#Also also sorry for the two announcement posts in a row you know me I don't do anything for weeks and then come back and do everything

[whump-quotes]

I made a change to the rules - or not really a change, more a clarification!

"Already existing media" now includes your friends stories!

Specifically, I want to start a thing called "Shoutout Saturday"!

So many of the quotes that stayed with me the most I've read right here on tumblr and AO3, and I know I'm not the only one.

So here's what I came up with!

I'll use Saturdays to specifically post submissions from things that gave you whumperflies from 'non-traditional' media be that fanfics, whumblr, etc.

Try to still keep them short-ish!

They should work on their own, without needing the context of the whole story

In your submissions, include which story you got this from, who wrote it, and where we can find it (either a link, or at least tell me the website)

You can submit them all week, I'll just post them on Saturday!

[orionlain]

𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐜��𝐢𝐯𝐞 note: I came back from 2 month hiatus go me! anyways ur gonna see me post more on diff fandoms other than horror. sorry bout that guys love u all tho

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐚𝐧

Your window was open for everyone to see, the curtains being put aside, and with that he could easily take a peek at you.

The mirror light bulb shined upon your skin as you were carefully putting your highlighter around the corner of your eyes. The little specks of glitter and your rosy lip balm complimented your looks, and your hair was put in a tidy style. People would assume you were going on a date. A hookup, a party or the bar. But instead, you were staying home tonight. Why? For your job, which was to open the camera and say hello to your followers.

As you finished your foundation and last touch ups, you started setting up the camera in your computer. Browsing from each web page, and quickly announcing that you were going live for all your fans to flock to your stream. You were grateful for your followers, for the money, but as well as them giving the new found confidence you have nowadays. Your outfits had become more flashier, bold and a bit more risque, and he didn’t like that. Your smile lingered on more, and you received more texts than usual, and he didn’t like that. Your new height of fame and laughter was making you less alert. And that was the only thing he liked, knowing that one day you’ll meet your number one fan, which was him.

He couldn’t lie though, the outfits weren’t so bad, he just wished you wouldn’t have to flaunt it to others. Or that pretty gasp you have on camera when you play a horror game, he wished that you were doing that as he put his knife into you instead. He wished, for everything that you were doing, to those stupid men in the same doormat as you, to those girls who were forcing you to party, to those pesky followers who abide by you no matter what you say; was for him instead. And he wanted so much of you. Even if you didn’t know him, and he was there in front of your house right now as you stream, he wanted you to smile for him as well.

It's been months he's been watching you, he knows what coffee you like, what route you take to go to your lecture, what you order in that nearby bakery. He knows who you interact with in real life, your study friends and your family members, he knows which albums you loved when you went to the vinyl store. And he knows what you do at home. You yell and shout at the game, you make niche jokes about your interests to chat. You scroll down in your constant approvals from the masses, you converse to other creators from an entirely different place of the world.

He knows your two lives. And he found it endearing, found it to be so different from all the other victims he had. When nobody knows what you say and what you are in real life, he does. When nobody on the internet knows what location you were at and what you were studying, he does. He found it so special. Of course, he came into the conclusion he was truly your biggest fan. Whether you put that stupid mask on and off, and you become insane from your two lives blurring into another, he’ll have front row seats to such an event. How sweet.

Ghost_F: Nice shirt cupcake.

“Oh Ghostie! You’re too sweet.” You responded in a flush state. To be honest, you always laughed at the nickname you gave to this fan. You gave this name after he became such a vital follower in the past four months. You can say he was rapidly coming close to being your most noticeable one, after he constantly catches up with your streams daily. He was also giving a hectic amount of money, where you had no clue coming from. Well, he didn’t want you to know that money came from the victims he murdered with cold blood. Maybe next time.

Ghost_F: Whatcha doin’?

“Mhm? I don’t know Ghostie. I believe I’m just gonna talk today. How bout it, chat?” That shirt on you was slowly hanging more down as you face more to the screen, he could see that bra he saw a week ago on a night. It looked good on you. Although, it would’ve been better if there weren't eighty people seeing this as well.

And to his annoyance, your followers agreed to the idea. You were just gonna sit there and stay pretty, which he didn’t mind, but he would rather hear your screams again as you play a game. But, you don’t need a horror game for today. He’ll find a way to help you yelp and cry later.

“Alright chat, let's check the timeline for today- Uh.” You turn your head.

There was a knock on the door. Package delivery? You didn’t order anything. You stand up out of your seat and open your door. There was nothing on the ground. Probably one of those annoying college dudes who prank dorms.

“Sorry, chat! There was a knock on the door. But it was nothing! God, my neighbors are assholes.”

You continued to your stream and shrugged it off as if nothing had happened. You casually just scrolled down onto your posts and saw what was happening to the latest news of your favorite games and movies. Small comments back and forth, making you chuckle, but nothing out of the ordinary. Until one viewer sent out a message in chat.

“Don’t you get scared at night? There's like a killer running around in the streets of your state.”

A fan warned. You heard about the murders happening around the state, especially in your town. But you didn’t seem to be phased by it, knowing how much serial maniacs plague this country with states such as Illinois and Ohio, you became desensitized. Though, you didn’t know so much about the recent papers about this prolific guy.

“Well, I don’t know much about him.” Your chat quickly was then filled with information and rumors. Some say he came from the deep levels of hell, sadistic and twisted. Others told how he looked, how he was covered with a ghastly mask and a dark cloak hiding his figure. More talked about the victims, how they were left in a bloody gruesome mess. Word around the street, he goes by the name Ghostface, because of his uncanny mask. All in all, it freaked you out a little. This man is out free swinging his knife and no police were able to catch him. You started getting paranoid.

Ghost_F: You guys are scaring her. Sweets, don’t listen to them.

“Yeah, chat! I don’t even go out at night, I stay home and talk to you guys. And the likely chance of me getting snatched, is pretty low” You giggle it off.

“Anyways, I’m probably not his type.” You were so wrong.

As you were facing the screen and fidgeting around your hair, you swore you something in the corner of your eye. It stopped you in your tracks. You froze in front of the camera. All of your followers were concerned, asking if you were okay.

“Ah, it’s nothing guys. I’m probably just being paranoid after you guys scare me like that!” You resumed your cool facade. You didn’t want them to know that your legs were bouncing up and down in anticipation for what's next. But you soon finally let yourself calm down, telling your brain it's probably some silly animal or neighbor.

You heard a thump. What was that?

Now you were fully freaked out. You jump out of your setup and slowly walk to the kitchen, to get a pan. You tiptoed to your door, and waited for the figure to come here. The thumping of your heartbeat was all you could hear in your ears, and your breath became anxious as you feared for an intruder coming in. No, no not like this.

In a countdown, you open the door once more. It was bare. Nothing, but you could see a hint of a footprint. Dirt? Blood? You couldn’t tell as it was mixed within the colors of the hallways carpet. But something was going on. And yet you close the entrance to your home, shrugging it off to keep up with your stream. You come back to where you reside, and update your followers. Telling them constantly there was nothing wrong. You brush it off, hoping for them to stop trying to interrogate what had happened. You didn’t wanna think about it too much.

Soon, minutes passed and you finally had your fans stop nagging and continued with the next topic. The nerves in your body were finally going down, and you could see yourself sinking into the chair with relaxation. Nevermind what had happened, it wasn’t your problem anyways.

You received a message.

Who was it? The notification went on your screen, and you check on your account on who it was. Hoping it isn’t a scammer or some creep.

It was revealed to be your follower, Ghostie. Hello, it said.

You message him, asking what’s up. No response. You waited for some sort of confirmation or reply after he said a simple hello. Ominous and a little worrying. You sat there, furrowing your brows as you stood by. The stream was finally coming to a close, and there was still no updated news from the man. You sighed, you’re going to leave it be.

Ghost_F donated 2000 dollars.

“Holy shit! Ghostie, what the hell?” He was toying you at this point. This mysterious user was playing mind games with you, and you had no clue why. Just a pitiful gut in your feelings, waiting and responding with surprises. The night was getting even stranger.

Everybody in the chat was shocked. Praising the guy for the huge donation and telling you deserved it. You felt lost of what to say, how do you even reply to such a generous amount of money? If he keeps it up, your entire debt would be gone by the end of the month. And you couldn’t help but feel shameful, thinking about how you didn’t really do that much. You sat around and played games, there was nothing honorable or worth spending a gold bar on.

“Jesus Christ! That’s the biggest donation I-I ever received.” You look at the camera with your face feeling a little flustered.

“How can I make it up to you?” This will bite you in the ass later.

The man privately messaged you. It says;

Go on a call with me, sweets. Stay on live.

Sketchy, but you didn’t wanna ruin this generous deal. You obliged, and you tell your following that you’ll go on a call with him, expressing your happiness and thanks. None of them opposed the idea, they probably wanted to interact with this unknown user who came into the community out of nowhere. Joking about how this bizarre online stranger was going to make you end up like those victims. And you were curious too, who was this guy? Who was Ghost?

His profile was just a default one, no bio, no additional excerpts, just a username. Hesitating at first, the unknown user startled you, it made you draw back and doubt. But you ignored your gut screaming at you to stop. You wanted to make your number one supporter happy, nothing bad right?

You started the phone call. Sitting there, anticipating for him to join.

“Hello?”

“Hey doll.” Wow. His voice was smooth and raspy. You blushed at the sound of his words, it was all rugged and yet deep. It was attractive, especially with that name he called you, you couldn’t help but feel heat rising on your cheeks. And chat wasn’t helping either, spamming in with comments of how nice he sounded, teasing with your sudden reaction, you could feel embarrassment furrowing into your body.

“Um- well I want to say a huge thanks to you man. Thanks Ghostie!”

He chuckled. Don’t do that!

“No problem sweet’s. You can make it up to me.” His comment piqued your interest. What can you do in return for his huge donation? Play a game? Do a silly prank? Or wear a costume? You didn’t know, but as much as bad as it sounded, it made you curious. The deal was so lucrative. It weighed like a mouse leading to a trap, and you were still wanting to know more. About him. About this mysterious man. About this fan that you couldn’t help but have your eyes on. You needed to know more.

“Pfft- Do I have to wear a cute dress or something?” You tease.

“Oh no doll, I wish though,” Huh? “Just a question would do.”

A question? This guy was really strange. Out of all the things he could’ve told you to do, he wanted to just ask you a question. Hell, you would’ve actually worn something for him if you really had to. He disregarded that option though. Something more he had in mind it seems.

“What’s your favourite horror movie?”

Strange, but nonetheless intriguing. You look back into your memory, thinking of the multiple movies you have watched. You always loved the horror genre, so it would be harder to pick out which ones you loved the most. Nightmare on Elm Street, Hellraiser, Texas Chain Massacre, the list goes on, and you didn’t want to pick such a basic answer. Thinking back to your recent watches, you reminded yourself that you watched Halloween. And you enjoyed that movie, so you’ll use that as an answer.

“Mhm, Halloween. The guy with a white mask and blue outfit.”

“Good pick, cupcake. Why though?”

“Well it was a really good movie, it had a lot of scares and had me tense for a little bit and- chat don’t say that!” Oh god. Chat was telling your real honest opinion of the movie, and said you were lying. Laughing and spreading emotes, and told Ghostie that you liked the movie because of the killer. In a drunken state of mind in one of your past streams, you mentioned that you had the hots for Myers. It haunted you ever since, and you forgot that people remember that little fact of yours. You were punching yourself in the inside, dying from all the humiliation.

“You have a crush on Myers?” He asked, chuckling on the side. He was happy knowing he was your type.

“Yeah. God that’s so bad. I-I don’t know how to explain it, I mean he’s a killer!” You giggled in response. Admitting to how hilarious and humbling it is. All the while, the other side of the phone is smiling underneath the mask. Smirking with your cute answer, he can’t help but to awe at your little face cringing from chat nagging on to you. He couldn’t wait for you to realize that he was one too. A dirty, murderous, criminal, who has eyes on you. He couldn’t wait for you to look at him and see your adorable face.

“It’s not that bad, sweets. People love bad boys.” You could hear his grin even if you didn’t see his face.

“Ok, ok, just ask me a different question!”

“Alright, alright. Hm. You got a guy?” Oh christ! You stood aghast, a little shocked from the boldness. In front of viewers too, he didn’t care that you had fanboys or loyal people loving you. Yet, you played along, wanting to tease around as if you were interacting with a beast. You were too curious to give up.

“No, I’m too busy with streaming and school. Are you hitting on me or something?” His laughter ensued, it sounded mischievous.

“I don’t know, am I? Tell me doll, do you think I am?” He was playing with you. Taunting you. You didn’t know how to respond, it made you stutter with your words. You hated it so much. But, god, was it attractive.

“I mean- I don’t know! I think you are!” His laugh became even more boisterous. You were just so fun to tease. He never had a victim like this in a while. Never had a girl like you being so eager and yet so hesitant. It amuses him, your defiance brings him entertainment like never before.

“Oh cupcake! You’re making me laugh.” You giggle back to him. “I just have one more question.”

“Ok, ok. What Ghostie?”

“Where do you live?”

What?

You froze. You didn’t know if you were hallucinating what he just said, but the silence told you otherwise. He means it. Chat became quiet. They were just sending messages with emojis seconds ago, and now becoming fearful as you were. Your mouth went dry, and you could feel your throat perk up.

“I can’t, can’t say that.” Your eyes well up, what do you do?

His breath was becoming noticeable. And his voice changed into a more sinister tone.

“That’s okay. I already know anyway.”

He immediately left. And you look to chat. They were just as puzzled and terrified as you were. Shaken to your core, you end the stream. What just happened? It was supposed to be a joke, but now it ended up as something much more threatening and dark. Due to this, you jumped out of your seat, and ran to the door for the third time.

