 8 years of being married, at least in our minds, I never got sick of looking at him. His hairline was receding but if anything that made his solid coach bod even better looking, kind of the best of both worlds, being a 31 year old dude starting to rock the daddy look a little.

"You think Dad hit the bars tonight?" I asked. Still feeling the glow of date night and the buzz of the extra glass of wine I had because I wasn't driving.

Kevin's normally serious expression turned into a slight laugh of a grin. "Probably bro. You know how he's alwasy going on about not getting enough pussy."

I chuckled and puffed out my chest like Dad as I imitated him. "What you boys have going on is great and all... but I'm 50/50, you know," I said in my best Craig Stansell baritone.

Kevin laughed. "Whatever it takes, babe," he said, looking away from the road quickly to flash me a grin. "Besides, the old man's almost 60. Let him have his pride."

"58 and a very fine 58," I chimed in. "You think we ever push him too much?"

My husband seemed to think that over a second. "Not really, no. If anything, maybe not enough." He patted my thigh. "If he found another woman, you know, settled down again... would you be upset, Kyle?"

I didn't have to think of my answer. "Selfishly, yes. But I want him to be happy bro, you know that."

"I do too, of course," Kevin continued, thinking out loud as he turned into our subdivision, where we'd been shacking up as brothers ever since I moved down to Florida to work under him in the college football program he coached. "I just think, you know, he's kind of what makes our relationship work so well."

I'd thought of that too. Kevin and I had both given up our asses to each other, many times, and would gladly continue to do so. But we both preferred topping and all around loved the rush of fucking a man. "We'd make it work regardless, Kevin," I objected. "But I know what you mean."

He nodded and held up his left hand after he turned toward our street. "It was fun wearing our bands when we go out."

"Fun's an understatement," I growled softly. It had been a nice romantic evening, but my big brother was gonna get me hard, fast. "Wish we could do it more."

"It's risky," Kevin said, lust in his voice. "But we'll have to find a way."

The Florida air was warm and muggy. That's the one thing I'd never get used to, but beyond that this was paradise. Maybe because it's a place Dad could take an early retirement to and not bat an eye, living in an in-law addition behind our place.

"Hey guys," our father said, peeling his eyes off a Ravens-Steelers game on TV. Ever since coaching college ball, Kev and I relished our Sunday days off, and had grown less interested in following the NFL religiously. But Dad was still sports obsessed and maybe missed his own coaching days, more than a little. "How was date night?"

Kevin casually patted Dad's meaty shoulder through the man's T-shirt. It still blew my mind how casually our father had sussed out me and Kevin's sexual relationship, early on and how he not only didn't seem to mind but actually covered for us. Only later did I discover he'd fooled around with our Uncle Rick growing up.

"Great," my older brother said, looking over at me with a wink. "Nice to have some one-on-one time with my special man."

Dad grumbled. "You boys should take your special time any goddamn time you want. Forget I'm here if you have to. You guys are married, and just because you asked me..."

"All right, Dad," Kevin laughed, holding up his hands like he was 17 and being delivered another lecture. "Me and me husband are gonna go to our bedroom and have hot date night sex, OK?"

Dad got a big grin on his gruffly handsome mug. Unlike Kevin he still had his full head of hair though it was almost entirely gray now and maybe not as thick as it once was. "That's more like it."

Kevin patted his shoulder and turned to walk back to our room. I knew he was horny from our conversation, and since yesterday was game day and as usual we didn't usually get around to sex, my brother was undoubtedly feeling as backed up as I was. "Good night, Dad," he said.

"Good night," I said to my father, only leaning in for a quick peck of a kiss. On the lips. "You OK on your own tonight, Dad?" I asked.

"Son... if you don't get back there quick, your brother's gonna have some major blue balls," he joked.

I about asked about his blue balls, but instead just took the hint. "All right, Dad. Have a good one."

Kevin was already naked when I got to the master bedroom. I liked stripping for him as he watched and stroked his fat brother bone. "Jack is doing a great job with you," he said, referring to the strength and conditioning coach for the team. Even if I wasn't a player, I took advantage of the man's expertise and encouragement. While Kevin had a naturally medium-build coach bod, I was getting more jacked, almost like a tight end. The more I did, the more my husband loved it.

"Remind me to thank him," I grinned, stepping forward naked to the bed.

We were both horny but we also loved the physicality of making out before swapping blow jobs.

I took my big brother's dick into my mouth, slowly working him up. "Damn, suck me KS," he urged, using my initials as a pet name ever since we first fooled around, back in the day. "Suck your big brother." Those words never failed to turn me on. I blew him with longer deeper mouth strokes, using my hands to feel his hairy balls and hold his prick. Kevin was in shape, but that coach-bod padding felt real nice and softly furred against my forehead as I managed a deep throat.

"FUCK!" my husband grunted, holding me down playfully on to his hairier crotch. "You're too good to me, man." He let up on his grip and I started bobbing again, trying to work him to a good, heavy cum.

Only as Kev was getting too close, he pulled me off, gently pushing my head back once his thick prick cleared my wet lips. "Let me return the favor, bro."

I nodded and I knelt on the bed, letting my older brother lean forward and start licking me. "God, I love date night," he hissed before he bagan taking me into his mouth."

It was hot, very hot, watching my successful head coach of a brother go down on me, his masculine face getting an intent look as he did his best to blow me. It had taken a few years actually to convince my cocky brother to actually go down on me. Now, he took oral service as a serious job, as much dedicated work as studying game tape. You'd think that approach would be a turn off, but instead it drove me wild to see Kevin treat my pleasure like his biggest mission in life.

I could have let him get me off, but something was on my mind.

"Think we should invite Dad back, bro?"

I thought Kevin might be pissed off or at least bark his usual reminder that it was date night. Instead he pulled off my hard dick and slurped back the excess spit before he nodded, "Go get him."

I leapt up like an excited puppy and strutted into the living room, naked and hard. Dad was still watching the game, and I startled him when I put both hands on his shoulders and gave a gentle squeeze. "Feel like joining us?" I asked simply.

He looked up and his eyes went wide when he realized my nakedness. Kevin wasn't the only one into my new jacked-up body. "Don't want to spoil your date night, Kyle," he said softly.

"When did you ever spoil anything, Dad?" I asked. "But it's up to you. We'd love to have you with us tonight."

He nodded, and god I could tell he was horny for it. "If you're sure."

"Sure I'm sure," I said. I gave a reminder. "But it's the master bedroom."

We had a ritual about this. Turns out Dad was on board, as always. "I want that," he said quietly but confidently.

I appeared first, and Kevin was already lubing up his cock, confident Dad would come in too.

"Hey Dad."

It wasn't Kevin who said that but our father, who was stepping out from behind me and peeling off his T-shirt. His 58 year old frame had always been muscular, an ex-jock's build, but since moving to join us in Florida, he'd kept at the weights hard to stay solid. He was very much a silver muscle daddy, tanned and buff, though with the telltale roughness in his skin from a man that age.

"Pop says you guys want me to join you," our father added, getting into the psychodrama we'd honed over the years. One that played out not every night but at least once a week.

"Come on, son," Kevin said, patting the mattress and scooting to make a spare spot. "We love having you in our bed."

Dad never played favorites, but when we did role reversal like this, Kevin was Dad and I was Pop and that just intensified the bond he had with his eldest. I watched as Dad scooted next to my brother-husband, letting Kevin take the lead to claim a kiss as Dad's furry muscle daddy body almost arched like a cat in Kevin's greedy embrace.

I never got sick of watching those two men kiss. It was romantic and sexual at the same time, in equal parts.

It turned me on to see how much our father loved it. His old man had been a legendary football coach, and after a number of threesomes Kevin and I sussed out that Dad had some giant-sized Daddy Issues of his own. A little role play and pushing the envelope and we settled in on this.

Dad was our son only when joining us in the master bedroom, but we embraced it so heavily that for that time it felt real to us. Real to Kevin, real to me, and real to our dad.

For his part, Kevin outright loved playing Dad to our father. As hot as the sex was between me and my brother, this brought out his more assertive side.

Already he was making his way down Dad's silver-furred body, kissing down that mature muscle and nudging our father's legs up and back. Dad complied. "Oh yes, Dad," he hissed. "Eat out my son hole."

He got into it, into that intimate connection between my brother's tongue and his sphincter, gently loosened from Kev's and my regular fucks. "God, Pop, I love you guys," he hissed as I lay next to him. And like that, me and my father were kissing. Deep, tongues battling, sucking the air from one another.

We got lost in that incest kiss. Me being daddy for my father and both of us loving that head-fuck. Either we made out longer than I expected, or Kevin was real impatient that night. Before I knew it, Dad pulled back and turned to look at Kevin who was holding our father's legs and entering him with that heavy brother cock of his.

"God, yeah," Dad said. "Dick me, Dad. I need it so bad, sir."

The S word was like poppers to Kevin. He growled and plowed right in. The first time he'd taken Dad like that I was pissed off and a little worried. But turns out Dad loved it. Even if that ex-NFL-er cock softened at the rough intrusion, Dad was always back to full hardness quickly.

That's how it played out now. I watched excitedly as the dick that made me steadily got its lead hardness again. I slicked my father's prick up with lube and slowly stroked while Kevin pounded him with harder faster stokes.

"Fuck, son," my coach brother hissed, throwing that beefy body into an athletic performance. Even if I preferred to top more than bottom these days, just watching my husband in rut made my vers side rare up and crave Kevin inside me. We'd have to see how long I'd go before making that a reality.

"Fuck me Dad!" our father bellowed, getting real into it, his hips bucking a little to work his cock in my lubed fist and to meet the fantasy patriarch's thrusts. "Use my hole, sir."

Kevin's face scrunched up and I knew immediately he was coming. One of those sudden, no warning orgasm. His normally confident voice became a succession of whimpers as he ejaculated deep and heavy inside our father.

"Hell yes," our dad his, excited to be bred.

I was horny as hell now. Impatiently, I got up and practically pushed Kevin out of the way. "Fuck 'im babe," he growled, placing his meaty paw on my strong shoulder. I looked down and saw his amazing prick wet with fresh cum. The view of Dad's asshole was better. Legs spread wide, our father showed off the now fucked-open hole and the incestuous creampie oozing out.

I'd never done this before, though it had been on my mind. At that moment, horniness overcame any hesitation I had. I leaned down and started licking Dad's pucker.

"Oh SHIT, Bro!" Kevin exclaimed. I didn't have to see to know my brother's softening prick surged right back into a hard watching me felch on his load. It was evident in my brother's voice.

Dad actually chuckled at how nasty I was being. But didn't care. I licked deeper now, rooting for a stronger taste of Kev's cum. I figured if I was gonna have my first felch experience, I'd go all the way.

Dad helped me out, by pushing out a good bit of Kevin's load. That familiar brother-husband flavor filled my mouth, and it drove me wild to realize just how much he'd cum.

"Oh fuck!" I growled as I pulled back, my throat half clogged with that assload. I rushed as I got into the saddle. I hoped to god Kev's fuck was foreplay enough for Dad, because I was coming in. My entry was rougher and more sudden than Kevin's had been.

"Yeah, Pop," Dad hissed. No softening cock this time, my father's meat twitched in its hardness as I boned him.

The dad-son mating was fevered. Dad clenching at my body and me doing my best Kevin Stansell topping imitation. As I fucked Dad and as Dad called me Pop with every other stroke, I imagined doing this to my father over the years, as the man entered his 60s, and even his 70s...

The idea almost tripped my trigger but I held off so Dad could cum. I didn't want to leave the old man high and dry. So I slowed my strokes and tried to work his butt nut. "Yes," he hissed, getting into the new rhythm. It wasn't a Kevin imitation, but a Kyle Stansell fuck.

My brother had actually gone to piss, like he always does after a good fuck. I guess I'd forgotten about him, because I was surprised to feel his hands on my mind and his kiss along my neck. "You're beautiful to watch Babe," he whispered. Instinctively I leaned back into that kiss and embrace, even as I had to slow my fuck down to a slow hump.

It took me a second to register how greasy Kevin's lubed cock was and how adeptly it was rooting in between my tight-end-worthy ass cheeks. "Whaddya say, bro?" he grunted, licking and nibbling at my ear lobe.