Checking the peephole, hoping to not see a single being outside your unit. Your hands were shaking. Nervous and petrified, you get away from the entrance again. Your brain was playing tricks with you, or there really was someone else playing with you.

Though, you could hear notifications going off in the background. Your fans were concerned for you. Asking if you were okay, if you were safe, and all you could respond with was a yes. It was a troll you assume. A terrible, scary one to be exact. Until a message popped up onto the top of your screen.

Ghost_F: See you soon.

Alarmed, you press onto the profile. It was deleted. Content unavailable. You were fucking freaked out. You called your friends, hoping to be comforted and gain help. But no response avails.

You sat there on your chair instead. Heart beating to the extreme lengths to the point where you could hear it ringing in your ears. Staring at the screen, looking at the message, trying to see if you can decipher its cryptic tone. Hoping to think positively, you put it aside and think it’s a joke. All streamers go through it, having a creepy encounter with viewers, and this is the same thing. Nothing dangerous is going to happen, it’s just some weirdo freaking you out. Right? Yeah it is. It’s just an offhand interaction.

Sighing, you closed the computer and went to the bathroom. Cleaning yourself up and pondering to yourself, if that was really true. And coming back to your bed, relaxing as you scroll on your phone to remind people that it’s just a troll. Mentioning you thousand of times with concern, and telling you it was a real threat. Although, you ignored it. Was it actually a threat? Probably not, because it’s been hours since the incident, and you were laying down on the bed. Nothing was going to happen.

You rest your eyes, and think ahead of the stupid troll. The creep with a sultry voice. You didn’t wanna mind it. It was just a fake threat after all.

You woke up. You heard a thump within the walls. Probably the neighbor's cat is acting up again. With your foggy brain and eyelids, you travel to your hallway and press the light switch to check what was there. You couldn’t tell if there was something black in your eyes, but you presumed it was nothing. You finally ended up in the kitchen from your hazed walk, and glanced at what was ahead of you.

The kitchen was empty. No creepy dude, it was fake!

You walked and got a glass in your cupboards. Your shorts were slowly sliding up as you tried to stretch to get a cup in the back of your cutlery. Feeling your shirt also slowly lifting up as you grabbed the object. Your feet finally face the ground when you are done getting the glass, and you turn your back around. Incline to having it be filled with water.

“Boo.”

The glass dropped. Forget water. You shrieked in horror. It was a man covered in a mask, cloaked with a black hood. The mask was detailed with a look of horror, eyes piercing hollow black, and wrinkles to enhance the uncanniness.

“You’re even cuter in real life.” No. No. No.

It was the killer your chat was talking about. It was the mysterious man who sent you the donation. And it was the user who threatened you on call. It all added up. You could feel you chastise your brain for being so foolish, for being so damn stupid. For being so curious.

“I-Is that you?” Your voice shakes in fear. He responds by caressing your face, and pining you closer to the counter beneath the cupboards you were just rummaging into. You feel your back slowly leaning back into the furniture, as he goes closer to you.

“Uh huh, it’s me baby.” His pet names made your stomach churn.

“Are you happy to see me, hm? I think you should be. I mean, I saw you blushing just by the sound of my voice, sweets.” He cackles at the end of his sentence. He enjoyed this. He enjoyed the way you looked at him with those pretty eyes of yours, pleading for his mercy. It was better than he imagined.

“You’re- you’re the killer? You’re, you’re-“

“Ghostface. That’s right baby. Awh, don’t tell me you’re terrified? Earlier, you said you had a little crush on Michael. I’m exactly your type. Maybe a little more talkative, but you get the idea sweetheart!”

He was snarky, condescending and overall, fucking with you. You didn’t know what else to muster but a little placid gasp as he leaned into you. He was built entirely different from yours, toppling your body. His hold backed you into a corner, defenseless and armless. It was a recipe for the end of your life.

“Look at you. Trying so hard to look away from me-“ His sharp blade went to your throat. Forcing you to stare at his blank dark eyes. You still resisted. “Don’t be such a bitch. I gave a generous donation, didn't I? Let me tell you, it wasn’t easy killing all of the guys crushing on you and stealing their money.”

“The fuck! You freak-“

“Freak? Rich coming from you. Babe, I’ve seen your search results.” He chuckled harshly. Oh god.

“It’s filled with some of the sickest shit. You love a killer. You know it’s so, so, so bad to like a man like me?”

“And your kinks. Oh sweet girl, you’re just asking to be gutted. And not in a bloody way either.” Even if he was covered behind a whole costume, you can practically hear his maniac smile. You can hear the tone of voice being clouded with figments of lust, and you hated it. But you proved his point, you could feel yourself squeezing your thighs, for some sort of stimulation, friction or movement.

“Mhm, I know what you’re doing sweetie. So needy.” His words were going to kill you before he ever could. It made your heart thump and filled your belly with butterflies. The attention was getting to you. You had to start thinking fast, to defend yourself in some sort of way. But his body and twisted words held you back from doing so. Although, that unwashed pan in the sink may be the trick. With no thought, you swiftly grabbed the cooking instrument, and swung into his head.

“FUCK! You goddamn whore, you’re going to fucking get it!”

You ran. Ran as fast as you could like those final girls in the movies you watch. Ran towards your bedroom, hoping to escape by jumping out of a window. It wasn’t the greatest plan, but breaking your leg out of survival, seems to be so much better than being a news headline. As you hastily open the glass window, sliding it in a painful slow motion, you put your whole body to ensure you flee. Outside was waiting for you, and you could see yourself escape from the monster. Just as you were so close to getting out of the building, you felt the hem of your shirt being tugged.

You tumbled down, hitting the floor. He grabbed you away from freedom.

“That was close. Ha, cupcake, you gotta be the feistiest one yet,”

“Makes you all the more of a treat to me.”

He puts his boot onto your back, stepping on your laying body. He tied you up with scattered ropes and brandished you like a present. You could feel your lungs giving up as he put more pressure into your figure, and your eyes started to tear up out of pain. Whines could be heard out of your mouth and you forced curses to be thrown towards your intruder.

“I warned you, didn’t I bitch?” He took a fist full of your hair, making you have to kneel and look at him. Putting you in a position that was very revealing. Right in front of his crotch. It was embarrassing, and yet your body was heating up.

“Just get on with it. Kill me.” Your comment was then returned with laughter. As if you were the one that’s insane.

“No, no, no way sweets. I have so much more to do with you, y’know?” He lowered his body, titling his head as he was now in your eye range. With his movement mocking you, as if you were a little puppy. “I’m doing a favor for you, baby.” His hands traced onto your legs, dangerously reaching down into inner thighs.

“You wanted a sick man to fuck you, right? I’m going to do that. I’m going to make you scream, making up for all the times that I saw you touching yourself, thinking about a slasher like me fucking you. I’m going to make you cry, making up for all those men who didn’t pound you right.” His gloved hands were now placed upon your pussy. Rubbing you up and down on your clothed slit, eliciting sweet sounds from you. You cried out to him, and he responded by making his fingers go faster.

“I’m going to make you mine. The only fucking thing you’ll think about is me, a murderer.” His touch was fucking you stupid, drool slowly dripped out of your mouth. He took notice of that and giggles ensued from his mouth. You were being so obedient, in such little time.

“Good girl. Look at you! I’m just rubbing your cunt, and you’re whimpering like a bitch. Fuck, baby.” There he finally stopped teasing you, and swiftly plunged his fingers within your shorts. A yelp escaped out of your throat, and he laughed even more. Panting, your hand grabbed his wrist, hoping for him to stop going so rough. It was immediately shut down, by his arm pinning your palms down. Showing how much more power he had over you. Manhandling you like a little toy.

“Ha- Ghos- Ghost-“

“You can’t even form a sentence. Fucking slut.” In a second, he stopped moving. He took his fingers out of your insides and you whined loudly. No no no! You were so close!

“You don’t deserve to cum. Not fucking yet. You will when you’re done your part, sweets.” He stood up, and towered over you. His hands were now fidgeting with the zipper of his pants, rushing for his erection to breathe. His ache lasted for hours, even before he came to visit you. When he was calling with you, he was so fucking close to just whipping his cock out and fisting it up and down with the sound of your voice. His obsession with you was that bad. It made him even more insane, seeing you afar and in hearing you, your flesh drove him crazy. With your ass around, he couldn’t focus on writing reports of his own victims, since his attention was all to you. He hated it. He hated how much he needed to fuck you, or kill you, it didn’t matter either way, he just had to have you. To make up for all the times he was too distracted to kill or report on news.

His dick finally came out of his slacks and hooded cloak. You were a little entranced. It’s been fucking ages since you took one in your mouth, probably because of him killing all of your suitors, and you felt unprepared.

“Suck. And don’t even fucking think of putting your teeth onto me.” You obliged. With your hands out of the questions, you made sure your mouth was able to take it. Slowly, you teased upon the tip and quickly made your way down his length. And with that, he responded with grunts.

“Fuckk, god. You’re so fucking good at this cupcake.” His hands fondled the top of your head. Resulting into him tugging the strands of your hair.

“Your mouth is so tight. Expected from a bitch like you. I can’t wait to fucking gut your pussy.” He rasped out, and soon his hands had moved to his rhythm onto your skull. Forcing you to bob up and down his dick. Your throat was now filled to the brim, and you started choking. He could hear you struggle, you mouthing that you couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t care. He kept on going, and your oxygen was dying out.

But he finally stopped when he realized you were going to actually pass out. Controlling himself from throatfucking you to unconsciousness, mainly because he wanted to hear more of your whimpers, but he considered you lucky. “Breathe babe, breathe.”

Taking a fresh gasp of air, away from the penetrating taste, he held your hair to the back. This probably was the only time he was ‘kind’ to you. And then you quickly went back.

Thrust after thrust, he was coming close. It was noticeable as his hands were becoming more frantic. Craving for a release. All the while you were squirming your legs for some sort of stimulation. The wet pooling onto your panties was driving you insane. You needed to be filled up, bad.

Finally he came into your mouth. The tangy substance filling up the space. Little drops were slowly falling down but he quickly wiped it from your face, looking proud of his work.

“Swallow it for me babe.”

You obeyed.

“Atta girl.”

You got up. But he quickly deflected your action.

“Ah ah. I’m not done yet.”

You looked at him with a furrow. As horny as you were, you still hoped this would be done shortly. But he still continues. Fuck.

“What- I thought-“

“Mr. Ghostface, please don’t tell me you’re gonna fuck me!” He mocked. “C’mon, I like my toys stupid, but you can’t be that fucking dumb babe.”

He pushed you into the bed. You lay upon your sheets catching your breath, and your cute top had a little peak of your breasts. Your face was filled with slob, and your shorts were absolutely drenched. A beautiful sight indeed.

“Wait, before I ruin you, let me just-“

He whipped out a camera from his back pocket.

Click!

“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He constantly rubbed on your thigh as he did a whole photoshoot of your body. Your back arches little by little as he continues to stimulate your skin. And his hand slowly takes something out of the backsides of his pants. A knife. You yelped out of surprise.

“Oh baby, don’t worry. I’m just going to remove your clothes. I’m not going to hurt you,” He snickered. Putting the blade upon the fabrics and ripping it apart to give a pathway. But he intentionally cuts a little part of your skin as he forcefully parts your pants. Allowing him to brand you. “Yet.”

Finally, you were bare. Fully naked and vulnerable in front of this clothed intruder.

“You look even better up close, y’know? Fuck. I just knew you were perfect for me.” His dick was caressing your folds, making you scrunch your eyes in response to control your whimpers. You were so sensitive, that little tears started forming from your eyes. “Maybe I should just fucking take you away. Maybe I should just keep you in some basement, naked and shivering, huh? But knowing from you, you’d probably fucking like it.”

“You’re a whore, you know that?” All you could respond was cute little grunts to his stimulation and comments, “Mhm, but you're my whore.”

He inserts it with no warning. You gasp out of shock. His dick was really caressing the corners of your insides. And you could feel contraction from the penetration. It felt like it couldn’t fit at all.

“Sh-shit! So god damn tight! God-“ Ghostface was spasming from the way you tightened around him. Even with the slow pace, it felt agonizingly strained and painful. But you didn’t mind at all, because of how much it was stretching you so well. Filling up the need and wants in every right direction.

“So- so much!” You whined. You didn’t know if you were pleading him to take it slow, or go rapidly fast, but you definitely wanted him to keep going. To keep pushing you to the brim until you can’t think anymore, fucked with no words left to speak. To keep rubbing up and down till you start screaming, babbling with no thoughts to fill in your head. You needed this so bad.

“I know, I know- fuck, christ doll.” The masked man shuddered upon his words. He was as smitten as you were. The way your hole pulsed and tightened as he went further. The way your face is all flushed and cute as he rammed into you. The way your breasts move up and down as he makes you spasm and moan. Your cute little eyes, struggling to keep wide open from the hazy sex. He really couldn’t get enough of you. He really wanted to you fuck you up more and more.

“Ha- I knew you would fucking like this. You love being a sick freak taking in a murderer's cock. You love it, don’t you, don’t you baby?” His hands were caressing your skin as you whimpered. The latex stimulating you as your mind runs wild on the touches and senses you were feeling. At this rate, you were going to finish, and it couldn’t help when you were contracting more and more.

“Yeah that’s right. I could feel your fucking cunt clenching me, you gonna cum? Hm?”

You gave no response, too dazed to comprehend what he said. He slapped your face for you to snap out of your drunken phase.

“I said, whore. Are you gonna cum around my cock?”