I wanted it. God, I wanted. "Yeah," I replied, and all of a sudden I was the center of attention. Dad's eyes on me, hungry but amused at watching me take my brother's cock. Kevin feeling me up to coax me to relax.

My man knew he had to take his time. And it had been a solid four months since he'd fucked me. I was tight as fuck.

But something about that situation was opening me up. Slowly, then more steadily I felt Kevin's thick tool plowing in. Challenging me to accept all of him.

"He's big isn't he, Pop?" Dad asked.

I looked down in my father's brown eyes. "Feels even bigger going in," I answered.

"It's gonna make you feel amazing, Pop," Dad said with sincerity. "Always does."

Kevin loved being talked up like that, and he now thrust more excitedly into me. It was intense but in a good way. Particularly once Dad's ass started clenching down on my own cock, buried deep inside him. My father was stroking his meat once more and sending shock waves to my bone in the process.

I wouldn't saw we had a practiced rhythm doing a fuck sandwich, but we alternated between Kevin driving things and me being the one to move my hips between these two men.

Dad came first. The excitement of watching his two sons fuck combined with the stimulation in his ass.

"Fuck son!" Kevin exclaimed, watching over my shoulder as heavy spurts of semen spurted from our father's reddened cock. "Give it up, stud."

Just hearing those role play words in my ear got me off. I grunted in orgasm, wordlessly but my body tensing and revealing that I'd crossed the line in a major way.

Kevin's hips were now bucking faster, almost frantic in the guy's realization he had a brief window to get off in me before I lost the sex-fueled openness in my ass.

He made it, barely. My brother-husband's strong hands gripped my waist as he powered his second cum of the night inside me. Making up for no-sex Game Day. I accepted his seed, proud that I'd done this, put out for my man.

My brother gave a soft kiss to the back of my neck and slowly pulled out.

This was always the hardest part of the role play. Not going back to our real-life family roles. But we'd learned to keep it going. Wordlessly, we showered off, first me and Dad in the shower, before I stepped out and let Kevin join him.

"You going to sleep with us tonight, Son?" I asked as I toweled off and watched them rinse under the spray.

Dad looked over at Kevin, maybe expectantly but mostly trying to read his reaction. Kev patted Dad's ass. "Up you, son, but your dads would love to have you join us."

It was wild to see the mature man, a pro-ball veteran and a coaching legend in his own right, act like a deferential college kid with us. He smiled and his dick chubbed out a little as he nodded.

I thought I was spent, but my own prick firmed up at the sight. All the way to full erection. Kevin laughed. He'd cum twice and his beautifully thick prick hung soft, water dripping off.

"Gotta warn ya, Son," my brother said. "Us coaches can be real horny bastards sometimes."

Dad chuckled and I watched as he slipped out of Kevin's embrace and dripping wet, stepped onto the bath mat before crouching in front of me in that classic blow job kneeling position.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Dad.... Pop..." Then looking up at me he took my son-prick into my mouth.

#drakestories

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daughterofcain-67 · 7 months

Text

𝕽𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 (𝔭𝔱.10) 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩

(Dean Winchester x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Dean has escaped the dungeon of the bunker in an attempt to stop the treatments Sam was giving him and he was thirsty for revenge. Sam’s blood, your blood, he was ready to see pools of it for everything the two of you had done. Will you and Sam manage to get him back to the dungeon before he takes your lives?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: being chased by demon dean, lives on the line. Last part! I think that’s it… Opened doors for a sequel?

Then…

“There’s no point in trying to bring your brother back, Sammy and I keep trying to tell you that.” He said as he watched Sam walk back to that table with those damned needles he was hating more and more by the second.

Dean tensed up again and he could feel himself losing his strength. His vision was beginning to go blurry but as he lifted his head, he caught a glimpse of you before the door was shut.

This wasn’t over. And Dean would make sure of that.

Now…

You were with Sam since he was giving Dean a little bit of a break from the constant blood injections. You could tell how worried he was for Dean and whether he would survive or not.

“Sam, any treatment like this is going to have a bad process. But you know how strong Dean is and you have to know deep down that he will push through this. He’ll make it.” You said, the younger brother nodded a little before he looked at you.

“Can I ask you something?” You heard Sam asked, which you nodded back, “Why did you want to be here while Dean goes through this?”

You looked down at your hands. “The reasons are selfish really… I’ve never seen a demon be cured before. And since Crowley is still obviously a demon, I wanted to know if something like this would actually work. Especially since this time you won’t be stopped until Dean is fully human.”

“Purely selfish, huh?” He asked with a little smirk on his face. You narrowed your brows, wondering what he meant by it.

“Yeah?”

“So nothing happened between you and Dean?” You sighed a little.

“Maybe there were some small moments here and there over the course of being away. But any chance that we had is pretty much shot. Once he’s human, I’ll be out of your hair and things will go on as they were before.” Sam had that puppy dog eyes look again, the one where his brows were slightly narrowed and aimed upward.

“You know, we can always try the cure with you too. If that’s something you’re interested in.”

A brow of yours arched slightly. Then you remembered one of the visions you’ve had, the one your mother was in specifically. You remembered the second version of you had become human. But the difference if you became human now, you wouldn’t have a reason to make a deal for Dean.

“Let’s focus on getting you your brother back first, alright? Priorities.”

“Right… of course. Let’s get back in there.” Sam said and he got up.

You nodded and you followed behind him on the way to the dungeon. You took in a deep breath as you walked downstairs. Sam opened the door and when the both of you walked in, your eyes widened.

“He’s gone.”

Sam’s words didn’t make you any more comfortable with the confirmation of what your eyes were seeing. The chair he was sitting in was empty, the rope that bound his wrists were undone.

“When did Castiel say he was going to get here?” You asked as the both of you rushed back upstairs.

“I’m not sure… but we need to split up and find Dean until he does get here.”

You nodded at Sam’s words and you started going a different path. The only problem was, you had only been here once. You didn’t know the layout of the bunker like Sam and Dean did. We’re you a little concerned? Sure. But were you going to die? As long as Dean didn’t have the First Blade, you were fairly confident that the answer would be a no.

It was quiet throughout the bunker, and all you could hear for a moment was your own footsteps. Luckily for you, you’ve had plenty of experience sneaking around as quietly as you could. Dean’s not the only one who’s ambushed people after all. It was sort of exhilarating in a way to be on the flipped side. But you had to stay focused.

You knew Sam was taking the library area since you had seen him going that way. Maybe he was looking sour something that would hold Dean. You snuck around the lobby before you could hear a voice coming from the kitchen.

“Oh Sammy! Come on out for a while. Don’t you wanna spend time with your big brother?”

You swallowed hard at the deep grumble of Dean’s voice. You wondered how much he had recovered, how much stronger he was. Then the idea hit you… was he now a half demon? Would he now be weakened by something other than the First Blade now?

You pulled out your knife and looked down at it, seeing the metal shine with the light and you wondered if you or Sam would have to weaken him significantly. You knew Sam wouldn’t want to do it and you honestly didn’t know if he would have the strength to do it. So maybe you would have to end up finding Dean before he finds Sam.

You caught a glimpse of Dean walking out of the kitchen going somewhere else holding a hammer and your eyes widened. The first thing that came into your mind was him bashing Sam’s head to the point where his brains were on the walls.

All you could do at the moment was hope that Sam would be careful.

You waited a few moments before you decided to follow Dean. He ended up going to where all of the bedrooms were again and this part, to you, felt like some kind of maze. The sound of a door being kicked in echoed through the halls and you hid around a corner.

The lights wen’t out before an alarm sounded. Red emergency lights started shining down the halls and within the rest of the bunker.

“Way to make things more ominous…” You barely even whispered, but the sarcasm was still there.

You heard Dean rambling about something relating to him not wanting to leave, not without killing Sam first. You didn’t hear it all since he was walking away so you turned around to start walking a different way to see if you could cut the half-demon off somewhere.

You tried to think of where the demon would go next. If he’s going after Sam, where would Sam go next?

You gradually made your way back to the library and then there was the sound of Dean’s voice again, but this time he wasn’t speaking to Sam.

“I can’t believe you have the nerve to work with my brother against me, Y/N! To think, we could have had something special and shared the First Blade together. But you! No, you had to go and give the blade to Crowley! Good goin, Sweetheart.”

You bit down on your tongue to keep from speaking, you made your way through the library’s shelves to keep hidden.

There, you saw Dean walking through completely out in the opened, unconcerned of whether or not someone could come out and fight him. You didn’t know if he’d grown conceded or simply convinced in his abilities.

“You know, my brother’s smart. But he sure does have his stupid moments. I can’t believe he thought that demon cuffs could hold me with human blood injected in me. The cuffs don’t work on humans, and neither do devil’s traps.” Which of course gave you a good idea of how he escaped and walked himself right out of that dungeon.

You stepped out from behind the shelves and Dean froze. You could see in the silhouette from the red lights that he was slowly turning to you. When you saw his eyes, you saw the smirk he had when he was about to thoroughly enjoy killing someone or something.

“Well, not the one I wanted to kill first. But you’ll do.” He said, and you clenched your jaw.

“I’d like to see you try to kill me.” You said.

He strode over to you before lifting his arm and he used the hammer to point at you, “You’re a sorry excuse for a demon, do you know that?” He asked.

“Oh please, what are you on about now?” You questioned and stepped towards him, your own blade firmly in your grasp.

“You think you’re so good at what you do. But ever since you stepped into Sammy and my little world, you’ve become more useless than even Crowley.” He said then he took a swing at you, you were able to dodge the hammer in his hand and you held his wrist before holding your knife to his neck.

“There’s nothing wrong with being interested and learning a few things once in a while. It doesn’t make me any less of a demon.” You said, but Dean shifted his wrist in your hand before he managed to pin you, chest first, against one of the bookshelves.

“No, but being interested makes you weak. Maybe being around Crowley and I made you weak too, or were you always just this bad and that’s the real reason why you went into hiding all those years? Gosh, I bet Abaddon turning in her grave at how much you’ve fallen.” He said.

You were so tempted to use your abilities and melt his insides from within just to prove him wrong, but you knew that Sam needed Dean.

So instead, you used your strength since you were more of a demon physically than Dean was at the moment, and you pushed yourself back and turned before you managed to slash Dean in the arm. You heard him hiss with pain and he looked down at his wound.

You could tell he could now feel pain, but his wounds were still able to heal themselves. To you, maybe this was a sign that Sam’s treatments were working.

“I’m not going to let you kill your brother, Dean. He’s all you’ve got. You’ve gone to far with this demon bullshit ad you aren’t cut out for that kind of life.” You promised and he lifted his gaze from his arm up to you and his brows were narrowed, gaze dark yet his eyes weren’t black yet.

“You’re not gonna let me, huh? Well I guess it is good I ran into you first. Get’s me my fill of some kind of revenge for what you did.” He said and he swung the hammer at you again. You used your arm to block it and you failed to realize before how Dean was pretty strong even for just a half demon.

“And the whole, not being cut out for this bullshit? I’m more than qualified for this. I know damn well that this? This is what I’m meant to be. But you? I’m glad that you left after all. You’re nothing but a worthless, lowlife demon that can’t fit into her old man, or even her old woman’s shoes. It’s better for me that you walked out on what we had.” He promised.

“You brought that on yourself Dean and you know it. You got yourself caught by Sam because of your own actions.” You said and when you raised one hand to make your next move, Dean used his own and you felt his hands around your neck before he pinned you against the wall nearby.

You were having the biggest deja vu moment, and you knew now Dean was fully intending on killing you or at least leaving you close to dead until your body could heal itself. His grip around your neck was tight and the eye contact between the two of you made your heart race at what he planned to do next.

“I can’t believe I thought it was a good idea to bring you along from Cincinnati. To even let myself have some kind of soft sot for you. Maybe Cain had the right idea of being alone and not have anyone to hold him back. No one to keep him from his goals or true killing potential.” You heard Dean say as you tried to use one of your hands to release his grip.

“Oh Sweetheart, prying my fingers won’t help you in this case. Honestly, you just have to accept the fact that it’s just too late. I’ll find Crowley, I’ll get the First Blade back, and then I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. And believe me, Doll… it will be the most fun I’ve had throughout this entire ordeal.” He promised. Then he raised the hammer and knocked you out with it.

Then all you could see in that moment was black.