“Y-yes!” He started going faster. Abusing your cunt even more and more. You started gasping for air with the amount of assault he was doing to you. Bringing you to the edge. “Mr. Ghostface I-Im going to-“

“Aww, it’s so much isn’t it? Well too fucking bad. You can only cum when I say so, so fucking take it. Or i’ll fucking slice your throat into two.” He maliciously spat.

“Or are you that desperate that you would rather have me fucking gut you, just so you can cum? I wouldn’t even be surprised.” Laughing ensued after he remarked how pathetic and dumb you look. You were all mindless, continuously just taking in and out like a toy. And the worst part, you enjoyed it, loved it and wanted more and more.

“I’ll be nice this time. Beg for me.”

“Huh?” You muttered, confused and not knowing what he just ordered.

“I said beg. Are you fucking stupid? Beg. Beg for you to fucking cum. I know how much you fucking need it.”

You swallowed your pride. It’s too late to do anything more to save your face. Look at the state you were in. Sweat, back arching and drool slowly forming from your mouth. Nothing is reputable with this. You looked like a whore. And he knew damn well he made you into one.

“Ple-please.?”

“Is that all you got? Beg. Beg fucking harder!” He slapped your cunt in order to elicit a reaction out of you.

“I- fuck- fuck! Please, pleasee! Please let me cum! Please, Mr. Ghostface! Please, I need it! I fucking need it! I need it so bad! I need you to fucking fill me! Just- let me- me cum!” You were babbling at this point. Saying all of this under his will.

“I need it so bad! I need it. I need you! I need you!” You reached for his mask. Showing how terribly desperate you wanted for some kind of release.

“Atta fucking girl.” He put his mask to the side. “Come here.”

He penetrated with his tongue inside your mouth. You whisper and moan, faltering around his body. Your arms were frenzied all over his shoulders. You were needy. And most of all, so fucking horny.

“You wanna cum? Yeah?”

“Uh huh!”

“Go ahead, sweets. Cum around my cock. I’m gonna fucking fill you up.” There it went, his pace going harder and harder. Louder and more frantic.

“Cum for me. Cum for me, pretty. Cum for your fucking killer.”

And you did. With a loud whine you came around everywhere. A load filling you up as you spasm with his dick still in you. Your body automatically faltered on the bed, tired and so fucking full. He pulled out, having your cunt leak out all the fluids. You were absolutely fucking gutted.

Click!

You heard a camera snap. You would’ve protested but your legs would have probably given up if you tried.

“I’m keeping that one baby. Displaying it on the top of my fridge.”

“Here.” As his last ‘gift’ to you, he marked your neck. A purple bruise, prominent and easily noticeable.

“Stream tomorrow, cupcake. And show my fucking mark on you proudly.”

He wanted to make sure he was definitely your favorite follower. Wanted to show everyone one of your fans that you’re his now. And it was completely obvious with how much he had made you into his.

Next time, he’ll do it live. And maybe, he’ll bring some other fans he knows of.

Maybe that son of a bitch, Michael would join in.

“I’m your biggest fan, sweets. Don’t forget that.” He said, leaving you in your bed, while he left your house.

And he believed that you already knew.

[y2xnjn]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ racer!taehyun (nsfw 18+)

— a/n: this look will forever be iconic 😖 also i barely know anything about racing or cars, i'm so sorry if this is inaccurate

✧ racer!tyun x fem!reader, wc: 1.8k

✧ warnings: smut— MDNI! tyun is lowk cocky, car sex, unprotected sex, grinding, fingering, pet names, creampie

your heartbeat speeds up when you see the row of cars, each one at a different pace than the other but all so fast that the sound of the friction between the fast tires and the concrete road makes you wince for a split second. they all look like colors passing you by as you wait on the sidelines, cheers and screams on either side of you, people nearly toppling over each other to get a closer look. you watch as each carl crosses the finish line, so close to one another you’re unable to identify which one placed first until you hear your boyfriend’s name being announced on the megaphone, and your friends are cheering by your side.

catching taehyun’s eyes as he exits out of the black and red-striped car with an obnoxious slam of the car door and a cocky smile on his face as if he thinks he’s the best–cause he is–you attempt to run up to his side, sliding by the planted post, but a guard stops you, his large figure blocking your view.

“excuse me, miss. you can’t go up there,” he says, a snarky smirk on his face as he puts his hands right above your breasts to push you back, clearly delighted by the touch of your cleavage. you try to push his hands off of you, your friends also clearly disgusted by the sight as they try to pull you away, but he doesn’t budge, using the excuse that he’s just making sure the racers are safe from any ‘threats’. lucky for you, taehyun ignores the calls of his name by the judges who are ready to present him his award and makes his way towards you instead. he comes up behind the guard and pushes him out of the way, his body being significantly smaller in height, but still dominated by muscle, a result of his time at the gym.

"she's with me, dipshit." he glares at him, and he gladly moves to where he was standing before with an apologetic look on his face. taehyun takes your hand in his and leads you up to the podium with him. you roll your eyes at the way your girlfriends giggle and 'ooh' as he gives you a quick peck on your cheek. you reciprocate, squeezing his hand tighter, a way of saying your congratulations; of course there will be more later, but for now, this will do. he steps up on the podium, you wait at the bottom insisting this is his moment, and you don't want to intrude. taehyun says to come up with him almost every time he wins—many many times—claiming that the two of you are partners, and he can't do any of this without your support, but you know he should be given the chance to be his own entity in front of the world, and you're happy at the sidelines.

he grins when the award is placed in his hand, looking directly at you, and you show your look of endearment back until you see a cameraman waiting for him and gesture at him to look forward. he does, and many photos are taken with many people, many words of pride and cheers from his supporters, until he's finally free and leading the two of you away to his car. his own car is a beauty, a stunning blu abu dhabi ferrari 296 gtb, a gift to himself after winning a special race, and also, your favorite car of his because you love the way he gets relaxed and confident when he drives it.

the garage is dark, dimly lit by a few suspended light fixtures throughout, mostly emptied out due to the time, so taehyun takes this chance to press you against the door of his car. he places the trophy on the hood in a position where it won't fall—not that he cares if it does, he has many more— and tangles one hand in your hair while the other rests on your hip, his lips making their way to yours. he kisses you a few times until he travels down to your neck when you open your mouth to speak.

"tae, you did so well today," you breathe out, eyes fluttering shut when his thigh presses directly against your crotch.

"i always do well, baby." he speaks against your skin, breath warm and minty. "it's nothing new." you roll your eyes and sigh playfully, taehyun was always confident, and you admired it.

"i know, but i'm just—" he flexes his thigh cutting you off, and you feel his grin against your neck when you struggle to find your words. "i'm so proud of you—shit, you worked s-so hard, and you—you looked so, i can't— fuck, tyun."

the way he grinds his leg against you has you throwing your head back, eyes clenched shut because the muscle has somehow found the exact spot that has you whining and throbbing against him. your cotton panties barely covered by your miniskirt leaving you exposed to him, your arousal leaking on his leather pants. "aw, baby," he coos, but he sounds evil as he says it, "i know, and i appreciate you so much. my girl is always there for me, hm?"

the kisses on your neck halt as he looks up at the way you're already so fucked out, just from kissing and a few rocks of his thigh. taehyun grins at the sight, licking his lips and holding your face when you don't respond. "answer me." you nod eagerly, widening your doe eyes, wanting to show your full support. "wanna show me how proud you are?"

he moves away from you, a whine leaving your lips at the loss of his touch, but he opens the door to the front passenger seat and sits himself down, patting his thigh, his boba eyes looking up at you, waiting for you. you take a seat on his lap, somehow closer than before, and he closes the door, locking the door. you can barely see taehyun in the darkness of it all, but you can definitely feel him underneath you.

his lips return to yours, catching them in a quick breath, and his fingers trace up from your thighs to prod at your entrance. you gasp against his lips, and he groans at the wetness of the cloth at his fingertips before tugging it to the side and slipping two fingers inside you. you grab at his jacket and tug him closer, gripping it tightly while he thrusts his digits into you relentlessly. "tyun, please— can i ride you? wanna feel you."

"of course baby, lemme just— fuck, need you to cum on my fingers first," he watches the way you grind against his hand in mesmerization, obsessed with the way your arousal drips in between your legs on his expensive leather. taehyun tugs at your low cut top, revealing your breasts, and he hangs his head low to nip at the supple skin. he pumps into you faster, finding it a necessity to have you cum, and you finally do not long after, a whine of his name falling from your lips.

you find yourself unbuttoning his pants quickly, in a rush to have him inside you, as he finds his way back to your mouth, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip. struggling to get his tight leather pants down his hips, wailing in desperation, he grabs your hands, putting them around his neck, and does it himself, pulling his cock out, hard as it slaps against his stomach. he throws his head back in relief, having been constrained in his underwear but snaps back up when he feels your folds rub at his tip, dripping down his shaft. he pulls your hips down, slowly taking him inch by inch as you wince at the stretch of his length filling up your walls. taehyun groans, a grip on your hips as you sink onto him. "fuck, my girl is so tight. so wet and warm—shiitt."

once he bottoms out inside you, his hips tightly pressed against your, he sighs loudly, bucking his hips up into you. you nearly topple over, having to grab his shoulders to balance yourself until you're able to move. you roll onto him, a slow grind contrasting with your hurried movements from earlier. the angle, the intimacy, the expensiveness of it all has you enjoying it all more, loud moans slipping out with every movement. his eyes zone in on where the two of you meet, loving the wet sounds that are produced. "baby’s so proud of me, she's leaking all over my seats,” he shakes his head, “how dirty."

you frown, knowing he paid a lot for this car, and you’re spoiling it, tears well up in your eyes, and you mindlessly sniffle out apologies. “don’t worry, baby. i would buy a thousand cars just to fuck you in each one,” his words are spoken against your chest, and your back arches when his hips thrust into a certain spot, his teeth scraping your and adding to the stimulation. his jacket being clawed at by your fingers, needing something to maintain the rise and fall of your body on his length.

"soso full tyun, i— fuck, s-so good—you're fucking me so good," you cry out, spurring him on. he lifts you up and lays your head on his dashboard, taking over and pounding into you with a new angle that has you losing your mind. his hand crawls up your back, and finds its way in your hair pulling it back to reveal your flushed neck, filled with his marks. he leans forward to make more, the zipper of his jacket brushing against your hardened nipples, making you squeal.

"you know i think about you when im racing? thinking about how good i get to fuck you when i'm done. how fast i'd give it to you, and it just makes me go faster." you whine at his words, getting close to your climax.

"i'm close, tyun. please fill me up."

"yeah? want me to make an even bigger mess? " he lets go of your hair, reaching down to circle your clit, pushing you over the edge as you tighten around him. "gonna smell you all over my car, baby." he twitches inside you, the feeling of you clenching unable to ignore, and releases, his fluids leaking out to join yours on the chair. taehyun pulls your limp body back up against him, pulling out with a wince and tucking himself back into his pants. "we should make this a ritual."

his words bring you back, and you look up at him with sleepy eyes and a tired smile. "what, you fuck me every time you win?" he nods, delight on his face, and he gathers tissues from the center compartment and cleans the two of you up— starting with his seats. "no thanks, tyun. you almost always win, my legs will give out one day." he gives you a sweet kiss, a giggle attached to it.

"that's okay, i'll just drive you around everywhere myself."

[tealrootsgerardwayreal]

Can I just say that I lost, regained, lost again but now regained my hope in MCR5??

This last week was really something.

I feel like with the whole L.S. Dunes album, MCR wouldn't release new music because obviously Frank is going to be busy with that. Like that is what made me not believe in it instead of Frank verbally saying that he doesn't think that MCR will ever work on any new music again.

But also, the day after night one of WWWYF I just started thinking to myself, they look like they're really enjoying this and that made me think why wouldn't they want to release new music, or at least tour again??

For the whole year, I had told myself that if MCR5 wasn't announced at When We Were Young, it's not happening. But this morning after watching that livestream, I couldn't even bring myself to be sad about it because I was on such a high from seeing them perform for two nights in a row. It was only until I was in period 3 Spanish which was so fucking boring might I add I don't like my teacher I want my other one back, that I realised that this probably meant no MCR5. Like they seriously looked like they had no intention of doing anything else after this festival from that performance.

But then I just thought to myself again. That whole "gift of music" shit made me think that maybe, just maybe we'll get MCR5. Obviously Gerard was referring to them performing live, but guys I am so fucking delusional and I do genuinely believe it's real. I don't think that Danger Days will be their last ever work, because it just doesn't sit right with me. After what we saw at When We Were Young Festival, the black funeral-looking outfits, the stuff being displayed behind them, I don't think they would want their last work to be something fun and colourful like Danger Days but something more mature and dark. I guess you could argue that's what Foundations is, but I don't think Foundations is enough to sum up this era of MCR.

As well as that, we know they like playing live. Gerard literally said it during the Return tour and Frank mentioned how he thought of MCR headlining Reading & Leeds (oh my god please do, this one I can actually go to) in a kerrang interview in January this year.

Do I think that it's happening any time soon? No. Do I think that it will happen? Yes. Maybe late 2025, 2026.

As for Frank saying that he doesn't think that MCR will make any new music, I quite simply don't believe him, especially after what he said about MCR's return like DO NOT TRUST THIS MAN GUYS

I'm not trying to be pessimistic, and in all honesty, I am praying that MCR's instagram is gonna make a surprise post and tell us that a fifth album is real the next morning, but I really wanted to post this somewhere and I made this blog to yap about my special interest so I'm sorry if this has upset anyone

If anyone has read this far, please leave your opinion in the comments I wanna hear what other people are thinking

[madl-y]

✧. ┊— you're the one that I like (I can't deny)

3 times Orter Mádl denied his affection for someone, and the one time he was too tired to defend himself.

sypnosis – the other divive visionaries are sick of seeing orter lovesick (despite being amused themselves) so they try to push him to confess. (they, mainly being kaldo and ryoh. lance was there unwillingly)

> no tw! fluff! hopefully not ooc..? beware of grammar and spelling mistakes (sorry..)