Dean let go of your neck and watched you fall to the ground. He stared at you for a moment and thought about the promise he just made. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on that blade again and kill you just as brutally as you’ve killed in your past. You would just be getting a taste of your own medicine is all.

He had so many plans. He wouldn’t kill you right away. No that would be far too kind after you betrayed him and he wanted this to be worth it.

For now, he had a new task. He would need to find his brother before you woke up so he could finally kill him without you being in the way. First, he would need to go to the control room. The alarm was getting on his nerves so that had to be taken care of. And surely Sam wasn’t too far from the control room, so it should be killing two birds with one stone.

He took the hammer and he saw your blade beside your unconscious body. He kept the hammer but he bent down and took your blade and put it in his boot where he would typically keep other knives when he was alive. Then he ate his way to the control room.

Once inside the control room, he saw where Sam flipped the switch to lock everyone in. So dean switched it back and hummed to himself.

“That’s much better.” He said.

Then he heard a grunt, followed by the slamming of the door and he smirked.

“Sammy, this isn’t your big move, is it? I half expected more from you since you’re supposed to be some kind of brainiac college boy.” Dean chuckled before he heard his brother speaking through the other side.

“Dean, we were so close. Just let us help you out of this. I know you’re still in there somewhere just please, let me finish the treatments.”

Dean was on the other side of the door, listening and he shook his head and looked down at the hammer. Enough was enough.

With a mighty swing, Dean started hammering the door down as some kind of makeshift axe. Time after time, Dean could tell pieces of wood were coming apart.

“You think you know me so damn well, don’t ya, Sammy. Thinking that I even wanna be cured!” He continued to hammer at the door to break it down and he could begin to see the other side.

The look of terror on his brother’s face was so exciting. It was so worth being trapped in this bunker just to see the look his brother had when he knew he could die.

“Personally, I like the disease.”

“Dean stop! I don’t want to use this blade on you!” Sam continued but Dean honestly didn’t care as he continued to hammer his way out.

“Well ain’t that a bitch. Because you genuinely mean that.” Dean laughed.

“You won’t kill me with that thing. You have a choice and I know that showing mercy is the choice you will inevitably make. But me?” Another swing at the door, “Me, I’m blessed! See I’ve got just enough demon in me that killing you? That’s not even a choice. It’s second nature. And it’s what I want, and it’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” Another swing.

“And I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

Once Dean broke through the door, Sam was already gone. Dean stepped through the door and didn’t see any sign of his brother. He looked down with frustration, running a hand through his thicker hair. He was so close, and this cat and mouse game was going on for far too long.

He walked into the hall to hunt for his brother again, not knowing how much time he would have before you would wake up again.

“Come on, Sammy. Let’s sit down and talk about this. Maybe grab a couple of beers or somethin.’” He said.

Sam wouldn’t listen to Dean’s lame ass attempts to lure him into a trap. He should know better. Sam had been hunting almost as long as Dean has after all and he was just as skilled.

Sam’s heart was racing though. His mind was telling him that he needed to just kill Dean if he kept this up. But everything in him was holding him back from doing so. That was his only brother, and he didn’t deserve to go out like this. The Dean he knew never would have wanted this sort of ending.

He stayed close to the wall and peeked behind a corner to look and see if Dean was there. He let out a shaky breath and when he turned around, Dean was there swinging his hammer so he ducked down, leaving the hammer stuck in the wall. Sam shot right back up and held the demon blade up to Dean’s neck.

“Well… You’ve got me, Sammy. It’s your move.”

Sam looked at his brother, watching him tighten his jaw with that defiant glare in his eye. He couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. There had to be some way this could work.

When he lowered the blade, Sam braced himself to run again when Dean stepped forward but then…

“Enough. I’m not waiting for Castiel.” You said and you held your hand open, eyes glowing red.

Dean’s eyes turned black as he looked at you. When you began to close your hand, Dean could feel his insides starting to overheat. When he opened his mouth, that same demonic sound came out as if the demon side of him was fighting for its life once more.

“Y/N! No don’t do this!” Sam pleaded.

Then Castiel came onto the scene from seemingly out of nowhere and with his stolen grace, he managed to entrap Dean.

“It’s over Dean.” Castiel said, and the demon was unable to fight with you holding him along with Castiel.

You watched as Dean was secured in the chair again and every precaution was taken. Then you heard Sam and the angel talking.

“Even with all that human blood in him, Dean said that he still wanted to be a demon. Je didn’t want to be human at all. Why is that?”

“The only explanation I can think of, only human’s can feel genuine happiness. But they can also feel such profound pain.” The angel replied and you looked at Dean who was unconscious because of the amount of human blood in his system.

“It’s easier…. Emotionally. Demons don’t get attached to anything.” You said and they both looked at you.

“Demon’s never have to feel genuine feelings. When they get betrayed, they blow it off like it’s no big deal. If something good happens to them, it’s only for a second. When a demon typically looks back on their human life, they hate it. They hate remembering the heartbreaks and the pains and sorrows they’ve gone through. They prefer it that way.”

“But you never had that chance, how do you know that?” Sam asked.

“I was raised in Hell, remember? Demons talk about their past lives once in a while and I’d overhear them.” You answered but then you looked at Sam, “May I speak with you for a moment?”

Sam lifted a brow but he looked at the angel, “I’ve got him.” Castiel reassured and Sam escorted you out of the room.

“What did you want to talk about?”

This was it. It was now or never for you. You recalled the vision with your mother saying that you traded in your demonic nature to be human, but you’d be forever tortured after a deal you made on behalf of the older Winchester. But seeing as how this would likely be the end.. You knew you wouldn’t have to make that deal.

Maybe, just maybe that vision wouldn’t have to come true.

“I want you to make me human.”

The words took Sam back, “After all you just witnessed, after Dean almost dying, you want to put yourself through that?”

“Sam, you don’t understand.” You began, “I get that Dean wanted to stay a demon, believe me. I get that human emotions are scary and I can see why Dean didn’t want to go back to it, but ever since you and Sam came into my tattoo parlor in Ohio, I’ve learned so much. I see why you went through all of this trouble to make Dean human again. I can see and understand it all but I can’t feel it. Other demons have had the opportunity to feel and…”

“And you were robbed of that chance.” Sam concluded and you looked up at him before you nodded.

Then the hunter let out a sigh before he nodded, “Okay, I’ll do it. But just keep in mind, this is a dangerous process. I can’t guarantee this will work on someone who’s never been human.”

“Anything is worth a try.”

“Sam!”

Dean could hear a somewhat distant voice call. He slowly tilted his head and he felt like he had this massive migraine. But it also felt like something was finally leaving him.

When Dean raised his head and opened his eyes they were initially black, but they were finally fading away and Dean gasped a little before exhaling. When he shook his head slowly one last time and looked up, he saw Sam and Castiel with concerned looks on their faces as if they were on the defensive. Sam was holding the Holy water and Cass had an angel blade in his grasp.

“You look worried, fellas. What did I miss?” He asked.

Dean watched as Sam opened up a flask of Holy water and Dean flinched when he was splashed in the face with it. There was no reaction other than that. He wasn’t burning, wasn’t in any kind of physical pain.

He was human…

“Welcome back, Dean.” Sam said with a smile, but Dean?

Dean couldn’t feel happy. He suddenly had the weight of everything he had ever done while he was a demon on his shoulders.

Either way, he still felt out of it. But he was still out of it and when he looked beside him, he saw you in a chair beside him.

You too were bound and unconscious. He saw that there were tiny little holes in your arms. He must’ve missed a lot but his heart dropped to is feet at the sight of you and remembering everything the two of you had been through.

He looked up at Sam for a moment, “Can somebody get me out of these? I feel like my ass is fallin’ asleep.”

Sam laughed and Dean smiled slightly, honestly glad that he could hear it again. But he knew things would be different, right? Why wouldn’t they be after he tried to kill Sam. Maybe Sam wouldn’t want him back in the bunker after that day.

“Yeah, I’ve got it.” Sam said and Dean watched his brother untie the knots and Dean stood up, feeling is knees pop with old age.

“It’s good to have you back, Man. How do you feel? Can I get you anything?”

Dean could both hear and feel his stomach rumbling, “Well I guess the metabolism’s back. Do we have any burgers or did you stock up on the rabbit food since I’ve been gone?”

“Let me get you some cholesterol.” Sam asked, Dean could tell that he seemed happy. Relieved even.

Sam left the room and Castiel looked at Dean. Then Dean could feel Castiel’s hand on his shoulder, causing the hunter to look down at his friend.

“Things will be okay.” Castiel said. Dean swore that he hated when Castiel could read his mind once in a while.

“I tried to kill him, Cass. How is that okay?”

“Dean, he’s your brother. He’s gone through Hell and back just to look for you. You saw how relieved he was when you came too. You two will be okay.” Castiel promised.

Then Dean turned to look at you. Your hair was falling down from it’s messy bun and it seemed that you had a long day with this whole ordeal too. Not to mention the fact that he tried to kill you as well. But there was something different about you like this. What he sensed with the mark wasn’t something of demonic power. It was something different entirely.

“She’s made the decision to become human.” Castiel revealed and Dean looked at him.

“What?”

“She said something about being robbed of the chance at being human and wanted a taste of what it was like. I have no idea if she has any other intentions.”

“How long as she been out?” Dean asked.

“From what I gather from Sam, she’s handling the pain well, unless she’s about as good as keeping a facade as you. But she’s in a similar condition as how you were in the beginning about having immensely low energy and strength. We won’t know for sure how well treatment will be until it is complete.”

Dean nodded a little and he remembered that you had given the first blade to Crowley. If he was puking his guts out without it while he was human, he wondered how you would be without it especially if you became human after all.

“You should get some rest, Dean.” Castiel mention, causing Dean to shift his attention back to the angel, “The treatment took a lot out of you. You should use this time to allow yourself to heal.”

“But what if Metatron comes ba-“

“Metatron is in good hands. He’s locked away for good and no one will be letting him out. Heaven and Hell seem to be in balance for the time being. It’s quiet out there.” Castiel said and Dean sighed.

“I mean it. Go ahead and go to your room, and enjoy whatever burgers your brothers bring for you. I’ll be keeping in touch.” Castiel said and turned to leave the dungeon.

“Cass?” The angel turned around, “Thanks for stepping in when you did. You were a big help.”

Castiel gave a little nod and he left.

Several hours have gone by and Dean had eaten the burgers and fries that Sam had gotten for him and now the two of them were back at the dungeon again. Dean was keeping a watchful eye on you while he held onto the Holy water.

“Do you think she’ll stay with us if this works and she’s human?” Sam asked his brother. Dean looked down at the mark on his arm, the one thing that started this entire ordeal in the first place.

If she became human, all of the pains she would feel and the urges she would have would become amplified because she wouldn’t be a demon anymore. If anything it would be smart for you to stay. He wanted you to stay but deep down he knew what you would pick.

“I don’t know, Sammy… It could be a fifty fifty shot.” Dean lied.

Sam frowned a little and he watched as his brother got up to stretch his legs. Then he watched dean leave the room, probably to get a drink or something. He was just glad that he finally got Dean back. His main priority was taken care of and it was a win. The one win he and Dean have had in so incredibly long.

Sam looked at you, still unconscious but they were now out of blood. He needed to use a couple of extra needles on you than he did Dean, so maybe that was why you were still out by now and Dean had a shorter recovery time than you did with the treatment.

His eyes widened when he saw you moving your head and you let out a groan.

“Dean! Dean get in here!” Sam shouted, but he wasn’t sure if he was too far to hear him.

The younger brother continued to observe your actions and you started to grip the arms of the chair, he could see that your knuckles were turning white. It was like you were in more pain now more than ever.

“Dean!” Sam called again and that was when the older brother came stumbling in to see what was happening and if it was some sort of emergency.

Dean looked at you and saw your condition. His jaw tightened before he walked over to you. He placed his larger hands on top of your own before he looked down at the mark on your arm that was like this. He moved his hand and touched the mark to try and soothe the new kind of pain you were feeling.

Then he looked at you, your eyes were an angry red as you glared at him. He saw your narrowed brows, but there were tears of blood treating down your face. This was something he hadn’t expected from you.

But he supposed every demon could have a different experience with being cured. He knew for sure though if you weren’t bound you may have killed him.

“Y/N. If you want this to work, then let it go. That training you were brought up with, your tests, these past three months, all of it.” He told you sternly.