> set in post innocent zero! so mild manga spoilers :"DD

> its also been a while since i've started writing fics again! this was kind of an impulse decision ahahaha...!

> i also didn't expect this to be long! sorry :"D

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

1 - 3 : EASTON ACADEMY

Orter Mádl never thought he'd see you again.

This is the third time in a row that he, alongside with another person, finished the assigned mission in each class that gives silver coins. Orter glances at the side, where another student slowly walks to the front as the teacher sang praises about them. Of course never forgetting the 'lectures' on how everyone should take inspiration from the two of them. (Frankly, it was getting quite sickening to hear.)

He kept his gaze at the front, while his awareness and attention is still directed at you. You, who always managed to keep up with him in tasks and classes. You, who despite having a weak personal magic, had always excelled at other spells. It was to the point where higher level year spells and advance magic was so easy for you.

You, who Orter thought that the first piece of the silver coin you got was a fluke.

Evidently enough, it wasn't.

Finally, after a lot of unnecessary speeches and praises, Orter and you are able to go back with the rest of the class. It seems most students were willing to run away the moment the teacher announced class was over.

Orter pushed his glasses and sighed. He finally felt the weight of his pocket from the gold coins he acquired recently.

Just from looking at you, Orter knew you felt the weight too.

Its nothing new. Clearly, Easton has a lot of students that were born talented. Easton in itself is a privilege. The best and the talented are here. Orter knew he'll have to face a lot of strong magic users just to carve his path towards becoming a Divine Visionary.

He must become one. Someone needs to maintain order. He needs to punish all those who dare and try go against society. He needs to fulfill his wish—

"Orter, aren't you going?" He blinked. Surprisingly, (or not really) Orter found himself still rooted on the grass. His previous place just a few steps behind him.

Ah, right. Someone called out to him.

That someone gazed up to him. Orter got used to people having to slightly tilt their head up from how tall he is. Though, he never noticed that your height reached his shoulders.

"Orter?" You called out again.

Orter shook his head, trying to keep his mind from wandering elsewhere.

Somehow, this always happens. Its always whenever the two of your interact with each other. Orter gets distracted and gods knows why!

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

It somewhat became a routine from how it always happens when Orter and you interact.

Its always you who's initiating. A simple greeting in the hallway. A simple show of respect to Orter's achievements. A simple saying of "congratulations" whenever Orter finishes first in class quizzes.

And it always follows up with an act of concern to when Orter spaces out.

Because somehow, he always ends up thinking of you. How did you keep up? What did you do? What magic spells were you able to wield so easily, yet you're own personal magic was so weak? Why were you talking to him? Did you want to become a Divine Visionary? Should he expect you as a future enemy? Why do your eyes always look like they're shining under the bright warm sun? Why—

"If you excuse me, I need to go." Orter bowed before walking away. He hasten his pace at the mere sound of your voice that stopped midway to ask something of him.

Why is it that its always you he exerts his effort to think about?

Its irrational. Its... nonsense.

Yet somehow, he couldn't help but think how prettier you are up close.

And its ridiculous to think about.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

2 - 3 : BUREAU OF MAGIC

When Orter thought that you might be working alongside with him, he didn't mean with you as just an assistant.

"You really saved me time, thanks!"

"These notes are so well organized... I should learn from you."

"I'm starting to see why the Divine Visionaries respect you alot."

"Heh..? Not bad from an assistant."

"Be nice, Renatus."

"Shut up, you stuck up hag." Sophina Biblia glared at the foul word.

"You–!"

"Would you like some honey sashimi with me?"

"With all due respect, Kaldo." You blankly stared at the Flame Cane and his abomination of a... food choice. "You're tastes in food and honey combinations are the worst thing ever." Kaldo felt an arrow struck through him. The palm of your hand raised up in front of him indicated that you were rejecting his food taste (like everyone else) and flopped to the floor in pain.

The other two visionaries sighed.

"Orter, here is your schedule for today and tomorrow. One of the chiefs in the Police force would like to schedule a meeting with you. Nerey's still clarifying who's attending though." You handed a folder to Orter while ignoring the bickering behind the two of you.

Orter nodded. "I'll take note of that. Although," He took a quick glance at the cup of coffee on your other hand. "I thought you don't drink coffee anymore?"

"Oh, this is for you."

Orter blinked, before pushing up his glasses. "I don't recall ordering one."

"What? Don't tell me you suddenly dislike coffee?" You leaned in with a teasing grin. Any outsider would think that the Sand Cane looks unamused, but working with Orter for a long time means you've known every expression of his, no matter how stoic.

"I didn't say I dislike coffee." Orter sighed.

"Yeah? Then, here you go." You lightly shoved the cup of coffee towards Orter. It looks so casual, as if its something you've done for a long time.

And it is something you've done for a long time.

Orter accepts the coffee. Gingerly taking care of the cup in his hands. His fingers subtly touch against yours.

Its always the same, and yet Orter still feels that small budding affection in him. (Not that he would show it, of course.)

A coworker calls your name. You immediately follow him down the hallway while giving a quick smile to Orter. He nods briefly as he watches your back retreating further.

Actually, Orter already drank a cup of coffee a while ago. He usually doesn't order a second one. He dislikes the feeling him palpitating in the middle of work. It only happened twice, but he refuses to feel it again.

Still, every cup you give him unknowingly, he takes it.

He licks his lips as the warm liquid travels down his throat. Its sweet.

Its sweeter than he's used to. He prefers it with less sugar, and absolutely refuses to let Kaldo brew his cup of coffee.

He takes one more sip.

Orter doesn't mind as he walks back to his office with the cup of coffee and folder in hand.

The next day, you find a freshly brewed cup of tea on your desk.

You tilt your head questioningly. This is a first that's happened ever.

You look around to see if there were someone nearby. Most of them were walking past and chatting with one another.

It tasted good at least. (After confirming that it wasn't poisoned. You wouldn't know what to feel if there was someone who wants you dead.)

Weeks pass by, and there's been at least two times that it has happened. It happens at random times so you weren't sure what the pattern was.

But clearly, the Divine Visionaries know something. Every time you ask, however, they just smile or sigh while giving you a cryptic answer.

Orter just shrugs and walks away.

"Hey-! I wasn't done talking to you!"

"Well, I am." Is what he always replies.

Soon after, Ryoh slings his arms around Orter and gives him a grin. "So... you like her?"

Orter pauses in his steps, before blankly staring at the smug Light Cane. "Her?"

Kaldo emerged from the sides. "Oh? Never thought you were the type to play dumb." His smile grows at the bristled look Orter directed at him.

"I'm not playing dumb."

"Sure."

"Its just that, she's the one you only prepare tea just right before she arrives at work. You don't do that to anyone else." Orter stares at Ryoh, who just smiles knowingly. Nothing escapes the Light Cane afterall.

"My, my, who thought that I have a rival in finding ways to charm a girl? Me, the greatest creation–" Orter shrugs off the narcissist before he can start his self narration.

Kaldo walks beside Orter, "So, you truly like her?"

Orter sighed, pushing his glasses in habit. "I don't."

Kaldo hummed in thought, "I'm not convinced." The Flame Cane frowned. "You two seem to get along well. No plans of confessing?" He tries to push further for answers, which makes Orter irritated.

"If you're not convinced, that's not my problem." Gold eyes glared sharply. "Again, I don't like her. I'm just giving back favors. I don't know about you, but I don't think gossiping is how a visionary should spend their day."

With that, Orter walks away ignoring the stares from the two.

It's natural to repay favors. You don't need to know Orter was the one brewing the tea on your desk after every coffee you give him.

Kaldo and Ryoh stared before smiling at each other.

"He likes her." Ryoh grinned.

Kaldo nodded in agreement.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

3 - 3 : EASTON ACADEMY

The bell rang indicating that class is finally over. Which also means that you have successfully made it through the whole day while teaching.... enthusiastic students. (The amount of headaches you've received from teaching students the most basic spells. Offense spells, especially.)

You greeted one last goodbye to the class before heading out towards the faculty.

While your main job is a secretary position in the Bureau, you were also recruited to teach at Easton for once a week. Mostly classes that are supplementary for those with borderline failing grades.

"Ah, who is more suitable than the student who excels in different spells regardless of difficulty? Am I right?" Walhberg's voice resonated in your mind.

It's been a year since you've started teaching. Right after the whole Innocent Zero world abomination happened. Can't say that you're surprised that Finn is one of your students, but he's currently doing better than you expected.

"I have to thank you for being patient with me, Sensei!" You recall Finn beaming with joy as he finally got one of the hardest offense spells to master. Safe to stay you were delighted that you had an impact to students.

Right after this class, you usually head straight towards the Bureau to take over the night shift-

A tap in your shoulder made you halt in the middle of the hallway, "Done with class?"

You come face to face with... huh.

"I didn't know you had a meeting here in Easton?" You should know, because you were in charge of handling the Visionaries' schedules. So you should know that Orter has no business here in Easton.

He shrugs, "I don't."

"Well, yeah, you don't. I should know that— I'm your goddamn secretary— but I'm assuming its an emergency?" You tilt your head in confusion. Gold eyes meet yours, his stare seemingly calculating and... hesitant?

"No." Orter replies.

Silence assumes between the two of you. You raised a questioning brow at Orter who just stares blankly at you.

"Then..? Care to elaborate oh divine one?" You add a hint of sarcasm which Orter slightly bristled at. He sends a sharper glance at you while you smile innocently.

Its not as if the two of you haven't acted that way before. Working together somehow brought the two of you closer and your relationship is somewhat casual.

Other words, you can be as annoying as you want and Orter won't shove sand down your throat.

"I don't know, you're the secretary." He raised a challenging brow back. You scoff in lighthearted annoyance while Orter seemed unfazed. That is, if it weren't for the ghost of a smile you managed to capture.

If you can be annoying as you want without consequence, then Orter will do the same.

"Okay but really, why are you here?" You question seriously while inviting Orter to walk beside you towards the faculty. He follows while keeping his gaze ahead.

"Hmm... You're headed towards the Bureau after this?"

"Oh? How did you know?" You ask with slight surprise. Nobody ever bothered to know your schedule, except for the ones that are quite obvious.

Orter sighed and sent you a dry look. "We've worked together for a long time."

A laugh escapes your throat, "Yeah, well, I've only started teaching a year ago. Until now, some forget I have to teach weekly then head towards the Bureau. I swear, its laughable at the same time such a headache. They keep on scheduling things when they shouldn't be." You sighed roughly, wondering if you should start scolding your coworkers more.

"They're idiots." Another laugh escapes your throat at Orter's words. "I'm guessing they're the same ones that accidentally added in my schedule that I'm supposed to be here at Easton." You see the way Orter's usual calm expression turns slightly irritated. Not evident that anyone from outside could see, but enough for someone like you who've known Orter since studying at Easton.

"Oh I see, that's how it is." You stifle another laugh, not wanting to irritate Orter further, but can't help the urge to tease him.

"You say its a headache when they do this, yet you're laughing? How annoying." Orter let out a huff while you grin.

"Maybe its laughable when I see others suffer." You teasingly smirk.

Orter rolled his eyes, yet he can't help but feel a minute affection at the casual interaction between you.

"You haven't answered my question, Orter."

Ah right. He hasn't.

Orter paused in his steps. Causing you two pause beside him too before facing him with a questioning smile.

Again, its the same. As if they're back studying at Easton where Orter always sees that smile of yours. Its always the same, so how come he always felt the same emotions where his stomach and chest swirl at the sight of it. At the sight of you.

He cleared his throat, "I did. I told you they sent me on accident. Messing up my schedule."

"That's true, but you could've gone back immediately." You turn your gaze towards the group of students on the field where they were practicing spells or playing around.

"You caused quite a commotion you know? It was hard to settle down my last class because apparently, a Divine Visionary is on Easton grounds." You cross your arms while a playful pout forms on your lips. "They were more focused on the fact that the Sand Cane was here. That was an hour ago, so care to explain?" You sigh in exhaustion. However, your pout was replaced by a smile the moment you see Orter's subtle shift in his eyes while he looked dejected at being caught. Again, only you could see those minute expressions behind his stoic attitude.

Orter pursed his lips, he didn't expect that his presence would be that of a commotion. To think he was confident in concealing his presence right before your class.

Huh, nothing really escapes you.

"That's.." Orter glanced away while pushing his glasses up. "Its not like it wouldn't hurt to—"

"Sensei."

"—visit you.."

Orter went silent before sending a glance to the person who had the guts to interrupt to people talking-!

His mouth opens in slight surprise at the look of one of the students he was mentoring.

Additionally, Lance looked equally as surprise to see Orter right behind you. He blinked, wondering if he interrupted something. He was pretty sure he heard another voice overlapping with his once he called for you.

"Sensei, Orter-san." Lance bows politely then turns back to you.

He sees in the corner of his eye how Orter pushed his glasses up (a tiny bit harsher) and looked away. Lance didn't have time to think about it as you call for his name.

"Yes, Lance?" You smile at the younger Divine Visionary.

"Ah, Finn wanted me to tell you that he can't go to the faculty after class to bring you his assignment. His other teacher told him to stay after class." Lance handed you a sheet of paper.

"He asked me to deliver it to you instead."

"Oh, thank you Lance! Its nice to see you taking care of Finn. Please tell him he did a great job and not to worry." You smile brightly as you felt another wave of pride for Finn. Sure he was called as the "weakest" in your supplementary class, but he's improving. A lot. Especially under your guidance.