He watched you huff and you closed your eyes before looking down. You shook your head and gripped the chair even tighter before you were completely still.

When he looked down at your hands, he saw that your grip had loosened.

“Dean? Is she..” Sam trailed off and when Dean looked up at you, he slowly backed up to use the holy water.

The brothers watched you slowly lift your head and like dean, your eyes were the glowing red for a moment but eventually… your eyes went back to their normal color. It was like the smoke had cleared in your eyes and the brothers looked at each other for a moment.

“Go ahead and try it.” Sam told Dean, who nodded and he splashed the Holy water on you.

No reaction.

You were human…

You sat there looking on the floor, feeling so weak in that moment and a little dizzy from the ordeal. But you old finally feel something.

It was honestly a little overwhelming and you weren’t sure what you were feeling first.

You could feel the joy because this actually worked. You felt happy that you could actually have the chance to be human and see what it was like. But you could feel the regrets of killing and listening to Abaddon for all of those years. You could feel both empathy and sympathy when you started remembering different conversations with your clients. You could feel the heartbreak and the anger from the argument you had with Dean.

But you were so incredibly thrilled with all of these new feelings, even if you weren’t exactly physically able to show it at the moment.

When you looked up, the first set of eyes you met were the green ones of Dean. You recalled all of those moments with Dean. You would watch him kill and the fact that he wanted you there made you feel happy, but watching him with other girls, that was some sort of sickening feeling you heard of as envy.

But the night that you were only supposed to negotiate with Dean on crowley’s behalf, the night when you slept with him for the first and only time… You knew that night he had a soft spot for you, and you knew you had feelings for him. But you were sure now that he was human again, he would regret all of it.

You wouldn’t regret a second of it, but you knew your decision would make you feel that dreaded thing… pain.

“Hey, boys… so this is what it’s like on the flipped side, huh?” You asked as you shifted your gaze from Dean to Sam and the taller brother smiled at you.

“I suppose so. Welcome to the new life, Y/N. It’s got a lot of ups and downs, but I think it’s worth it.” Sam said.

You watched as Sam walked towards you with the knife and he cut the ropes that were holding you down. Once he did, you stood up and you rubbed your wrists since they were sore.

Soreness… that was new, but you could definitely get used to it.

“So, Y/N… Why don’t you stay with us for a while? Get some rest and get used to this new body of yours?” Sam asked.

“Sam…” Dean said in a solemn tone.

“Oh.. right. I’ll leave you two to uh.. I’ve gotta go umm… I’ve got a thing.” Sam said as he awkwardly left, and you gave Sam a little grin.

You looked up at Dean and he cautiously stepped closer to you.

“You aren’t staying.. are you?” Dean asked softly.

“You know that I can’t…”

“Y/N, those things I said.. None of that was all me. Being a demon changed almost everything about me. Honestly I don’t even think before I turned you and I even had a chance to really learn about each other.”

“Then how much of it really was you, Dean? Tell me? Was it the sleeping around with other girls? Was it the anger you felt when I was trying to look out for you? What was it?”

“That night was real… the moments before the battle with station were real when you were telling me about what the mark would do to me, those were real. When I thanked you for staying when Sam and I were split up, that was real.”

You shook your head. “It may have been real for a moment. But like you said, you and I didn’t have the time to really learn. All of this has been nothing but a scrambled mess and there was nothing solid for us.”

“If you go out there, it will be a lot more dangerous. You’re human now and there’s a lot more than just the First Blade that can kill you now.” Dean said, and you could detect the very same thing that he argued with you about - worry.

“Dean? I’ll be okay. I’ve had several centuries if not millennia of experience in combat. Plus I have this.” You said an you held out your arm. “You know it won’t let me die.”

You saw Dean frown for a moment and you sighed before you took a hand of his.

“I have to leave, Dean. I told your brother that I would help you with your mark. I’ve not been much help before you became a demon throughout this entire journey. You’re still stuck with the mark, and the cycle will continue for you if we can’t friend a way to free you from the burden. Now that you’re free from being a demon, it’s time to finally hold up my end of the bargain and see what I can do.”

Dean listened to you speaking and he hated that you were leaving. Everything in him wanted to protect you now that you were brand new to this human thing. He hated how attached he’s become, and he hated it even more that he was about to lose you even though you claimed you were still trying to help him.

He couldn’t let you leave without at least trying. He couldn’t let you go without making some sort of move to see if something would chance for you.

He lifted his hand and pulled you into him by the back of your neck and he gently smashed his lips against yours. Your lips were warm and soft, and he wanted to remember this moment even if it was bittersweet.

He could feel you melt into his touch and he deepened the kiss and he tilted his head. Then he lifted his other hand and used it to cup your face in his palm. After a few seconds, he could feel something warm and wet drip onto his palm from your eyes.

When he parted from the kiss, he watched you lift your hands and wipe your eyes, “Damn it,” he heard you say, “I didn’t know humans were prone to crying like this…”

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. Then he took one of your hands. Then he handed you his favorite pistol. He didn’t mind so much parting with it oddly enough. Especially when they had their own arsenal at the bunker.

“If I don’t see you again.. keep this. I know we may not have had the best time but… I do want you to have at least something good from this ordeal.”

You looked down at the new weapon in your hand. You’ve seen Dean carrying it around before the whole Metatron thing and you remembered how much he used it. You couldn’t believe that he was giving this to you, but this would be something you would treasure.

You looked up at him and you gave Dean a soft yet sad smile. “They say parting is such sweet sorrow..”

“You sound like Sam when you quote Shakespeare.” Dean smiled. “Be careful out there, okay?”

You nodded as you started to go up the stairs where you saw Sam drinking some coffee. He deserved some downtime after a long several months of looking for Dean.

You walked over to Sam and you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Look into the Book of the Damned.”

Those were the last words that you spoke to the Winchesters before you went off into the night to begin your new journey.

If you were lucky, you would run into the brothers again. But for now… it was the end of an era for the Daughter of Cain.

The end of the girl Raised in Blood….

Thank you guys so much for reading this fanfiction! If you have read this series completely through, let me know what your favorite part was and if you’d like to see a sequel at some point! Thank you all so so much for your support as I wrote this fanfiction. It was so much fun writing and I hope you all enjoyed!

A special thanks to @roseblue373 and @deans-spinster-witch for their continued support and giving me feedback on nearly every chapter of this story. Your support and excitement for each part was what got me excited and eager to write more! So thank you both so much!

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @johannelis2302nely @justtrying2getby-blog @alternativeprincess94 @doctorlexilouwhosblog @deangirl96

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perks-of-being-jojo · 1 year

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Matter of Time

Summary: Being the niece of Casey Becker makes you one of the biggest targets of the recent ghostface attacks. (Takes place during Scream 5 (2022))

Mindy Meeks-Martin x Becker!reader

"It has to be part of an ongoing story line, even if the story shouldn't have been ongoing in the first place. New main characters, yes, but supported by and related to legacy characters. Not quite a reboot, not quite a sequel. Like the new Halloween, Saw, Terminator, Jurassic Park, Ghostbusters... fuck, even Star Wars! It always,always goes back to the original!" Mindy says as she gestures wildly with her arms.

"Are you telling me that I'm caught in the middle of fan-fucking-fiction?" Sam asks angerly.

"Not just in the middle, Sam. You're the star"

"So, not to put too fine a point on it, but, according to requel rules... who's next?" Chad's new girlfriend, Liv, questions.

"Going by the pattern, whoever it is has to be connected to someone that came before."

"I'm starting to regret coming here." Dewey admits.

"Jesus, my mom was a character in one of them"

"No one cares about the shitty inferior sequels, Wes. You're safe. With Randy as our uncle, though, you and I are probably screwed." Mindy admits gesturing between herself and Chad.

"Wait What?"

"What about me? Am I in danger?" You whisper. Your voice shaking at the mere thought of ghostface coming after you.

Mindy looks at you sadly before sighing; "With you being related to Casey Becker I'd say the chances of it happening to you are pretty high. I'm sorry babe, but we are all going to keep you safe. I'm not letting some coward in a mask come after you." Your girlfriend reassures you with a soft smile and gentle voice.

"Or you're the killer, and this whole elaborate monologue is just to cover your tracks." Richie says while glaring at Mindy.

"I think it's pretty clear who the killer is at this point." Your girlfriend admits confidently.

"Who?" Asks Sam.

"You... It makes perfect requel sense."

"That actually does make a lot of sense."

"Yeah."

"Fuck this." Sam says as she gets up off the couch and storms out the house.

Mindy shrugs her shoulders and sits down next to you as she wraps her arm around your shoulder and grabs your other hand.

"I mean it when I said that I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." You are not leaving me or Chad's sight got it?"

"I got it. Thanks again Mindy. This whole thing is just putting me and my parents on edge. We all knew it was just a matter of time before our family was targeted again. It just came sooner than we all thought."

"Hey. Everything is going to be all right. We're all going to get through this together and then run as far away from Woodsboro as we can get. Sound like a plan babe?

"Sounds like the perfect plan."

#scream #Scream 5 #scream 2022 #scream x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #Mindy meeks martin x reader #Mindy Meeks-Martin x reader #Mindy Meeks-Martin

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poisonousquinzel · 1 year

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Listen, I'd have less of an issue with Elseworlds concepts for Harley in live action if we'd EVER gotten an accurate showing of her origin story, the manipulation that runs throughout every second of every session they had together and the sheer and graphic brutality of the abuse she's endured at his hands, but we haven't.

And I doubt we're going to.

Regardless if you want to face it or not, the live action films reach a much larger audience than the animated shows or movies or comics. They're popular, but these live action films have a chance to bring in a Huge outside audience and that's apparent with Harley's surge in popularity after Suicide Squad.

And right now, every version of her origin that's been shown in live action is either a watered down little montage with heavy censoring that can (and Did) leave audiences with a horrifically skewed perspective on the actuality of their relationship, or is reported to be a completely changed and altered dynamic where she's not even a fucking psychiatrist at Arkham, she's a fellow patient.

Like, an important aspect of Harley's origin and the entirely of her character as a domestic abuse survivor is that it's showing that no matter who you are, no matter how much you think "I wouldn't fall for that, I'm smarter than that", or believe that you'd easily pick up the red flags, or that you're trained to see these things so it couldn't happen to you-

That's just not always true. You can still fall victim to these types of people.

Anyone can fall victim to an abusive, manipulative mastermind.

"You little fool. The Joker doesn't love anything except himself.

Wake Up, Harleen.

He had you pegged for a hired help the second you walked into Arkham."

"That's not... No... No!

He told me things, secret things he never told anyone!"

"Was it his line about the abusive father? Or the one about the runaway mom? He's gained a lot of sympathy with that one."

"Stop It! You're making me confused!"

"What was it he told that one parole officer? Oh yes, "there was only one time I ever saw dad really happy, he took me to the ice show when I was 7."

"Circus... He said it was the circus."

"He's got a million of them, Harley."

/ also I think it's important to point out based on Batman's "You and the Joker?" reaction that, despite her relationship with Joker being near the 7 year mark in this episode, he did not Know this "thing" with them was anything more than the standard henchmen/henchwoman type relationship most rogues have with their goons.

And the minute he does, he tries to get through to her. He tries to get through to Harleen. And then in the end, when he's almost got it, she's almost convinced and seeing the truth, he calls her Harley. He calls her by the name she's going by now, not the woman he believes to be trapped inside, but the one in front of him who's crying while her world is crumbling before her eyes.

It does not matter how trained you are, or how prepared you believe yourself to be, it can happen to Anyone. And it's No One's fault except the abuser for the actions the abuser takes.

But you can be the smartest person in the room and still be abused.

However, now, instead, we've got yet another film that's going to completely miss the mark and make a mockery of her journey. And instead of it being a first Live Action appearance for her and many others and whatnot like Suicide Squad was, this film is different.

This is a sequel to a film that's already got a fan base full of apologists for him. A fan base full of incels who have taken him on as their icon, as their role model, and we all fucking know it.

However they portray her character in this is going to stick with people and a lot of those folks are going to happily believe and treat this as if it's the true reality for her origin. No matter what other medias say, this is the accurate one. This is the one that's finally just allowing them to be together and not toxic. This is the one that's "not butchering his character so she can be the victim", he just gets to be his goofy little self and isn't changed so her story can exist.