One glance at Finn's paper, and you already knew he's going to have another high score soon enough.

"Also, Professor Claude told me to look for you. Apparently there's an emergency meeting with the faculty."

At the mention of Claude, you couldn't help but grimace. Lance didn't seem fazed at your expression, yet he also can't help sending a pitying glance at you.

Orter just raised his brow.

"And he couldn't tell me himself...?" You mumbled questioningly.

"He said he was busy." Lance replied dryly.

"Sure, he always says that." You muttered once again, not bothering to hide your disdain at your fellow professor.

You perked at the sound of someone clearing his throat. You turn to Orter apologetically. "Sorry, Orter. I forgot you were there."

While Orter didn't seem fazed on the outside, Lance could see the slight twitch on his forehead.

"I think Lance may have accidentally cut you off." You smiled sheepishly.

Lance thought so too.

"What was it you were going to say?"

Orter remained quiet for a moment before sighing. "Its nothing. I was about to head back to the Bureau."

While you nodded understandingly, Orter took the chance to sharply glare at Lance in displeasure. Maybe he should teach this kid a thing or two on how to not interrupt two adults when they're having a conversation.

Lance stared back unfazed.

"Well then, I have to go! Can you do me a favor and tell anyone who asks for me that I have an emergency meeting at the faculty?"

The Sand Cane let out a sigh, displeasure thinly veiled in his expression. Orter, however, nodded while his stoic look returns. "Sure."

"Thank you!" You bowed and smiled gratefully before quickly walking away. "See you around as well, Lance!"

The blue haired nodded as he and Orter stood still while watching your retreating back.

Once its just the two of them, it seems tension has risen again between them. Despite the fact Orter is training Lance, and frequently sees him around from the fact Lance is the newest Visionary.

Still, Orter can't help but stare at Lance who, of course is one of the known people to be stubborn as hell, stares back as well.

Orter is starting to think he should say something to rid of this awkward silence.

"Are you—"

"Did I—"

Both visionaries closed their mouths.

A sense of Déjà vu passes through them.

Orter tries once more.

"Did—"

"Is—"

....If he wasn't annoyed, he'd be very astonished right now.

Lance quickly spoke before Orter could, "Did I interrupt something?"

Orter just sighed heavily, "Sort of." His shoulders dropping as he recalls that very scenario just a moment ago.

"Sorry, I actually didn't see you there." Lance said politely as he could. Rubbing the back of his neck in slight awkwardness.

"Its fine. It wasn't important."

"It looked like it was though." The younger visionary rolled his shoulders as he looks away in thought. Orter raises his brow at the comment while Lance looked as if he remembered something.

"Ah, so she's the one Kaldo-san and Ryoh-san were saying that you liked?" With the way Lance said it with such a straight face, Orter had to process the words that was casually spoken.

"...What?" Orter's face crumbled in irritation.

Lance continued to look to the side in thought, oblivious to the way Orter was seething. "So that's why your schedule changed all of a sudden. I thought there's someone who was going to attack Easton so I was on guard the whole time."

Lance glanced back to Orter. "But Kaldo-san and Ryoh-san told me not to worry about it. It was quite a headache since a lot of our classmates heard news of you in the school grounds. Although, I never thought you were the type to agree to change your schedule for someone you like—" Lance felt a magical aura out of nowhere and began to get his guard up. Ever since Innocent Zero, its like an instinct at this point.

However, he paused as he noticed Orter who looked the same as usual. Straight-faced and stoic, yet Lance could see how tense he was.

"...I see." Orter said lowly.

He began to stare ahead in thought, before bringing out his wand and turn around without glancing at Lance. "Thank you for providing information. However, I would like to clarify everything was false."

One look at Orter, and you'd think he was just as calm and composed. Lance's glance at the hand gripping his wand tightly made him think otherwise.

The other knew to not say anything further, lest he drowns with sand flowing down his throat and out his ass.

"Everything?" But of course, Lance had a stubborn streak. Maybe Mash and Dot were rubbing off him too much.

Orter replied without looking back, "Everything."

"Even the part where they said you like her?" Lance pushed. Call it curiosity, or maybe the fact that someone like Orter indeed has feelings for someone, which makes it so intriguing for Lance to find out more and risk getting buried in sand.

Orter let out a deep exhale, which got Lance tense for a moment, before the Sand Cane started walking again.

"...Yes."

The Adler student watched as his mentor rounded around a corner. He was soon left alone in the hallways.

Lance couldn't help but feel like he caused a murder that's going to happen in the Bureau of Magic.

What's more intriguing, however, was that Lance immediately knew the real answer from the quick moment of silence before Orter replied.

Lance harumphed and went back to his dorms. "...The fact he had to lie even though it was already obvious."

That day, Ryoh and Kaldo struggled to give a lot of excuses to avoid Orter before they were caught.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

FINAL : LIBRARY IN THE BUREAU OF MAGIC

Orter was getting sick of this.

Its been weeks since that awful interaction with Lance and you, yet Orter keeps finding himself victim of Ryoh and Kaldo's infuriating schemes.

What's worse, is that the other visionaries go on about their day. As if there's nothing going on.

Here, Orter is glaring at Ryoh who keeps on convincing him that Orter should get over it and just confess.

Orter would be drowning Ryoh in tons of sands if it weren't for Kaldo backing him up. "I'm getting sick of this." Orter snapped.

"Well, sucks to be you. We're getting sick of it too!" Ryoh grinned while Kaldo laughs as if Orter wasn't getting bombarded with ideas on how to flirt with someone you've like for a long time!

"It was amusing at first, seeing how you'd suddenly act so soft and caring towards her. Yet it began to look painful at how both of you were acting so oblivious." Kaldo sighed as if it was his personal problem, and the fact that Orter can't even hurt them in retaliation, because damn them and they're actually useful for protecting the citizens.

"I don't-!"

"Quit the act! You like her, she likes you back. Now confess!" Ryoh cuts him off while pushing Orter forward to god knows where.

He's actually going to kill these bastards, visionaries or not.

Of course Orter is true to his words, so he brings out his wand and glares at the two. Ryoh just smiled (even though there's a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead at the sight of Orter's wand so close to him) and Kaldo doesn't seem fazed and watches from the side.

"Oi Kaldo! A little help?"

The Flame Cane hummed playfully, "Why, you're the strongest aren't you?"

"But we're in this together!"

"If you two don't stop this, I swear.." Orter gritted his teeth. He has a meeting for goodness sake. He's busy. He's also getting tired of this bullshit of a—

"Oh? What are you three...?" You had to double take the sight in front of you. Ryoh, who's grin faltered at your voice, still has his arms wrapped around Orter's shoulder while leaning his whole body to push Orter forward. Kaldo, who's playful smile drop and is replaced with a look of surprise as he stands from the sides.

Orter on the other hand, blinks and remains still while his expression remains his usual.

That is, if it weren't for the fact that his wand was gripped tightly in his hand and pointed at Ryoh with tiny bits of sand circling around it.

You raise your brow questioningly. "I think sparring between Visionaries is better suited outside and not in the library, no?"

The three blink once before glancing up at the sign above, which shows that indeed, they're in the library.

Just like what Kaldo and Ryoh planned.

Before Orter could protest, he was roughly shoved inside the library. He managed to stop himself from colliding with you.

Curse Ryoh Grantz and his narcissistic attitude because in the end he's still a strong visionary, and Orter prays that all mirrors nearby shall break once he merely appear in front of it.

Kaldo isn't forgotten in Orter's prayers, as he wishes all stocks of honey shall obliterate.

"Well!" Ryoh claps his hands gleefully, unfazed at the menacing glare Orter is sending his way. "Orter's schedule is cleared for the day-"

"It's not-"

"It is?"

"-And he has something he wants to tell you!"

"I don't."

"You do?" You tilt your head at Orter, who inhales deeply. He can feel his patience thinning.

"I don't-"

"He does." Kaldo interjects, and Orter was one step away into murdering the two before the library doors shut.

"Also! Miss secretary, your schedule is also cleared for the day! So spend more time together in the library. I heard you like to read from Kaldo." You can hear the joy in Ryoh's voice despite it being muffled. Which makes you even more confused as you alternatively stare at Orter and back at the doors.

"There are new selections in the library! Especially that one series about the legends of magical creatures." It was Kaldo's voice this time.

"Really?" Orter looked at you in slight disbelief. From how efficient and quick you are to adapt, you sure are easily distracted at what's really happening.

So of course, Orter will use it as an opportunity to—

"Ah, but first listen to what Orter will say." You don't have to see Kaldo to know that he's smiling.

...Orter hopes Kaldo will enjoy having sand in his honey as soon as he dealt with what he's gotten himself too (unwillingly).

It was silent for a moment. This time its a truly awkward one as you and Orter stood still side by side while staring at the entrance of the library.

You blink before giving Orter an embarrassed smile, "So.. I'm guessing you were dragged here against your will?"

Orter sighed tiredly, "Yes."

"I see, but I am curious as to why they had to force you to come here. Apparently, you want to say something?" You questioned, curiosity and slight worry evident in your voice.

Did something happen? Were they hiding something? Or was it just something silly that the visionaries (Ryoh and Kaldo you're guessing) planned and somehow, Orter was on the receiving end.

You watched with slight worry as Orter continued to send daggers towards the entrance of the library. Taking a small step beside him as you examine his expression. Not knowing if he was deliberately choosing to ignore you or not.

"Orter?"

Orter's head jerk up slightly at your voice. Indeed he wasn't choosing to ignore you, but was lost in thought on how to punish his fellow visionaries (mainly the two who shall not be named).

He turned his head towards you, sensing the worry in your tone. An apology for the current situation at hand and reassurance are at the tip of his tongue, ready to reply and.. oh.

For someone with great intuition and reflexes, Orter who prides himself in having great situational awareness— its something he thinks visionaries should have— he wasn't aware you two were this close to each other.

Orter finds himself stunned. A thought he's oh so familiar with immediately floats in his brain every time he coincidentally gets a chance to be close with you.

Again, and again, and again, and again.

Its always the same.

His mind always thinks that you're prettier up close. Not that you weren't pretty if you were far away.

Orter watches your eyes slightly widen at the close proximity you two are in, despite the library being so big. Its as if a spell was cast between you two. Designated to stare at the windows of each other's soul, not wanting to look away.

You think Orter's eyes are pretty. Like sand sparkling with hints of powdered gold that's blending well.

Orter thinks your eyes are glowing. Not physically, but with emotions he himself cannot express. He always finds himself melting at your eyes.

Maybe that's what's getting him soft when he interacts with you. Maybe Ryoh is just mistaken and that anyone you interact with also unwillingly goes soft at the sight you.

Orter blinks once, as he regains his composure. He sighs before looking to the side at the moment before looking back at you.

"Uhm, well, you really don't have to say anything if... you're not ready." You let out a chuckle. "Even though I don't know anything about what you uhh, want to talk about.." A light flush blooming at the tip of your ears and across your cheeks. A rare sight even for the Orter Madl himself.

Orter looks at you closely one last time, as he felt that exact swirling emotion in his chest as he takes in your abashed expression.

He scoffs to himself, earning a confused look from you. Before sighing tiredly. He resigned to his fate that Ryoh and Kaldo put him in.

And maybe, Orter has finally come to terms that he's indeed a liar.

"...Do you have anything else that you need to accomplish in the library?" Orter walks ahead of you swiftly taking the books in your hands as he looked at them interestingly.

Your mouth gapes in both confusion and surprise. Orter turned back to you and raised a brow while holding the books. "Well? I'd rather do something productive even if two... nosy idiots decided to clear my schedule."

Orter had the satisfaction to hear your laugh. "Careful, I might get too used to hearing your composure break. Who knew the all powerful Sand Cane had a foul mouth."

The visionary tilts his head, "Hm? I wasn't the one who turned to a blushing mess at a mere eye contact." He quickly turned away but you managed to catch a small smirk on his lips.

The unexpected teasing made you scoff, this time another light blush spread your cheeks in embarrassment. "I—! That was...!"

Orter feigned ignorance as he levitated a few books to organize them to their correct spot. Still, a light smug expression grew as he watched you from his peripheral vision try to defend yourself.

He took a quick step to the side to avoid the incoming jab to his arm. You glared at him unamused before waving your wand and levitating more books, grinning in triumph as one of them managed to hit him in the head lightly.

Orter stumbled slightly as he grunted at the thud of a book against the back of his head. He glared unamusingly, "That's no way to treat a Visionary."

You shrug, "Yeah well, maybe you should be quicker on your feet."

"I am though."

"Didn't seem like it."

Its been a while since you've engaged in friendly banter with Orter. It reminded you when you two would take quick jabs at each other back in Easton.

Orter stared at you, thinking deeply whether or not if he should go along with what his mind thought of.

"Well? Did that book hit you too hard or what?"

You started to shift in place at Orter's gaze. Not knowing if you should be worried or not if you actually hurt him.

Always one to act without thinking, you lift your hand up towards his head. Hesitating slightly at the way Orter's expression slightly shifted in surprise, before resolving yourself lightly touch his brown locks while feeling around the back of his head where the book hit him.

"Did.. did that actually hurt?"

Orter who finally processed everything, let out an amused hum. He grasps your wrist gently before lowering it back to your side. His eyes, once again, examining your worried gaze.

He really can't believe it.

You thought you managed to hurt him?

Orter let out a light huff.

How cute.

"For someone who's duty is to organize schedules and meet with different kinds of people," Orter finds himself facing his body to you. He grabbed a book on a nearby shelf and raised it in the air, gently hitting your head with the spine of the book. "You still have that quick temper and sharp tongue of yours from way back." He says, and he can't help but let out a more softer tone as he meets your eyes.

Orter sighs (for what it seemed the hundredth time) and places the book back in its proper place. Satisfied at the offended reaction he managed to get from you.

"You-! I was worried and-!"

He watched as you go on and on rambling about how you were genuinely worried. About how he was an annoyance from back then until now.

He sighed, how troublesome.

Orter pushed his glasses up as he faced you. "Really, how irritating." He sighs, "Out of everyone, I had to fall for you."

You paused. Your pointer finger that was in the air that was near jabbing his chest faltered.

Once again, Orter had the satisfaction to see you caught off guard.

"What?" Your heartbeat felt like it was pounding out of your ribcage. If you could hear it, what are the chances Orter couldn't.

Both of you stared at each other, heartbeats beating as one. While silence filled the room, the minds of the two were filled with different thoughts and the sounds of their heartbeats.

Finally, Orter spoke.

"I said," he leaned in closer, bending slightly forwards so his face meets yours directly upfront.

You could see the hint of amusement and affection in his eyes.

"Do you have anything else that you need to accomplish in the library?" Orter questioned.

He smiled in satisfaction at the frozen state you are in before heading off to walk with books in hand.

If Orter had to endure weeks of stress because he was forced to confess, well, you can't blame him for wanting you to experience the same.

He did confess after all. So sue him if Orter wanted a bit of fun messing with you.

He dodges another book thrown at him, a ghost of a smile hidden from the back of his head. Yet, if only you weren't so distracted that you could see the red tints on his ears.

Don't worry though, Orter will do this seriously. He doesn't intend to mess with you for that long.

Not until Ryoh and Kaldo get what they deserve.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

well... I didn't expect this to be THIS long.. why is this so long oml im so sorry aksdlajfklashglshdf hope you enjoyed though :"D this is not proofread

[bettyfrommars]

Stop the World and Melt with You

Part 6: Meet Me in Hawkinsgate

Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Summary: A lot will be explained in this part, but there will also be more questions left to ponder. We get a glimpse of reader from the past, another Traveler shows up in Hawkinsgate, and secrets are revealed through a comic we borrow from Dustin. wc: 4.3k

Masterlist

A/N: I've been staring at this for way too long and I just need to post it🙃 This part is bitesize because I feel like there is a lot to take in. If it goes the way I've planned it, we'll have two more chapters after this, and you won't have to wait as long as you did for this one 🧡

18+ONLY, MDNI, this is a mindbender, fear of the unknown, mention of zombies, interdimensional travel, circus freak show, no smut in this chapter but I have a spicy blurb on its way to do with the version of Eddie and Reader introduced in this part.

“Cold-hearted orb that rules the night

removes the colors from our sight

Red is gray, and yellow---white

but we decide which is right

and which is an illusion.”

- Twilight Lament, The Moody Blues

---Somewhere Else---

The Crossroads is a place for various interdimensional Travelers to wait while on the way to their next location or assignment. A place to get their “passport stamps” and figure out which portal they’d need to take to get to where they needed to be. The atmosphere made it feel as if you were conducting business on one of Saturn’s rings; nothing but stars and infinite universe around you. There's a row of doors arranged in an arc, all of which seem to be floating in the air, all with numbers above them. You're waiting to take number 4.

The version of you from another dimension took a turn around, hoping to spot a place to drink at one of the vendors inside the floating establishment. This version of you has a few more visible tattoos scattered from head to foot: each a passport from a parallel universe or pocket of time you have traveled to. It was your job, like all of the other Muses, to bring back inspiration for the Storytellers. There's music playing over the speaker system as you waited; it was an instrumental version of Melt with You by Modern English. The song is interrupted by the tin of an electronic female voice announcing the departure at gate 9.

You’d been staring up at the monitors, checking the time for your portal, but you stepped back in haste, and there he was: the boy you would soon know as Eddie Munson.

You didn’t recognize him but also, you did---in a way you couldn’t explain. The sight of his face knocked over a tiny domino in your soul and the rest went tumbling.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he gave a crooked smile, putting his hands up, palms out. This version of him has strange tattoos as well; a few designs at his temples, lines above one brow, a series of numbers and letters on his throat. He wears a black leather jacket over a shirt that reads: Hellfire Club. “I should watch where I’m going.”

“No, no, it’s my fault,” you stammered. “I’m running late so I was worried---”

“Worried that you’d miss me?” He interjected.

The forwardness of it caught you off guard and you stifle a laugh, tucking your chin. “Something like that.”

You turn back to face the monitors, thinking he’d head off the way he was going—but he didn’t. He stayed close and waited as a group of human and non-human beings passed between the two of you.

“So,” he stepped up closer as the crowd passed, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Of all the Crossroads in all the universes, you walk into mine.”

You turned and gave him a curious look, not understanding what he just said or why he was saying it to you. Your eyes flicked from his tender chocolate orbs, down to his soft lips and back again.

He leaned back, noting your confusion, and tilted his head. “Humphrey Bogart? Casablanca? Of all the gin joints in all the---” he could tell it wasn’t ringing a bell. “Wait, you’ve never watched Casablanca?”

You gave a few tight shakes of your head, a scowl creasing the skin between your eyebrows.

“Oh, sweetheart, we need to fix that,” he patted around in all of his pockets. “Do you have a pen?”

You weren’t sure where this was going, but you were fascinated by him. Muses weren’t allowed to take any form of physical identification with them through the portals—-hence the inked passport stamps that were usually invisible to most non-travelers---and the only things you had on you were gum and lip gloss.

He checked the inside pocket of his jacket and made a sound of triumph. He procured a black, felt tip marker and popped the cap off. “Mind giving me your number? For educational purposes. We can watch Casablanca, and maybe get some decent food back on the mainland. What do you think? Could you stare at this mug while you eat?”

You were reaching for the pen as he talked, and he offered his palm to you. In a line from his pinky to his thumb, you wrote your name and phone number without another word, and then capped the pen and handed it back to him. Eddie watched you; the curves of your face, the way your eyelashes fluttered, the way the tip of your tongue rested on your top lip as you concentrated. He wanted to commit you to memory.

He turned his hand to look at what you wrote, and then met your eyes over his fingers. “Have we met before? You seem so familiar to me.”

He had chunky, silver rings on his fingers, and the air surrounding you felt electric, you could almost taste the tang of the static on your tongue.

“Oh, I think I’d remember you,” you smirked, trying to mask the depth of your attraction to him.

But then a loud chime sounded and the electronic female voice sounded over the platform, letting everyone know that the portal for Gate 4 was opening.

“That’s me,” you swallowed, flushed. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” you quipped, a sudden pain shooting through your chest at the thought of never seeing him again.

Eddie felt flustered, he didn’t want you to go. “Hey, I’ll call you,” he promised, showing his palm. You gave him one last look over your shoulder before disappearing into the crowd. When you stepped over the thresh hold to your portal, you realized you didn’t even know his name.

And you really hoped he could call.

----------

You became aware of your surroundings before you were fully awake enough to open your eyes, trying to hold on to the image of the boy in your dreams as hard as you could---but then he was gone. As intense and real as the “dream” had been, it was now a pin prick of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, and you tried to squint but then it was gone as soon as your consciousness came to the surface.

It felt so real, though. So real that you tossed in bed with tears wet in your eyes, trying to get it back, screaming into your pillow. The pillowcase that smelled strongly of bleach and a hint of age old body odor embedded deep in the pillow itself.

The dark of night lasted for the next 24 hours in Hawkinsgate, as if it were a movie set and someone forgot to turn the lights on. It was noon, and you were sitting behind the motel reception desk, staring out into the street lights of the dark town. Claudia bustled in with one of her cats in a pink carrier after taking it to the vet. There was a young boy with her who offered you a gappy grin with missing front teeth. He had a trucker hat that sat squished on his head of curls.

You’d been doodling on the inside of the phone book, about to go and put a load of sheets in the dryer, when the boy with Claudia marched right up to you. He was a teenager, but you weren’t sure of the age.

His eyes blew wide. “Is it true you’re one of the Travelers?”

“Dustin,” Claudia called to him as she came around the desk, marching toward the back room.

Nailing you with an enigmatic grin, he pulled a rolled up comic out from under his arm and slapped it on the table. His hands working to smooth out the pages before he pointed to a face on the cover.

“Isn't that you?”

Your eyes hesitated on him before following to where his finger pointed.

The likeness caught you by surprised and made you step back, but you never took your eyes off of it. You held it up, attention flicking over the details in the artwork. It wasn’t you, exactly, but, indeed a version of you: legs wide, arms crossed, exposed skin dotted in tattoos, way more than the few you had now, standing in what appeared to be a desert wasteland with two moons in the sky.

“Where did you get this?” You asked, wondering if someone was playing a trick on you. “Did Eddie put you up to this?”

“Eddie?” Dustin’s generous smile widened, cocking his head. “How do you know Eddie?”

You only handed the comic back when Dustin reached for it. “I’d let you keep it,” he shrugged. “But it’s the newest issue and I haven’t read it yet.”

“No, it’s okay,” you shook your head. “I understand. Could you maybe, tell me what happens in it?”

You could tell that the kid was emotionally mature for his age and he quickly caught on to the source of your distress and took his tone down to more of a calm reassurance. “I’ll just leave it on the desk for you when I’m done, okay?”

A part of you wondered if reading such a thing was a good idea with the fragile state of your blank brain. Dustin came around the back, following after Claudia before she shouted his name again.

“Hey,” you turned to face him now that he was behind the front counter. “Who writes that comic? Do you know?”

“Oh, no one knows,” his face was serious, and then he turned to keep walking.

“Of course no one knows,” you said under your breath. “But, where do you buy them? There must be a way to trace it back to the creator?”

He adjusted the strap of his backpack. “I’m sure there’s a way,” he looked down, thoughtfully. “These issues just show up like everything else around here, but I can ask a few people.”

You told him how much you would appreciate that, and he repeated his disbelief that you also knew his friend Eddie.

---------

That day, another Traveler wandered into the motel; the first one since your arrival. You caught sight of the bright pink hair immediately, followed by the black ink markings from her nose to her throat, and on her hands as well. You scrambled to your feet, eager to make her acquaintance. She was hesitant, her eyes shifting to take everything in, just as you had that first day when you arrived.

The second she saw you, her eyes blew wide, and her mouth dropped open.

She knew your name. “What are you doing here?” She asked, spinning in a circle. “Where are we? Where is Lorelei?”

Your heart started racing and your mouth dried up. “Where do you know me from? How do you have your memories?” You were coming around the desk, racing towards her now. “Who is Lorelei?”

She had on a ripped, threadbare, white tee with no bra and worn jeans. She pulled a knife from the hilt at her hip and held it up. “You’re not safe here anymore,” she warned, eyes darting around as if she expected a monster to come flying out of the walls.

“Not safe from what?” You begged.

The confused look on your face turned to a horrified one when an invisible door slid open behind the pink-haired girl, exposing an infinite blackness, and she turned, jumping threw it as if she knew exactly where it led to.

“No, wait---” you screamed, stretching your arm out as if you could catch her, but then the invisible door slid shut again and there was nothing but air there. You waved your hands frantically around over the space.

--------

Eddie came to meet you on the roof of the motel that night, because you asked him to, because you needed a friend. The roof was angled, but not drastically, with a perfect sitting ledge. You each had pillows behind your heads, laying side by side, knees bent, staring up at the sky.

You were feeling more and more at home in Eddie’s presence; eager when you knew you would get to see him, and fearful when you had to part ways. Even so, you didn’t want to care for him, and tried to push away the feelings at all costs. You could sense him holding back as well; reaching out to take your hand, only to pull away, and swallowing words that hovered on parted lips, left unspoken.

You told Eddie about the pink-haired traveler and he chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“She knew my name,” you mumbled, replaying the short interaction over in your head for the hundredth time that day.

“I’ve seen Travelers come and go that fast,” he said. “One second they’re in front of you, and then they’re gone the next---poof.” Eddie decided not to say out loud what scared him the most, and that was the fact that, once you remembered who you were, you would disappear in the same way. He wondered how quick he’d have to be to dive into the void to go with you. “Maybe she came to give you a message?”

You hadn’t shared with him her message yet, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to. But then you felt the side of Eddie’s hand slide up against yours and you realized you didn’t want to have any secrets from him.

You swallowed back a tickle of emotion in your throat. “She said I’m not safe here anymore.”

In a heartbeat, Eddie took your hand, intertwined his fingers, and pulled it to his side, tucking your arm close. “Hey, that’s not true. You’re safe here with me.”

It was the first time you’d ever held hands, and you could tell he’d been working up the nerve for days. You were grateful for the touch and it made the sides of your mouth dance up, even under the weight of such disturbing circumstances.

Elbows planted, you looked over at your two hands locked together and the dark blue sky full of scattered stars beyond. “I do feel safe with you,” you told him. Even though whatever was happening to you felt much bigger than either one of you could fathom in that moment, and it wasn’t fair to put such a big job on Eddie, you were comforted by the thought.

You scooted closer to him, and placed your head on his shoulder. Eddie brought the back of your hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Why do the stars and the sky look so real?” You asked in a whisper, watching the way the stars flickered, and clouds hovered around the moon.

Eddie turned his head to find your profile. “You still think this is a dream?”

It didn’t feel like a dream, but maybe we all traveled in our dreams to very real places and then forgot it all once we opened our eyes. You hesitated, not sure how to answer him, working your jaw. The air was wet and cool, bright with the smell of rain on concrete and forest pine.

“Sometimes I worry that I’m going to wake up any second and forget this place,” you failed to catch the tremor in your voice. “That I’ll forget you.”

An unexpected tear ran down your cheek, and Eddie felt the wet drop hit the side of his neck.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing your hand, pulling it across his stomach. “Can I tell you what I think?”