And the only other live action movie that these people will or have watched that's got her character is Suicide Squad, as it's apparent so many of them clearly do not care about the 3 decades worth of evidence showing their actual relationship.

Cause facing the fact that that crusty ass disgusting man Is, and Has Been, a domestic abuser would make their constant woobification of him all the more difficult.

And why would they do that when they could just keep pretending he's not the fucking problem.

#tw abuse mention #tw clown boy #mentioned #harley quinn #harleen quinzel #dc comics #batman #bruce wayne #that scene from btas lives rent free in my head #from the voice acting to the dialogue to the little 'clev'a?!' 'brilliant' moment ❤️

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trickster-jpeg · 3 months

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I Haven't Slept In Days, But Who's Counting.

This is a sequel to another oneshot, so it'll make more sense context-wise if you read that first -> Here

Summary: Steven's tries to carry on hiding his nightmares from Marc and Jake, but after a particularly rough night Marc finds out and tells Jake. The pair confront him and have to comfort him after he breaks down.

Warnings: Nothing major. Brief descriptions of child abuse when Steven talks about one of the nightmares.

Word Count: 8524 It's On AO3 -> Here

A/N: 'Ricitos' is a petname that means 'curly hair', and 'Manitos' means something akin to 'little brother'.

“Steven- I just really think you should tell them. They would want to know, they would want to help you. If anyone can understand what you’re going through, it’s them.”

A few days had passed since ‘the incident’ as Steven was choosing to call it and, despite the continuing insomnia, things were going as well as they could be. Layla had offered to stay a few more days to keep him company, but he knew that there were things she needed to do and being on nightmare watch wasn’t one of them, so he declined. She’d been amazing the past few days, more amazing than she usually was, and as per usual she was like a rock for him to lean on for support which he was extremely grateful for. Regardless of how stupid he thought it might’ve been, she’d listened to whatever he had to say, and when he’d wanted to stay quiet she’d sit with him through that as well. The pair had gone out to spend their last few full days together just wandering around, visiting little cafes and book shops, taking walks for the fresh air. Just spending a moment to simply exist without the threat of the world collapsing around them, real or imagined.

Marc had been out at times as well, just to do his own thing and spend his own time with Layla. It was tricky for the pair at times, given their history, especially at the start once everything had been put on the table. When they'd had a moment to talk about the disorder honestly. But the pair were working or rebuilding things better than they had been, and made new room for Jake and Steven to be included as well if they wanted. Jake still wasn’t fully used to fronting the same way the others were, or for the same lengths of time, so he didn’t appear much. Especially when there wasn’t really anything to do. But after some encouragement from the three, he’d found a new motivation to spend time out and trying to relax after he’d started to realise he wasn’t being subjected to his typical nightmares. Steven had made Layla promise not to tell his headmates.

Which led him back to his predicament.

Telling the other two about his nightmares. It’s not that he didn’t want to, it was just… Maybe that’s exactly what it was in all honesty. How was he supposed to bring it up anyway? “Marc! Jake! Just the people I've been trying to subtly avoid, but you’ve probably noticed that by now. It’s aces that your nightmares have suddenly started to dip in frequency, genuinely so glad that you’re able to have a peaceful nights rest, but that’s actually because they’ve just passed over to me! Surprise!” He’d rather be shot in a pyramid and stuffed into a bloody sarcophagus. Again. But he knew it was only a matter of time before they found out somehow. Which is why he wanted to be the one to tell them.

They’d been trying to work on their communication. Trying to lower the daily amnesia barriers, get more fluid with switching and have more control over it, being able to sit down and talk as a trio. Steven had been doing more research on DID whenever he had the chance. Found it really quite interesting if he was honest, despite not being the biggest psychology buff, but he also had a tendency to fixate and overload himself with the information and that tended to trigger some doubt in him about the whole thing. Something he read was completely normal for people like him- them- but it was still frustrating to have to stagger his questions just so he could safely process basic information.

One thing in particular caught his eye during the deep dives though. Innerworlds. He read about how they were this visualisation thing, like the mind palace in Sherlock. That they could help to provide a space for communication, like properly interacting with each other in a way that wasn’t just staring into a mirror and hoping someone responded with the reflection. It had taken a while to work on actually putting the concept into practice, to actually try and visualise it in a way that didn’t make them feel like they were just daydreaming, but they’d done it. Slowly but surely, they’d started to make it work. Their innerworld was nothing fancy, at least not for now. In a way, they found it somewhat easier to simply have a replica of their flat as a hub of safety, or a meeting place to be used when needed. And Steven had reluctantly deduced that this was one of the times it was necessary to use it as a meeting place.

It would take him a while to gather up the nerve to start the conversation. Overthinking was a special talent of Steven’s and he could spend years trying to plan every single possibility. To sit down and focus, the build up to opening up to the people he always told shouldn’t feel ashamed to talk about their troubles. It really was easier said than done when none of them had really been properly taught how they were supposed to do that, but Steven tried to think of it as a learning experience. He could lead by example. Maybe. Hopefully.

However, like many things in their life, the choice was ultimately made for Steven and left him a complete lack of control over the circumstances that led up to the others finding out.

It had been a week since Layla had left their flat. A week of being alone in the empty darkness of his room. A week of looping audiobooks and fidgeting with rubik's cubes and leaning over books under a lamp only to pass out on the desk after succumbing to sleep’s cruel lullaby. He’d been coping as well as he could. Sometimes staying on the phone with Layla until he felt safe enough to sleep again. Or at least until he pretended to because he didn’t want to keep her up anymore than he’d already been doing. Eventually it had to come to a close. It always did. And this time it really was Steven’s fault.

As a rule, Steven tended to avoid drinking. Never really saw much of an appeal apart from some of the ones that tasted nice. He didn’t like the loss of control. Something about it just made him extremely uncomfortable, not that he understood why until he’d found out about their mum’s drinking habits. But he knew Marc drank, albeit sometimes unhealthily, and so eventually he concluded that they’d have the same type of tolerance given the fact that it was the same body. He was still getting used to it, finding it easier to just continue avoiding the substance without any qualms, but occasionally he’d partake.

This was one of those nights. He knew it wasn’t exactly the healthiest of ideas to start drinking with the intent of using it to get him to sleep, but it would just be a one time thing. Honestly. He just wanted to see if it would do anything. If it would help ease him into the action without hours of anxiety spirals to keep him awake. So, he picked up the bottle of hard liquor that he knew Marc had stashed in the back of one of the cupboards in the kitchen and took a large mouthful of it.

His immediate reaction was repulsion, the instant impulse to try and spit out the liquid that felt like it was numbing his tongue, but he powered through it and swallowed hard. The burning sensation that scraped down his throat was strong enough to cause his eyes to water almost immediately afterwards and he jolted forward to grab a half empty glass of water that had been left out on the kitchen top. He felt the alcohol settle heavily in his stomach, an empty feeling that made him realise he had forgotten to eat anything that wasn’t a small snack or two throughout the day.

Overall, it was an unpleasant experience that he would rather not repeat or continue doing. But the distraction of the alcohol scratching at his throat would probably be enough to draw his focus away from the anxiety his nightmares caused, which is why he made the great decision to take another few large mouthfuls from the bottle before setting it down and flopping into bed. Enough to make a small, yet notable difference in the contents of the bottle. He grimaced and coughed as the liquid burned down his throat again, pulling a slightly disgusted face as he realised he could smell it quite intensely on his breath.

After about ten to fifteen minutes of lying in bed, waiting for the pain to dull down slightly, he started to feel somewhat dizzy. Like a mild vertigo, almost like dissociating in a way. In an attempt to settle the feeling slightly, he closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, counting the beats between each inhale and exhale like sheep. His mind started to drift as he focused on the waviness of it all, the floating sensation creeping into his brain as he felt himself lean deeper into the mattress. Gradually, he stopped being aware of his behaviour, his thoughts, the waking world. Apparently a mixture of sleep deprivation, alcohol, and lack of food made a great recipe for sleep.

From Marc’s detailed experiences of drinking and sleeping, alcohol made dreams more vivid. It also made them way more memorable when he woke up from them. And usually, it was more likely to be nightmares than dreams when alcohol had a part to play in the events leading up to sleep. Sometimes it would be more trauma-centric nightmares, but usually 3.5 out of 5 times it was some random bullshit nightmare that most of the general population gets. Something mundane like accidentally yanking his teeth out and swallowing them or something. The point was, it was fairly easy to tell when a dream was influenced by alcohol or if it was just a typical, regular dream. Which is why he was so disoriented when he woke up with sweat soaking their bedsheets and his chest heaving painfully as he tried to draw in the breaths he didn’t even know he was lacking.

He tasted the liquor he’d bought himself, coating his mouth and mixing with the flood of saliva as he jolted to grab the bin they kept beside their bed to heave into, watching as the majority of his stomach contents turned out to be the alcohol. A sight not quite shocking to him, borderline familiar with the amount of times it happened to him in the past, but still confusing. Confusing because he could’ve sworn he hadn’t had anything to drink. That he hadn’t fronted for pretty much the entire day so unless he’d had a full blackout of his own memories, he hadn’t touched the bottle. And he knew that Jake hadn’t been the one to drink it either, simply because he knew that the man hated his choice of liquor and wouldn’t voluntarily drink it unless he was forced to, and even then he’d have tried to buy some before falling back on Marc’s stash. Which just left one other person to blame. Steven.

Why the hell would Steven be drinking? He hates drinking. Or at least hates drinking this stuff.

As Marc continued to retch into the bin, a worry started to overshadow the initial confusion he was feeling. It didn’t make any sense. The man never went out of his way to buy or drink, and when he did he always went for the softest stuff. The stuff that barely tasted like alcohol, just fruit or sugar. He’d made it clear time and time again that he’d hated the feeling of it, hated the taste, hated the aftermath. Hated everything about it. Which is why Marc just couldn’t understand why Steven would feel the need to drink so much of this stuff. Surely the Brit would’ve tried to speak to Marc or Jake if there was something going on, right?

Suddenly feeling unsure about his headmate’s transparency, he started to try and remember any signs in the past few weeks that something was wrong with Steven. Briefly, he got glimpses of the man falling back into his old habits of trying to avoid sleep. Of not eating as much as he usually would, or leaving the house as often as he did. Of watching their phone and waiting silently for it to stop ringing and for the familiar contact of Layla to disappear from the screen. Then he thought about last week. Something recent came to mind. Something hazy. They were sitting on the floor. Reading something- No. Being read to. Marc didn’t understand the words but he knew the voice speaking them. Felt the panic dying down as Steven realised who it was as well.

He needed to call Layla.

Without looking, he reached over to the side table to grab at the phone he knew would be there with one hand as he placed the bin in the other hand now that he was confident there was nothing left for him to throw up. The bright light from the screen blinded him for a moment as he scrambled to turn down the brightness, cursing the Brit quietly for his adamance at having the setting so high all the time. After a moment of letting his eyes readjust to the sight of it, he opened his contacts and hit the dial button over his wife’s name. A moment of regret and remorse flickered in his chest as he looked up at the time on the top of his screen reading ‘02:38’. Maybe he should’ve waited until the morning to figure this out rather than disturbing her sleep and waking her up at this time for such a petty reason-

“Hello? Steven? Marc?... Jake?”

A wave of familiarity washed over him as he heard her tiredly croak out a response over the line, clearly having just been woken up by the phone. He hesitated for a moment before realising he should probably start speaking.

“Hey, it’s me- Marc-”

“I may have just woken up but I can still tell that it’s your voice, Marc. You don’t have to tell me. We’ve been married for about ten years.”

He pauses awkwardly, mentally kicking himself for his stupid attempt at trying to help her as though she hadn’t spent a decade waking up to hearing his voice. Clearing his throat, still raw from the alcohol going in and then out of his system, he swallows before continuing.

“I know it's late, didn’t realise until i’d already hit the call button. I wouldn’t have phoned if it wasn’t important, or at least I’m pretty sure it’s important-”

“Marc, I love you and I'm listening but I'm still incredibly tired. Could you maybe skip to the reason you’re calling me at… two in the morning?”

He stays silent for a moment or two, apologetic that he woke Layla up at this hour, but also more apprehensive to speak the words out loud. As if the reality of the situation, of the things he’s thinking, will settle in and manifest. That it’ll be real once he says it. Taking another deep breath, his throat feeling slightly strangled as he forces the words out of his mouth.

“Steven was drinking. I don’t know why, I just know that I woke up in a pile of sweat, having one of the worst panic attacks I've had in a while, promptly followed up by me puking my insides out and seeing he’s barely eaten anything all day. And a nightmare that I know was about our childhood that I can’t even remember to top it all off. I just- I thought if he’s spoken to anyone about any of this… it would be you.”

The line was silent for a while, the only clue that Layla was still there and that it hadn’t hung up or frozen was her muttered swears that the microphone just barely managed to pick up. He heard a brief shuffling, almost as though she was moving around to sit up in bed or something. Another few moments of silence passed before she spoke hesitantly, her tone reluctant but much more awake than it had been. Much more alert.

“I promised I wouldn’t say anything… He said he’d- Never mind. I don’t really know how to say this, it’s not my thing to say but if he’s getting to this point instead of talking I-”

The confusion and worry in Marc’s mind only stood to grow even more at the vague words. What was Steven not telling them? What could be so bad that he’s made Layla promise not to say anything? All members of the system had the understanding that there was a level of confidentiality between some of their personal conversations with Layla. If they wanted or needed to tell her something, or just didn’t want the other two to know about it, then they wouldn’t ask her. A mutual respect that they wouldn’t pry into things or try to force their partner to talk about things that didn’t concern them unless it was important enough for them all to know. And to Marc, this seemed like it was something pretty fucking important for them to know about.

“What? What do you mean ‘not your thing to say’? ‘Getting to this point’? Layla, what's wrong with Steven? I mean he knows he can talk to us about things, he’s always going on about being open and honest and how things are better when we all work together to try and solve them so what could be so bad that he’s hiding things from us-”

“He’s been having nightmares, Marc. About your childhood. About your trauma. He’s been having nightmares and flashbacks.”

As Layla cuts his ramblings off and tells him the truth, he’s stunned into silent shock. It's almost like the words just don’t process in his mind. At least not for the first minute or so after he’d heard them. Like his brain just refused to acknowledge them as the truth, or even just as a possibility at all. He almost asked her to repeat what she’d said, to give her the opportunity to say something else. Almost hoping that what she’d said was a mistake, or that he’d just misheard her. Until they actually started to settle in his head.

Steven had been having nightmares. Their Steven. He’d been having nightmares. He’d been having their nightmares. Marc and Jake had finally been freed from them, celebrating and joking between themselves that they’d been given a ‘mini restbite’. And Steven had been forced to deal with them instead. The Steven that would take their place and stay up for hours after they’d jolted awake to reassure them they were alright. The Steven that would talk outloud and describe every single item and object in their flat, as well as the layout of the floors, if it meant that they could believe they were safe and in their own home, not stuck in that house with their mother. The Steven that once decided to make a crappy little blanket fort at three in the morning for Jake because the man had been borderline inconsolable after he had screamed himself awake as a result of a particularly brutal nightmare. And now the same man was trying to brave his way through it all on his own, and had been doing so for months, all while Marc and Jake had been none the wiser..

“You need to talk to him about it, Marc. All three of you. He thinks that- He doesn’t want you to see him as a burden. Thinks that if he proves he can handle this on his own then he can prove he’s ‘contributing’ to the system, taking responsibility. That you’ll stop trying to keep things from him or I guess treating him like a child.”

Marc sits in a stunned silence as he listens to Layla speak, thoughts spinning like a tornado in his head. That couldn’t- That couldn’t be right. Steven doesn’t really think that. Doesn’t really believe that. Right? He couldn’t. But it was true in some way, they did keep things from him. They did treat him like a kid. Even if that was never their intention, they did it all the same. Falling into old habits of trying to keep his innocent naivety protected, keep him protected. And it’d backfired and made the man feel like he had to prove something to them. That he had to suffer in silence to be treated the same.

The stark realisation made Marc’s stomach lurch with nausea as he swallowed back the urge to gag, trying to suppress the growing pit in his stomach that had opened up like a sinkhole. His immediate reaction was that of self hatred, of anger, of a need to punish himself for not realising sooner or for making his headmate feel like that. But he knew that was no good, and it was probably the exact reaction that Steven had being trying to avoid by not telling him.

He sat in silence for a moment longer, not being able to think of the words he could use to formulate a response. Layla knew him well enough to understand that, even over the phone. He nodded slightly to himself as he continued to process her words, a small hum escaping his lips. Mumbling a tired but appreciative thanks to his wife, he makes the promise to fill her in on the aftermath before hanging up the phone with a mumbled ‘love you, thank you’. As per usual, she was right. They did need to talk. Sooner rather than later. Now.

Usually he wasn’t the one to initiate the contact in the innerworld, meditation like things having never really worked for him, but drastic times called for drastic measures and what better time to put this into practice than now. He took a few deep breaths, trying to distract himself from his own thoughts and feelings on the situation. Steven needed stability, reassurance that he could talk. Having a major freak out and blaming himself would only make the Brit want to comfort Marc and focus on him rather than the real issue centred around him. He just had to fill Jake in on the situation before. He knew the man would appreciate the forewarning, plus it would give them a better chance at being able to help Steven in a way that didn’t make him feel cornered.

Leaning back in bed, he slowly took some deep breaths and closed his eyes, just like Steven had told him to do when explaining it all, and tried to reach out to Jake. The man hated the use of mirrors most of the time, hating how jarring it was to be perceived, but Marc also just couldn’t be asked to get up out of bed and walk to a reflective surface. It only took a moment or two for Jake to surface, the man always on the wings somewhere in case he needed to jump in at a moment’s notice. He blinked his eyes open as he adjusted to the shift in his surroundings, stood next to the sofa in their innerworld flat instead of laying with closed eyes in bed. Beside him, Jake sat on the chair polishing his boots with a calmed expression, glancing up at Marc once he noted the man’s presence. Awkwardly, Marc just stood there for a moment, looking around the room as he tried to figure out what small talk he should try and make before leading into the main issue.

How the fuck was he supposed to start this conversation?

“So… How’s the weather been lookin-”

“Just spit it out, Manito, I don’t bite.”

Instantly, Marc clenched his jaw and drummed his fingers on his legs ever so slightly in an attempt to combat the self-consciousness as he became aware of how he was just standing in the middle of the room. His eyes flickered back and forth between the other man, his boots, and the fish tank bubbling away in the background as Gus and Gus swam calmly as he tried to figure out how to formulate his sentences. They really needed to get better names for the fish. He bit his lip as he stood there in silence, chewing at the slightly cracked skin and trying to bite it off. As he tasted iron, he opened his mouth to respond.

“Steven’s been having the nightmares. Our nightmares. Having our flashbacks too. For months. He was drinking my stash before he went to sleep tonight. Layla’s seen him wake up screaming bloody murder after thinking he was still stuck in a dream.”

Jake’s hands stilled as he wiped the remnants of the boot polish over the material, his reaction perfectly frozen in a way that Marc assumed meant his thoughts had started to spiral immediately like his had when he’d found out. It also meant he was also trying to figure out what to do next. Just like Marc had. After a few moments, the cab driver gently placed the cloth down and started to nod quietly, processing the information he’d just been given. It was clear he was still trying to wrap his head around it, and so Marc spared him from having to try and speak, electing to continue his words.

“Apparently he said he’d talk to us, but I think we need to start the conversation first. She- Layla said that he’s trying to show his contribution to the system or something. That we’ve been treating him like a kid by trying to keep him safe from things. That we’ve been leaving him out. Making him feel like a- like a burden.”

Jake continued to nod, somewhat more forceful as Marc continued to talk. His eyes widened ever so slightly as his body language grew into a more spread out and tense defensive stance, his eyes scanning over the table back and forth as he did. Reaching up to remove his cap, he ran gloved hands through his hair and out of his face roughly, sitting back and looking up at Marc as he held the accessory in his hand like a lifeline. His jaw clenched a few times, his back cracking as he straightened his spine slightly. After a few more moments of silence, Jake took a deep breath and swallowed, staring off at the empty desk that sat tucked next to the stacks of books. A beat or two passed before he stood up, looking to the other side of the room as though staring at someone. As Marc followed his gaze, he had to mask his shock as suddenly sat in the uncomfortable desk chair was the main focus of their conversation: Steven.

The Brit was hunched over a book, reading as though nothing was happening until the confusion hit him and he looked up with a disorientated expression. Spinning around on his chair, his eyes immediately landed on the two men who were looking… worse for wear. That being said, Steven probably wasn’t looking so great either. He looked down at his clothes and realised he was wearing the black sweatshirt and joggers he had been wearing when they were stuck in the asylum. His hands were mostly covered by the sleeves being pulled up over them and as he reached up to brush his curled fringe out of his face. The dark strands felt greasy and knotted in his fingers, and he was suddenly very aware of how awful his face felt. He felt the weight beneath his eyes, dark circles sitting beneath them. His cheeks feeling somewhat sunken, and the rest of his face feeling oily. He felt like shit. He was literally projecting how he felt and he couldn’t get it to stop.

Suddenly, he started to feel extremely vulnerable as he looked at the other two men, his legs bouncing nervously. He felt like a bug under a microscope, like he was about to be pinned to a canvas frame. The more he looked at them, the more he realised he’d been brought here on purpose, the way the Americans were glancing at one another and back at him as if they knew something. Like they were trying to silently argue about something. Something to do with him. Why was he here? It’s not like they had anything important to Steven, they never included him with that kind of thing so why-

In an instant, his heart stopped dead, his spine straightening and body tensing as he frantically looked at the pair as if he’d just been struck by lightning. He felt himself rocking back and forward in the chair ever so slightly, counting slowly as he tried to focus on his breathing. Was it even possible to have a panic attack on the innerworld? It felt like he was about to find out. He blinked desperately, hoping that with enough force he could try to escape this situation and take over the body to get out.

They knew. Somehow his headmates had found out about him. About his situation. How? Or- Maybe they didn’t. Maybe he was just overreacting. Maybe if he tried to play it off and fake ignorance then he could get out of it. Maybe they only realised he was withdrawn and they were none the wiser about his-

“We know about the nightmares, Steven. Layla told us.”

For a brief moment, he felt a pang of betrayal in his chest towards her. He’d made her promise she wouldn’t tell them so why on earth would she-

“I woke up throwing up all the liquor you’d drank on an empty stomach, bedsheet drenched in sweat, on the tail end of the worst panic attack I've felt in months. Of course I was going to call the only person who would have any inkling as to what the fuck was going on with you. What were you thinking? Why would you-”

Marc was cut off by Jake lightly stamping on his foot in a clear signal for him to stop talking and calm down, clearly having realised how the man’s worry was definitely coming off as confrontational instead of reassuring. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to reset his attitude, before looking back at Steven with a stern but slightly apologetic gaze. Clearing his throat stiffly, he walked over to Steven and sat a few feet away from him on the floor to give him space. Jake followed suit behind him and sat on a small table to the side of him, just barely above Steven’s natural sitting eye level. The three men sat in quiet for a few more moments, before Marc spoke up once more and broke the silence.

“We’re… sorry. I’m sorry. We thought we were doing right by you and clearly it did the opposite. You never should’ve been made to feel like you couldn’t talk to us and- Yeah. I’m sorry, Steven. Genuinely.”

Silently, Jake nodded along with the man as he watched Steven’s eyes shift around looking at the floor. A minute of silence passed as the Brit let the words sink in. They were apologising… To him. A part of him wanted to backpedal, immediately try to reassure the two men that it was no harm done and that he knew it wasn’t deliberate. But another part of him was just tired. Tired for the months of struggling silently, albeit because of his own choice to try and hide it, but he still felt like he wasn’t worth the fuss that would be caused if he spoke up. And they were apologising for it. Eventually, after another minute or two, he looked up at the pair with red rimmed eyes slowly filling with tears. His voice shook slightly as he spoke, there was no point trying to hide it anymore because they saw him in the same way he felt. They knew the way he felt because they’d felt it as well at some point.

“How do you do it? How do you both cope with it so well?”

There was a brief moment of shock that crossed their faces at Steven’s question. Marc’s expression leaning towards reluctant realisation at how the man saw the pair at the words, and Jake’s steering more towards a neutral acceptance of his perception. Neither of them looked as though they agreed with the wording of Steven’s inquiry. Marc spoke up once more to answer the man nonetheless, Jake taking over once he stops.