“Please?” You urged.

He wanted to tell you about the dream he had about a group of circus people that came through a place called Hawkins, Indiana to set up a show on the outskirts of town. In the dream, Hawkins was his hometown, the place where he had grown up, and it was similar to Hawkinsgate, but also nothing like it. The dream felt so real, he could still smell the popcorn and hear the cackle of the Bearded Lady on stage, beckoning to any passerby. The circus rolled into town on old caravans and rusted cars compiled of junkyard metal. There was a Ferris wheel and various freak shows and a fire-breather and a strong man and a fortune teller. Eddie went with his buddies Gareth, and Jeff, because they wanted to see the clowns on stilts, and maybe get a glimpse of the peep show.

They peeked inside a hole in the red and white tent when they heard the sultry music, just in time to catch sight of a voluptuous blonde woman spinning tassels on her huge breasts before they were shooed away by one of the barkers. He had a fully tattooed face and a metal bar pierced through his tongue.

“Yo, sorry man,” Eddie and the boys held their hands up in a form of surrender, unable to contain their laughter, and the barker spat on the ground at their feet, sneering to show his silver teeth.

Eddie went in to see the psychic in the purple caravan on a dare. The boys teased him and said he wouldn’t, and so Eddie said, “hold my jacket” and made his way inside, through the beaded curtain in the doorway, stopping in his tracks at the sight of the older woman sitting at a round table in front of a crystal ball.

“It’s you,” the older woman said, looking up at him only briefly. She had long gray hair, and her eyes were mismatched: one was bright blue and the other was milky white with no iris or pupil. “I was starting to think you’d never show up.”

“Do I know you?” Eddie looked around the space cautiously, making sure the two were alone. The air was smoky and smelled like the floral dank of incense.

“Please, Eddie, sit,” the woman said in a young voice that did not match her elderly exterior.

Eddie stepped back. “Wait, how do you know my---”

“There’s no time for that,” she interrupted him, shuffling a deck of tarot cards in her hands. Her eyes repeated the gesture of motioning for him to sit. “There’s a lot you need to know and we only have a few minutes.”

Stiffly, Eddie took a seat in the squeaky wooden chair across from her, hoping that the boys were right outside and not back at the peep show without him. She made a clean stack with the deck of cards and set it to one side.

“So,” Eddie’s eyes flicked around after a full minute of silence. “How do we do this?”

The next thing he knew, Eddie was headed outside again, squinting, his head blurry and his eyes dry.

Gareth and Jeff had been giggling over a joke when Eddie stepped out of the caravan and stumbled, his eyes glossy. They got serious immediately and went to help him stand as his knees buckled.

“Damn, what did she do to you?” Gareth frowned, watching Eddie take long blinks and shake his head as if trying to wake up. Jeff looked around nervously, wondering if he should find help. Gareth tried to see in through the beaded curtain, but it seemed like the old woman was gone and the caravan appeared empty.

When Eddie stepped out, he felt like everything was the same, but also very different. He was still in Hawkins, but there was something...off about it. The boys asked him over and over what the old woman told him, but he couldn’t remember, he just knew he felt woozy. His stomach growled and he figured it was because he was hungry.

The next morning, after the dream---the visions of you started. The dreams, the whispers, the way he knew every inch of your body, every mole, every tattoo, even though he’d never seen you naked before; not in this reality, anyway. He stepped over a torn front page of the Hawkinsgate Gazette in the grass in his dream, and he stopped to pick it up, wondering why the name Hawkingate looked so familiar, but also so wrong.

There on the roof of the motel, Eddie wanted to tell you that he’d been thinking and dreaming about you ever since.

After that, the other Travelers started showing up in Hawkinsgate. Just like you, they were plopped there without much of a memory of where they came from, and seeing them around became normal as well. The entire town seemed to be designed around them in fact, as if Hawkinsgate was an airport from which people took off to their various destinations.

Every time he heard about a new Traveler in town, he went looking, hoping to find you. He was about a week away from losing hope when you showed up at the gas station that day in tears.

The one he had been waiting for and pining over this whole time.

Eddie wanted to tell you all of that on the roof of the motel when you started to cry.

“Do you want to know what I think?” Eddie asked and you begged him to tell you something, anything that was remotely comforting.

He slid his fingers up and down between yours before intertwining them again. “I’m not sure why or how I know this, but no matter where you go, you’ll always have me. If this is a dream and you wake up, I’ll be waking up with you.”

---------

You finally got your hands on the comic book with your likeness on the cover and hurried back to your motel room on your lunch break so you could lock the door and dissect it in peace.

The woman who looked like you in the drawings was apparently a Muse who worked for a group of people called The Storytellers. You had a gift for collecting inspiration and experiences in other dimensions and worlds and passing them on. The amount of knowledge your character had acquired through her journey was vast. She knew how to speak several languages, she knew karate, knife throwing, chess. She knew how to cook French dishes you didn’t even know how to pronounce. There was another Muse in the comic named E who looked remarkably like your Eddie. Long hair pulled back, a loose strand hanging down his cheekbone.

In the comic, your character and E had traveled through many dimensions together, and you were on the run from a group of lizard people called The Kreel. They were reptilian in nature with a human appearance, but for their lizard eyes that flicked out of their human lenses every so often. They did not emote and they did not experience compassion, and they were waging a war with the Storytellers, so that the Kreel could control all creative consumption. The Kreels wanted all of the powers of the creators for their purposes alone; to create worlds that would benefit them only.

Your character and E had jumped from dimension to dimension, from world to world, gathering inspiration for the Storytellers, while simultaneously evading The Kreel.

The final page of the comic book left you with a cliffhanger: in modern day, in a quiet dessert town off the grid in New Mexico, The Kreel found the location where you were your character resided, and were closing in. You were supposed to meet E that night, when he was back from his recent trip, but there was no time to get a note to him. The next best thing you could do was go through the portal to Hawkinsgate and wait for him there.

Hawkinsgate was the safe haven; a place undetectable to Kreels. It was created by a group of Storytellers when the war began.

You typed the location of the portal into the gps on your phone.

With a tight blink of concentration, you imagined a hoard of zombies into existence to block the The Kreel from you in their masses, while you made your escape.

You watched the home you loved disappear in a cloud of dust in your rear view mirror, as a van full of lizard Kreel soldiers went to battle with the flesh eating zombies in their haste to get to you.

The character that looked like you in the comic book wailed and sobbed, driving away as fast as they could, fearing they’d never see E again.

You frowned at the page as you finished reading, your lungs starving for air after holding your breath for so long.

At the very end, your character reminded herself in thought bubbles that she’d lose her memory once she breached the Hawkinsgate portal. The Kreel could pinpoint brainwaves when a creative’s thoughts were particularly active, so everything had to be wiped clean for their safety. The girl in the story cried again, thinking about how she wouldn’t remember E, and how she hoped he’d show up there too, just like they had planned.

But, they wouldn’t know each other.

“Meet me in Hawkinsgate,” alone in your motel room you felt the warm breath against your ear, heard the words as clear as day. It was Eddie’s voice, and it sounded like he was right there next to you. “Meet me in Hawkinsgate….”

You jumped up off the bed and threw the magazine, making it land against the wall with a smack before it fluttered to the floor, landing face down. You were panting, trying to find your breath, a whimper escaping the back of your throat. You could feel the emotions building hot behind your eyes.

And then, you screamed.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

I Wrote Another Thing!

For people who follow Some Things Are Meant to Be on AO3 first of all, I am so, so sorry for how slowly I've been updating. Life has hit me pretty hard and on top of that I have writer's block on how I want to continue the main story.

Second, I have been working on a companion piece that is a prequel written from both Elvis and the reader's perspectives as they navigate the lives they lead before they finally meet in early 1973. The first chapter is up on AO3 now and I can link it here:

Before You - ooihcnoiwlerh - Elvis (Movie 2022) [Archive of Our Own]

I've also fallen into the rabbit hole of Pinterest boards and have made one for the first chapter that I'll link here: (1) Pinterest.

For those who want sneak preview, I'll post tidbits below the cut:

People like to say that you're too big for your britches.  People see a scrappy kid in her sister's secondhand hand-me-downs and think it's sometimes cute and funny, sometimes exasperating how stubborn and competitive you can be.  It gets you in trouble early on; grown ups and other kids alike quick to remind you of your place.

You never listen for long.

You have a few early memories of your mother taking you into work with her a couple of times a week because you’re too young for school like your older siblings and she tells you to not bother anyone or cause a scene while she rolls out and laminates dough and makes and pipes filling.

You don’t bother anyone or cause a scene as far as you’re concerned, but you quickly lose interest in seeing your mother at work and wander off briefly which results in a thorough spanking.  You don’t get why it’s so wrong for you to want to see new places or leave your little bubble, especially when no one seems to have time for you anyway.

All things considered, it could be worse.  The two-bedroom, one-bathroom row house with paper thin walls, warped floors, and occasional faulty wiring is better than no home at all and your parents know how to shop and cook economically enough to make a grocery budget stretched to its limit feel like plenty.  It’s also not like the kids at your school have it much better and can mock you for being poor when a good chunk of them are too.  While you doubt you’ll ever develop the same love for cooking as your parents, you do like being “the little helper” in the kitchen when your siblings outgrow that title (even if your mother has more than one use for a wooden spoon that can put the fear of God in you if you cross her.)  A few of your classmates and neighborhood kids make fun of you but you still make at least a few friends.   And while they find you annoying, your older siblings still love you, even if that love sometimes feels like that baffled fondness one feels for a yappy terrier trying to sidle up to a Rottweiler.  

And for nearly as long as you can remember you love movies and big billboards with people whose names you’ve never heard splashed across them.  You coax whichever older sibling is most likely to give in to take you to all the movies and disappear, for the brief time you’re watching the screen.  You’re not little Y/F/N Y/L/N, the tagalong youngest of four with nothing to your name and no one to listen to you; you’re whoever you want to be, sharing in the adventures you see in each movie.  And someday you’ll be in those movies, and be that person for another lonely and frustrated child who wants to escape.

At first you decide you want to be an actress.  After all, for a child there’s little else you really understand that goes into making a movie.

“That’s what I’m gonna do,” you announce to your parents and of course they think you're being ridiculous.  They also can't afford to fund your little fantasy even if they wanted to.

But there are school plays and musicals you try out for and get into.  You find that you have a perfectly fine singing voice and an aptitude for matching pitch.  It doesn't take you too long to learn choreography or lines.

It's fun, and you get the impression that you have some moderate talent for it.

But you start to realize that you’re not amazing.  You’re not sure why some part of you was hoping you’d be some kind of prodigy, but you’re definitely not.  And that’s fine; it’s been said that success is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration, but you also don’t love it.  You don’t feel the same thrill that you hear real actors do onstage.  You don’t transform into your character or become this larger-than-life persona like the stars and starlets you see onscreen.  You’re still little Y/F/N Y/L/N, just in grease paint and a costume giving a “solid, even charming” performance.

Funny thing, you don’t then lose interest or decide that show business isn’t for you, after all when you come to that realization.  You just wonder what it is you should be doing if not acting.

You’re not that interested in lighting or set building.  The technical aspects of filmmaking interest you to some extent, but what fascinates you is how it all comes together.

"Maybe directing, then?” a friend who still humors you tells you after rehearsal and before you have to go home.

“Maybe.”  The next time you go to the movies, you pay attention to the credits and all the different job titles.  You’ve matured enough to understand a lot more goes into making a movie than the people onscreen and so mentally pick through and notice “A Cecil B. DeMille Production” and “Produced and Directed by Cecil B. DeMille.”

What does a producer do, exactly? you wonder, and after a bit of digging you find out.  A producer oversees the entire picture as a whole and promotes it so that audiences actually come to see it.  They're the ones pushing them during awards season.  And that…sounds perfect.  You help bring the entire thing together, as it were, and you realize that was what you wanted all along.

"I think you stand a better shot at being an actress," people tell you when you explain your new career plans.

It's a man's world, of course.  And men entirely different from any that you've met.  And yet, somehow, it never really occurs to you that your dreams are impossible.  

You never stop believing that you'll be able to do anything you put your mind to.  At times that belief is all you really have.

...........................

Everything changes again one night right when Elvis is twenty, when they get the chance to perform for KWKH station’s Louisiana Hayride. 

It’s certainly the largest crowd they’ve played so far, the farthest they’ve ventured out.  It’s the first time anyone’s going to record them live, and that’s the part that terrifies him the most.  He pictures himself freezing, forgetting all the lyrics, and who knows, maybe simultaneously throwing up and pissing himself onstage before being booed into oblivion.  Scotty and Bill try to talk him down.  Dixie, sweet Dixie, who’s two years his junior and who he’s pretty sure he’s going to propose to after the end of her senior year, offers him a soda that he can’t drink because his stomach’s already foaming like it has rabies.

Twenty-six different states all listening in.  It’s too much.  He gets the sweats and the shakes performing in front of tiny crowds at clubs for almost zero money.

“What if I forget the words on live radio?” he asks.

He calms down enough, encircled by Scotty and Bill, by Dixie, by his parents, to steel his resolve once they’re called to the stage.

He’s still shaking like a leaf, feeling nauseous and sweaty as he barely registers Lorace Hogan’s words as he introduces himself and isn’t entirely sure what’s spilling out of his mouth as he tries to thank everyone and introduce the song and then…silence.  Elvis can sense Bill and Scotty getting nervous behind him as he can’t quite get the sound out, as he freezes.  A guy around his age in the audience calls him a fairy and tells him to get a haircut.