“We can’t cope with it, Steven. We just grit our teeth and push through it. You want to know how we can do it? You. You’re the reason we can survive it.”

“He’s right, ricitos. We don’t know how to look after ourselves in the way that lets us live. Without you we’re just barely existing. You look after us. Love us. Support us. You’re everything to us, and we’re sorry that we’ve made you feel like you’re not.”

As they both watched Steven react to their words, they could’ve sworn they felt their hearts break in that single moment. At the realisation on how the men viewed him, Steven’s disbelief started to melt into something almost sobering. His brows lowered, rising slightly on the inner parts showing the clear frown lines on his forehead. He gently caught the bottom of his lip between his teeth for a moment as the corners of his mouth tilted downwards into a stunted frown. His eyelids drooped slightly as the redness lining the rims were contrasted against the purple bags beneath his eyes, shimmering slightly under the dim light as tears started to delicately stream down his face. They watched as his lip quivered ever so slightly as his eyes downcast to his hands that were clasping one another, wringing together as he let the words wash over him. As he sniffled quietly, he bit his lips together into an even clearer frown, the lines that usually showed from him smiling too much framed them painfully. In a shaky voice, he eventually spoke up.

“I just thought that the alcohol might make it easier to fall asleep. That it would… I don’t know. Distract me from my anxiety or something. Didn’t realise I had forgotten to eat until I’d already started drinking. It was absolutely minging, just for your information. Don’t know how you can drink that stuff. I won’t- I’m not going to do it again though. And thank you. For apologising. I appreciate it a lot.”

They sit in silence for a few more moments before Marc speaks up, somewhat nervously. Afraid of something. Insecure about himself, about the possibility of messing up this fragile interaction by saying the wrong thing.

“You could’ve asked us to stick around. Just to keep you company getting to sleep- You still can. It might be kind of a shitty downfall of this disorder, but in some cases never really being alone might be a bit of a blessing in disguise. I wouldn’t mind in the slightest. Neither would Jake.”

He looks up and over his shoulder from his seat on the floor to see Jake giving the gentlest smile he’s ever seen from the man in a reassuring manner to both Steven and Marc, nodding slowly in agreement to the man’s words. Steven focuses on the gloved man while thankfully flashing a weak smile towards him, replicating it as he looks down to Marc. He wipes his dripping nose on his oversized sleeve before grimacing slightly in brief disgust at his own action before responding.

“I just didn’t want you to worry about me. I… I thought it might make you treat me like a child even more. I didn't want to be babied- Even if you never meant it like that it just- It just really started to piss me off, if i’m being honest. I just want to be treated the same as you treat each other.” He pauses to take a steady inhale before flashing a friendly smile to the pair, almost endearing in his own way. “I’m an adult, lads. A grown man, same as you. I don’t care if you keep me out of… ‘darker’ conversations. If it’s something I shouldn’t know yet, that it would be bad for me to know about just now, I wouldn’t mind. But it feels like it’s all of the- all of the trauma. All of the time. Sure, I didn’t know about it until recently, but that doesn’t mean I’m still clueless. I mean, hell, how can we even be sure that there are pieces of it that I know about but you both don’t. Did you ever think about it like that? What if I’d been the one to trigger something in the both of you because I just assumed it was common knowledge that you both knew? It’s not a one way street, you know.”

There was a slight shift in the air as Steven concluded his words, the Americans glancing at each other in apprehension as they realised that their headmate could be right. They really didn’t know what Steven knew and what he didn’t because they’d tried to keep him out of the conversation. Which meant that there was a genuine possibility that he might know something they weren’t aware of. Something he might’ve experienced on his own in their childhood and just repressed it so none of them knew about it. It was a quiet fear that they’d never known they shared, or even had, until that very moment. Trying not to dwell on it too much, at least not for now, they turned back to the Brit with matching sombre yet genuinely understanding expressions, having begun to listen and acknowledge the crying man’s points.

“What was- You don’t have to answer this- You might not even remember it but- That night with Layla. When you had the nightmare… What was it about? Layla didn’t tell me anything about it, just that it was the worst she’d seen in a while. That she actually thought it was me or Jake for a second before you started speaking.”

The Brit looked towards Marc in surprise at the revelation, the past betrayal he’d briefly felt against Layla being completely washed away at the realisation she’d really only told her husband the bare framework. Just enough to fill him in on the situation and get the ball rolling. It was a feeling quickly squashed by the dread that appeared at the thought of talking about the nightmare. A new found fear that he might be telling them something they didn’t know about. He could suddenly understand why they had been reluctant to include him in these types of conversations. Why both men were still so guarded, even to each other, when it came to the trauma they shared and spoke about if they spoke about it at all.

But he’d always been the one to say they should talk about it. He’d literally just made an entire little speech about how they should include him when talking about this stuff. If anything, this would be an olive branch. To consolidate that Steven shouldn’t be excluded, not that he needed to give a reason to prove his point. He didn’t have to share if he really didn’t want to. The three of them understood that things like this shouldn’t be pushed. Shouldn’t be forced. Enough of their shared lives had been forced and taken out of their control so, as a baseline of respect, they always gave that choice to say no and back out at any time. Which is why Steven felt safe enough to make the choice to tell them.

“It was about mum. I’m assuming they usually are.” He pauses to read the pair’s expression, feeling slightly discouraged as they huffed sad laughs in agreement but also like there was a new found solidarity with even just a small half joke like that. “We were in the car. I don’t remember a lot of it to be fair, It was quite a bit ago. She started shouting things at me, starting screaming. Started to speed up. Started to swerve the car in the road. Started to scream about crashing and getting rid of us both, let go of the wheel and I just remember the fear and the panic and just the realisation that I was about to die. I thought I was going to die right there. Thought that was it. That if the crash didn’t kill me it was going to be my heart exploding right out of my chest because I couldn’t breathe and I was crying too much.” His expression turned to a devastating revulsion as more tears streamed down his face, a brief sob getting trapped in his throat before he continued to talk. “I don’t remember most of it but the one thing I can remember thinking the clearest was how worried I was that she would get in trouble for her driving. I was convinced I was about to die, and I was still worrying about her and what would happen to her if someone saw her driving like that- She tried to kill me- Kill us- And I was thinking about her fucking reputation- What the fuck is wrong with me- Why did I- I couldn’t- I don’t know- How could I-”

By the time Steven started to reach the end of his recount of the nightmare, he was clearly working himself up into a frantic state. The pair watched worriedly as their headmate started to breathe heavier and heavier, spiralling into the start of a panic attack. In an attempt to prevent it before it got any worse, they moved closer to him. Marc started quietly mumbling hushed reassurances, knowing exactly how painful it was to still love the person that had put them through more than any child should have to bear. On the other hand, Jake decided to pass Steven’s plushie to him and drape a blanket over the man’s shoulders to add a comforting bit of pressure in the hopes of grounding him. He didn’t share the connection to Wendy that the other two men did. Saw her as nothing more than the woman that made their lives a living hell. In his eyes she was even less connected to him than a stranger. Maybe when they were younger he might’ve felt something different, but he grew out of that as soon as he could. While Marc tried to reassure the Brit with a unique understanding that they were both extremely familiar with, he moved over to the space that had been designated as their living room and started to move around doing his own thing. As he did so, he picked up on their close but distant conversation.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Steven. There will never be anything bad about the fact that you are so capable of loving people.”

“The things she- It’s not- It’s sick that I still-”

“She’s our mom. All of the bad outweighs the good by tenfold, but that doesn’t mean that we can just forget about all of the good. It would be easier if it was all bad. Then we wouldn’t have to deal with this. But you are not at fault for being human and still loving the good things about her. The good things that we experienced.”

“It hurts so much- Why did she have to-”

“I don’t know, Steven. I don’t know.”

Jake quickly glanced over as he heard their interaction tamper down in volume to see them holding each other, clinging to one another like a lifeline. He was never one for physical contact, not really. That's what happens when you’re brought into a life that so sorely lacks it. Its hard to miss what you’ve never really had, and that’s why even when given the option in the past he’d never really accepted it. The few times he had had been damn near crushing when it was over. Any other physical contact was never good news, and it was never a choice. But as he looked at the two men, he almost felt a longing to be included. To walk over there and hug the pair. He couldn’t tell if it was fully for their benefit, or if there was an almost selfish ulterior motive for himself as well though. He looked down to the pillows in his hands and started to speed up the process of finishing his idea, placing them in the spot he deemed to be the best and shift one of the blankets to the side.

A few more minutes passed before Steven had started to calm down, a wave of exhaustion washing over him as his tears slowed to a stop. Marc’s arms stayed wrapped firmly around him, sniffling slightly as the Brit realised his counterpart had at some point also started crying alongside him. He squeezed the man tighter for a moment, a brief reassurance to him that Steven was there for him as well. That they weren’t going to suffer with this alone. It was then that he also realised the distinct lack of their third headmate, the man having seemingly disappeared from their close proximity. With a fleeting moment of panic, his head jerked up to cast a look around the visible areas of the flat to find him. Marc pulled back with a confused face before arriving on the same train of thought and joining his short search, their shared worries quickly subsiding as they saw the man looking over at them with an amused but warm smile and motioning for them to go over to him.

Groaning slightly at the strain in his joints, Marc used Steven as a bit of leverage to pull himself upwards from his uncomfortable kneeling position on the floor. He wrapped an arm around the man’s torso lightly without a word, pulling him close as they moved to walk over towards Jake. He softly tried to secure the blanket around the Brit’s shoulders as they made their way towards him to stop it from falling onto the floor. The man had put his plain, dark flat cap back on and was trying to hide the half proud, half nervous look on his face as he stared over to the sofa and back at the two men to watch their reaction closely.

Somehow, in the time that Marc had managed to calm down Steven and simultaneously have his own emotional breakdown after seeing so much of his own inner struggles in Steven, Jake had managed to rearrange the furniture and construct a makeshift fort from blankets and pillows. It was clearly rushed, but still surprisingly well built with a sturdy structure. He’d even used the duvet and pillows from their bed. Small battery powered tea lights were dotted around the outsides, as well as a few on the inside, that somehow gave it a warmer feeling. It was a perfect haven that faced the television that hummed with life, the images on the screen gently shifting with a low volume to accompany them. Connected to the television via an old DVD player they'd recently found was one of Steven’s comfort films: Matilda. The pair faltered in their step at the sight of it all. At the safety that just radiated from the space that Jake had created for them all.

The man in question’s face contorted slightly into a rarely displayed uncertainty, a worry that the other men didn’t like it. It wasn’t often that Jake really doubted himself. There was never really time for that, never a room for error when the majority of his past life experiences had been born out of a final surge of pure instinct to survive. So when he couldn’t read the pair’s expressions, only seeing the tears and exhaustion from moments earlier, as well as the shock on their faces at the sight, he started to shift nervously from one foot to the other. He wasn’t good at physical affection, wasn’t the best at words of reassurance, especially when the subject matter was an incredibly personal and unique feeling that he wasn’t quite aligned with. He’d always heard the expression ‘actions speak louder than words’ and in that moment he was desperately hoping that his actions said the things he wanted to tell the other men. So when he saw the smiles that broke out onto their faces, he couldn’t help but earnestly mirroring it back at them.

Without any words being exchanged, they all moved to situate themselves in the centre of the fort, Steven in the middle being flanked comfortably by his headmates. Jake reached to turn the volume up just ever so slightly, so they wouldn’t be stuck just reading the captions alone. They all shuffled comfortably under the blankets, the Brit almost fully covered while the Americans stuck at least one or two limbs out from beneath the material to avoid feeling too overheated or trapped. The film continued to play as the three situated themselves in a close pile, Marc holding and leaning into Steven while Steven threw an arm over his and leaned into Jake’s side. Expectantly, he looked up at the cab driver before smiling, clearly pleased with himself as Jake threw an arm around him that reached over to Marc as well. It took a few moments for Jake to relax but eventually the tension bled from him as he leaned into Steven’s side as well. He traded a quick glance over the Brit’s head towards Marc and saw the man looking equally content with the situation and how it had played out.

As the film progressed, the three of them gradually started to feel themselves drift off into varying levels of sleep. Steven had been the first to nod off, barely making it more than fifteen minutes before the comfort of the two men either side of him combined with the exhaustion of bearing his soul caught up with him and lulled him into unconsciousness. Marc, having also not escaped the weariness that came as a side effect of heavy crying and emotional fatigue, drifted asleep about five minutes after Steven had. Jake on the other hand had kept awake until the credits to the film started playing, splitting his attention between the plot of the movie and watching over the two men sleeping beside him. Slowly, he reached to grab the remote, desperately trying to avoid waking up the other men as he clicked onto the menu screen and clicked the play button to restart it. He could understand why Steven liked the film.

#moon knight #moon knight system #moon knight fanfic #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #layla el faouly #my fic #writing #ao3 #hurt/comfort

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madamegemknight · 3 months

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I've finally watched the Muppets 2011 with my dad, and it was a blast!! I love its sense of humor (seriously, that Muppet man joke had me CACKLING), and it's so heart-warming in its simplicity and having a good time despite the trials the Muppets went through... I feel like I can't wipe this smile off my face (ehe)

Do you have any other Muppet or puppet media you'd recommend? I thought I'd ask you since you're the resident puppet expert, and I've been wanting to get into more puppet-related stuff :P

OH YAYYYY I’m so glad you liked it!!

And I do have other Muppet/puppet media I would recommend, thank you so much for asking (and gosh I am incredibly flattered you consider me the resident puppet expert). This is going to be LONG (sorry about that in advance), so under the cut it goes!

First off, I’d recommend the sequel to Muppets 2011, Muppets Most Wanted! It’s about the Muppets going on a world tour after getting back together in the previous movie, only for a criminal mastermind named Constantine (who looks exactly like Kermit) to hijack the tour, sending the real Kermit to prison and pretending to be Kermit so he can hide from the law and use the tour as a chance to steal the Crown Jewels. It’s a really great comedy heist that’s also an INCREDIBLE musical, and it has the same humor and sense of heart that Muppets 2011 has. I haven’t seen it in a while, but I have incredibly fond memories of watching it with my sibling when we were younger, and I think you would really enjoy it.

I would also recommend the original Muppet Show! I haven’t finished watching it yet (I’m on season 4 of 5 at the moment) but it’s a really fun show that serves as a love letter to old vaudeville theater and is just consistently entertaining. There’s no overarching plot and you can pretty much watch any episode in any order, though I would suggest that if you’re interested in checking it out, you watch the Harry Belafonte episode first - it’s regarded by a lot of fans (including me) as being the best episode of the series, and gives a very good idea of what the rest of the show is like.

(Also I HIGHLY recommend you watch the pitch reel for The Muppet Show, which you can find on YouTube here. It’s not essential viewing by any means, but it’s very funny and gives a bit of context for what the field of entertainment was like at the time the show was pitched)

The original trilogy of Muppet films are also absolutely stellar. The Muppet Movie is the story of how the Muppets got together, The Great Muppet Caper is essentially an AU where Fozzie and Kermit are brothers working for a newspaper and trying to prove Miss Piggy innocent of a jewel robbery, and Muppets Take Manhattan is essentially an AU where the Muppets were all friends in college and are trying to put on a show in New York. The original trilogy films are really fun in my opinion because they play fast and loose with what’s real and what’s fake; Kermit admits at the beginning of The Muppet Movie that it’s only an approximate retelling of how the Muppets actually got together, and the other two movies in the trilogy are telling completely separate stories than the main Muppet timeline, with The Great Muppet Caper even having an entire song devoted to telling the audience that it’s just a movie and that it isn’t actually canon. They all have INCREDIBLE soundtracks, too, the songs from these movies are some of my favorite Muppet songs ever.

Fraggle Rock isn’t really considered a piece of Muppet media anymore, since when Disney bought the rights to the Muppets they didn’t bother buying it as well, but it was originally a Muppet production and all of the stuff I watched as a kid referred to it as a Muppet production, so I’m counting it as a Muppet production still lol. Fraggle Rock is an absolutely amazing show on all levels; the puppetry is great, the songs are all stellar, the characters are so well-written, and despite being a show aimed at kids it never talks down to its audience, handling serious issues like death and prejudice with the respect they deserve. It’s probably best to go into Fraggle Rock as blind as possible (unlike The Muppet Show, there is an overarching story, though you don’t really find out that there is one until towards the end of Season 1) so all I’ll say is that it’s probably one of my favorite Muppet productions ever and that the finale, without exaggeration, made me cry for 30 minutes straight. There’s also a Fraggle Rock reboot called Fraggle Rock: Back to The Rock, and while I personally don’t think it’s as good as the original series, it’s still REALLY amazing and you can tell that the team working on it really cares about the og series. If you do end up watching Fraggle Rock, I’d recommend the reboot as well!

Getting into a bit more obscure territory here, but Tales From Muppetland: The Frog Prince is very near and dear to my heart. It’s a Muppet retelling of the Frog Prince fairytale, with the twist that the princess has been cursed by the same witch that the frog prince has been cursed by! The relationship between Prince Robin and Princess Melora is really cute, and it’s clear that the two of them really care for each other. I love the changes that it makes to the original fairytale, too; I mentioned the twist of Melora also being cursed, which gives her and Robin the chance to bond and leads to a very sweet song about finding someone who understands who you are and what you’ve gone through, but the story is also altered so that Robin explains why he needs Melora to kiss him instead of hiding the fact that he’s a prince from her - she doesn’t believe him, but I’m glad they made that change regardless. The witch is also a really fun villain! She’s reused from a previous Muppet production (Tales of The Tinkerdee) that was meant to be a pilot for a planned show but was never picked up, and I’m really glad she got a chance to shine in something that was actually officially released.

Sam and Friends is the first ever Muppet series, debuting in 1955, and while most of it is unfortunately lost media there are a couple episodes you can find online! I really like Sam and Friends (I have a book all about the making of the show), and I would recommend it both as a way to look at how far television puppetry has come and as just a genuinely very entertaining show in its own right - plus, the episodes are only 5 minutes long, so you can get through all the available episodes pretty quickly. My personal favorite episode is “Powder Burn,” a parody of the show Gunsmoke.

Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas is probably one of my favorite Christmas specials ever, despite me only watching it for the first time this past December. It’s a very earnest and emotional story about a family (Emmet Otter and his mother Alice Otter) living in poverty after the death of Emmet’s father. Both Emmet and Alice want to be able to give each other a good Christmas present, so they both enter the local talent contest on Christmas Eve in order to win the cash prize without telling each other. The soundtrack is done by the same man who did the soundtrack for The Muppet Movie (Paul Williams), and is just GORGEOUS - it manages to be silly and heartfelt at the same time, and does some really interesting stuff with the instrumentals, like having a kazoo solo during one of the more somber songs which somehow actually works! Like Fraggle Rock, it it isn’t afraid of tackling serious issues like death and poverty, and like Fraggle Rock, it made me bawl like a baby.

Finally, I would recommend both the documentary Of Muppets and Men and the Jim Henson Hour episode “Secrets of The Muppets” (I sadly haven’t watched enough of The Jim Henson Hour to give a proper recommendation, but from the little I’ve seen it’s very good). Both of these tackle the behind the scenes of working on the Muppets, with Of Muppets and Men being about the making of The Muppet Show specifically and “Secrets of The Muppets” being a general overview of the stuff the Muppets had done up to that point. I completely understand if you don’t want to see the behind the scenes workings of the Muppets (my mom doesn’t like seeing that kind of thing either and I get why), but if you do want to see it I can’t recommend these two enough. They do an excellent job at introducing and highlighting the skills of the troupe of Muppet performers, detailing specific tricks of puppeteering, and showing how everything comes together.

There’s definitely more Muppet media I want to recommend, but if I did so we’d be here FOREVER, and I still haven’t gotten to the puppet media recommendations! This list does serve as a pretty good starting point though - if you like Frog Prince and Jug-Band Christmas you’ll probably like the rest of the Tales From Muppetland specials, if you like one of the original trilogy of Muppet movies you’ll probably like the others in the trilogy, if you like Sam and Friends you’ll probably like the Muppets’ appearances on shows like the Ed Sullivan Show or the Jimmy Dean show that they made during that period, etc. Most of this stuff is on YouTube or the Internet Archive, but if you’re looking for something specific and can’t find it, let me know and I’ll do my best to locate it 👍

AND NOW AFTER 50 MILLION PARAGRAPHS WE ARE ON TO THE PUPPET MEDIA IN GENERAL RECOMMENDATIONS

I have to start this list off with my favorite movie of all time, The Dark Crystal. It’s a fantasy epic done entirely with puppets, and it is utterly gorgeous. All of the puppets are so detailed (I had the absolute blessing to see some of them when a local museum held a puppetry exhibit and the sheer amount of tiny details you can’t even SEE in the film are incredible), the world is so richly developed, the soundtrack is absolutely top-tier, and the amount of innovations in puppetry that this film causes are mind-blowing. There are traditional puppets, people in suits, radio-controlled puppets…the list goes on! I cannot recommend The Dark Crystal enough, it means so much to me and is probably the reason I’m so obsessed with puppets in the first place. It also has a prequel on Netflix called Age of Resistance - like the Fraggle Rock reboot, I don’t think it’s as good as the og, but it’s still absolutely stunning and the team working on it clearly cares about the world of the original film. Sadly, the prequel was cancelled after only one season :( I still recommend it if you like the film, but just go into it knowing that it’s gonna end on a cliffhanger.

The Little Shop of Horrors movie has an absolutely AMAZING puppet in the form of Audrey II, the film’s main antagonist. There are multiple Audrey II puppets, as the character grows throughout the entire film, and the biggest one required over 50 puppeteers to operate. There are no opticals or blue screens used for Audrey II (except for one scene at the very end of the film that they had to reshoot), and the effect is mind blowing. Little Shop is an absolutely incredible film overall, too, and thankfully doesn’t use Audrey II as a selling point or a gimmick - the puppet is incorporated very naturally into the film, and you appreciate the puppetry much more as a result.

I haven’t watched Labyrinth, but my sibling has and they really like it! From what I’ve seen of the puppetry, it’s really well done, and the movie seems very fun. Sorry I can’t give a better recommendation than that lol.

If we’re counting stop-motion animation as a form of puppetry (which I personally do considering the models are typically referred to as puppets), then I absolutely recommend checking out the work of LAIKA, which includes productions such as Coraline and Kubo and The Two Strings. I also highly recommend Wendell and Wild, made by former LAIKA supervising director Henry Selick, as well as Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio. All of these films are stunning, and they absolutely deserve the hype that surrounds them.

This one is a bit more preschool-centric, but when I was very little I was OBSESSED with Johnny and The Sprites, and having watched a bit of it again recently, I feel it still holds up somewhat for older audiences. It’s a show about a musician named Johnny who moves to a house in the woods in order to focus on his music only to find that the house is next to Grotto’s Grove, where a species of fairy-like beings called the Sprites live. The series is focused on Johnny teaching the Sprites about human stuff and the Sprites teaching Johnny about Sprite stuff in turn. It’s a very cute and charming show :3

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum is Mystery Science Theater 3000, a show about a man trapped in space with 4 robot companions and forced to watch bad movies as part of an evil science experiment. It’s very goofy and very immature at times, and 99% of the time you need a guide to understand the stuff they reference, but it’s great regardless, and despite being very simple the puppets are really well-designed. Unfortunately, one of the characters is named after the ethnic slur used against Romani people in the show’s original run; it wasn’t done out of any intentional malice and the creators changed her name when the show was revived and viewers expressed their concern, but if that sours your opinion on watching the original show I completely understand.

Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared is a classic, and for good reason - both the original webseries and the tv show riff off of and play with the stereotypes of traditional children’s puppet shows, while still clearly respecting the art of puppetry and giving it their own unique spin. It’s definitely on the spookier/gorier side of things, so MASSIVE content warning if you want to check it out, but DHMIS is very good and I adore it.

And with that, this very very very VERY long list comes to an end. I definitely didn’t mention everything that I wanted to - there are some excellent pieces of puppet media, like Starkid’s Starship, that I just haven’t gotten around to watching and thus can’t properly recommend - but like with the Muppet section, I’d suggest using this as a starting point. There’s a TON of puppet media out there, and this is just scratching the surface!

I hope this list helps, and that you find something on here that you enjoy :D

#I am SO SORRY for how long this got akabwkrnsalsk once you get me talking about puppets I cannot stop

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