And while, for some reason, he was terrified of this very thing, the sudden noise is what spurs him on.  It shocks him into clarity.  That’s the worst of it, then: some stranger spouting nothing he hasn’t already heard before.  He can just move on and do the song.  He takes a deep breath, and he lets loose.

It’s a fun song; Elvis likes the bouncy rhythm of it and playful tone and finds it comfortable in his range.  He thinks that he and the guys play it pretty well.

What he doesn’t expect is for the amount of girls and women in the audience to start screaming; it starts out as a few giving little shrieks, jumping in their seats, but then the number grows, and he’s not sure why.

At the instrumental break he turns to Bill and Scotty for some explanation and the answer is, “The wiggle!  Them girls wanna see you wiggle!  Move, man!  More!  Much more!”

Funny; he hadn’t been fully aware of the fact that he was wiggling.  But these girls sure seem to like it.  So he keeps moving, keeps feeling the music and lets it take over.  The screams, the near-hysteria from the audience keep him going like they’re fuel and he’s a pink Cadillac and for a couple of minutes he’s never felt more powerful.  As one final gesture he reaches out into the audience, and they nearly pull him off the stage, tearing his jacket off of him.

And he leaves the stage, stunned, like he’s just had an out of body experience.

That was real.  That was all real; the show, and the audience’s reaction to it.  To him.  To some extent he’d known that the audiences enjoyed him, that for the last few years anyway that some girls liked him, but he’s never felt their reaction so deeply before.

He knows, in this moment, he’ll never be the same.

.........................

Elvis promises both Mama and Dixie that he hasn’t gotten to any foolin around on the road and so far he’s managed to keep his promise.  It’s not easy, granted. A lot of pretty girls would love to be in his hotel room where he stays, alone.  It’s funny; while he started dating back in high school, he’s never felt so deeply wanted until now.  

It’s an intoxicating feeling, like one night when he was younger and tried drinking peach brandy.  So at first he reminds himself of the morning after trying the peach brandy when he spent the majority of it throwing up and swearing to God above that he’d never touch the stuff again.  He flirts with the audience, tries to hide how flustered he feels to see so many girls throw their unmentionables onstage when he performs, and stops there.

It comes to a head, albeit not literally, when a woman his age, perhaps a little older, invites herself into his hotel room without a word.  He recognizes her from earlier, when she’d asked for his autograph after the concert.  She’d said her name was Natalie and he’d noticed even then the raw sex appeal she’d exuded, how she’d seemed interested in him but not in the breathless, star-struck way the other girls were.  More like he was a fun new toy she wanted to play with.  It had thrown him off guard but he’d almost been able to forget, until now.

His resistance has been falling each night.  He knows that he could easily ask this woman to leave.  Instead he turns his head to watch her sashay past him.  He takes in the sight of her supple curves shown off to almost dizzying effect in her tight little dress and she smirks over her shoulder, aware of how he's watching her as she drops her purse on the edge of the bed.  One that Elvis had been getting ready to retire to; he’s taken his shoes and socks off and had been working on his shirt before opening the door.  He stares, dumbfounded at her confidence and the way this woman’s skirt hugs her hips and backside.

He knows that he's on the verge of something new once more, that if he keeps going there's no returning to who he was before.

He shuts the door and turns to face her.  His heart pounds, he feels flushed and hot, his nerves on fire.

He could easily ask her to leave.  He should.  He should tell her that there’s some misunderstanding, that he’s flattered but he has a girl back home who’d be crushed if he fooled around with someone else.  He wouldn’t have to tell this woman that he’s never actually fooled around with his girlfriend, either.

“I haven’t done as much as you probably think,” he says instead.

......................

Ma sent you and your brother out for one last errand before the shops shut and you glance past the TVs in the home appliances store.  Your family may have moved into a nicer rowhouse with an extra bedroom and bathroom, but a television set is not a luxury your parents see any reason to throw away money on.

You’re glad, then, that you’ve been sent out this particular night because the image you see stops you dead in your tracks.

You know who this man is–you’ve heard his voice on the radio recently, the deep crooning and vivacious mix of rhythm and blues with country.  You’ve seen pictures that left you stunned at his combination of masculinity and almost ethereal beauty.  But you’ve never seen actual footage of him moving until now.

Fully dressed and before an audience he moves with untamed energy, rocking his hips in a way that just looks so primal that you can hardly believe it’s real.

It feels like you shouldn’t be allowed to see this.  Technically, he’s not doing anything wrong; it’s not like his thing is actually out for you to look at.  It’s not like he’s actually–well–you blush, watching as his hips go between undulating like the rolling tide and bouncing frenetically.  You let out an involuntary gasp, face flushing.  

While your eyes travel everywhere, noting his pretty face and plush lips, his long hair, you keep looking at, well, the area in between his legs you know is forbidden until marriage.  The part of him that you have only the vaguest knowledge of and have been told is meant for making babies only, just like your flower that's been bleeding every month for two years now.  You know the mechanics, and think about them sometimes with a detached sort of curiosity but no particular real desire.  

In between your own legs you throb, feeling hot.  You can't move, can't look away.  You've never seen anything quite like this.  Never felt quite like this or so deeply.  Once again you forget how long you’re standing there and staring at the vision before you.

“Y/N, what’re you looking at?  We need to–” your brother sees the monitor, looks at you, and rolls his eyes as he shakes his head.  “Oh, for–you can drool over that guy later.  Come on."

You immediately bristle, ashamed and almost afraid.  Is it really so obvious that you were thinking such indecent thoughts?  

"Oh, screw you!" you tell him, flushed now from embarrassment.

Your brother feigns an offended gasp.  "She's cursing now!  What next?" He reaches for your arm to tug you away and you pull away.

“I’m not a child!” you tell him, and he rolls his eyes. 

"Remember this conversation in four years.  Now come on."

Your brother doesn't bring it up later.  He could easily tease you about it in front of your sister and parents and a few years ago probably would've.  You're grateful; since you're the youngest and the only one who hasn't dated at all yet, and your parents hate the mere suggestion of that changing anytime soon.  But they also want you to get married.  If you had the gall to sass them, you’d ask if they knew you’d have to eventually date to marry.

That night you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about what you saw.

You feel wet, but not like you're about to pee.  You squirm as you think about how you’ve heard whispers of people taking care of their…urges…alone.  And you keep thinking about it as you desperately want something to rock against, to rub against the ache between your legs.

You can't.  You mustn't.  You shouldn't.

Although if your sister wasn't sleeping just a few feet away, you probably would at least try, even if you wouldn’t have any clue what you’re doing.

You give a small whine through closed lips and throw yourself onto your side, flopping around in bed like a fish out of water.    

You groan, embarrassed, and after a moment fish out the magazine you’ve kept hidden under a book in your nightstand along with your flashlight.  You silently apologize to your older sister as you pull the covers up and turn on the flashlight.  You catalog everything you see, every detail.

You wonder what he looks like under those baggy suits.  You know enough of the basics of a man's anatomy but wonder, still.  He's slender but not too thin.  Would his…his thing match that or be thick like a…a Coke can?  Is that even possible?  You've heard that he's six feet tall.  Would that mean he'd be long?  You're not sure what "long" would even look like.  You haven't been so bold as to ask your sister (who you know for a fact has gone all the way already with her fiance and that's part of why they're engaged now) nor any of her friends.  Right now you wish you had, so you have a better frame of reference.  You wonder how it would feel nestled within you.  

You've never even been kissed and already you're thinking about far more than that.  It's safe to imagine, though, that he's a wonderful kisser.  With those soft-looking full lips he can probably do a lot; you're not sure exactly what, but your body seems to understand things your brain hasn't learned yet.

You end up falling asleep with your flashlight in your hand and the magazine pressed against your cheek.

.......................................

The Colonel asks him what he’s going to sing tonight.

“I’ve made no decision,” Elvis says, not in any particular mood to pretend that he’s happy with the Colonel right now.  “I’ll feel it.”

The cop smirks and cheerfully tells him it will all go fine, “just so long as you don’t wiggle a finger!”

And that does it.  Something snaps within him, even as he sits still and quiet, face still impassive as he gazes out the window at the massive crowd that’s formed.   A crowd of people who are there for him because they responded to who he actually is, not the neutered parody of himself that Steve Allen and the Colonel have been trotting him out as.

I’m here for them, not for any of the people who want to hold me back.

As he’s being announced, as he and his guys start to ascend the stage, the Colonel grabs Elvis’s arm.

“All you gotta do is sing the nice song, smile the nice smile, no wiggling, and then we can get back to show business!  And have fun, my boy!  Fun!” he says, either not noticing or not caring about the coiled tension in Elvis’s body, the way Elvis doesn’t respond.  A little over two years ago Elvis thought the Colonel had all the answers to questions he never even thought to ask.  He thought the Colonel understood him better than anyone else in show business possibly could.  Right now he’s not so sure.

What he is sure of is that something needs to change, and he’s going to be the one to do it.

Now.

He knows for a fact the cop who drove him here is in attendance, watching and seething as Elvis points one pinky in the air, and that knowledge makes him smirk.  For a moment he feels like a prowling lion, ready for the attack.  

“Trouble,” he instructs the band.

“I’m gonna show you what the real Elvis is like tonight!” he cries out to the audience.

‘Fuck you,’ he thinks, the moment the first chord hits.

‘Fuck you,’ he thinks, as he begins with, “If you’re lookin for trouble, you came to the right place.”

He won’t lie down, he won’t give in.  He doesn’t give a shit that there’s a segregationist rally nearby and in fact he hopes he ruins the rally because fuck them, too. He doesn’t want their approval.  Elvis gyrates and writhes and screams and doesn’t give a single flying fuck what trouble he’s really causing because for the first time in months he truly feels alive.  

[ejzah]

For @anonkp, who encouraged me to turn my wish for an episode post “To Live and Die in Mexico” with Kensi caring for a recovering Deeks.

A/N: I know I’ve touched on this topic in other stories before, but i don’t think I’ve gone this in-depth. Also, emetophobia warning.

***

In Sickness and Health

Dragging Deeks through an unconscious Deeks through the Mexican desert with the federales and an arms dealer on their heals had been terrifying. There were a hundred different moments through those never ending days when Kensi thought they would die. That she would never hear Deeks’ voice or feel his touch again.

She’d been beyond grateful when Deeks woke up sooner than the doctors predicted and with seemingly few symptoms for the severity of his repeated traumatic brain injuries.

She hadn’t conceived of the possibility that it could get worse once he was back home. Because recovery from a subdural hematoma compounded by dehydration and broken ribs, came with a daunting list of symptoms that they spent every day trying to manage with limited success.

This morning had gone relatively well; Deeks had slept through the night with only a few episodes of pain or nightmares (Kensi wasn’t always sure of which) breaking through his medication to wake him.

“Hey, it’s about time for your afternoon meds, what do you want for lunch?” she asked, stopping in the den where Deeks was partially reclined in an easy chair, eyes loosely shut and one arm slung across his chest. The chair was angled at forty-five degrees since being completely upright tended to make him dizzy, but completely flat exacerbated his nausea. An audio book played quietly in the background.

“Eh whatever. You know it’s not gonna matter either way,” Deeks replied, his voice so low and gravely, Kensi knew he was battling another headache. “I’m just gonna throw it up in a couple hours anyway.” He cracked an eye open, a hint of blue showing through.

His skin was still a little patchy from being sunburn and he had a plethora of cuts in various stages of healing. Otherwise, on the outside, he looked better. It was inside that he battled against everyday.

“I know it’s rough, sweetie, but you can’t not eat at all.”

Deeks grimaced, clearly remembering the time he had avoided eating for most of the day and ended up dry-heaving for three hours.

“Mm, damned if do, damned if I don’t,” he sighed despondently. “Ok, just make it as bland as possible.” He shut his eyes again, a small groove forming between his eyebrows.

Kensi leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead, fervently wishing that the simple gesture could take away his pain, then headed for the kitchen.

Kensi gathered a selection of fairly innocuous foods: plain crackers, toast, yogurt, a protein shake, and chicken broth. Between his reduced appetite and cyclical vomiting, he’d been distinctly picky and uninterested in food, so she tried to provide a variety with the hope he’d get a reasonable amount of calories in the end.

Then she grabbed the row of orange canisters lined up on the wall beside the sink with explicit timing and administration instructions. After two weeks, Kensi could dispense them without too much thought, but she still checked the labels to be sure. The last thing she wanted to do was set Deeks back with an overdose.

When she had the 8 different pills counted out, a glass of water and Gatorade, and the food set up, she carried the full tray back to the den. Deeks had shifted onto his side in the time she’d been gone, and she noticed the audio book wasn’t playing anymore.

“Lunch is served,” she announced quietly.

Deeks picked at the toast, ripping a few pieces off and chewing them with obvious effort, in between downing the pills with sips of Gatorade, and managed a couple ounces of the protein drink before he pushed the tray back with a quick shake of his head.

“I’m sorry, I can’t,” he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His skin was already paler than a few minutes before and he inhaled shallowly through his nose, exhaling slowly, eyes and jaw clamping shut again.

He stayed that way, barely moving, for a few minutes, and Kensi almost thought he would be alright. Then his face grayed completely, beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. He shoved himself out of the chair with a desperate sound, stumbling into the doorway on his way through.

“Crap,” Kensi muttered, hurrying after him. She made in time to see him on his knees, arm braced against his torso as he retched. Kneeling behind him, she rubbed his lower back, providing support when his strength began to wane.

After several minutes, he moved back, slumping sideways into the closest wall with a pained groan.

Kensi wet a washcloth with cold water and gently wiped the sticky sweat from his skin. He shivered in response, goosebumps appearing wherever she ran the cloth, but he didn’t complain.

When she was done, Deeks let her pull his upper body against her chest. She’d figured out that once the initial wave of vomiting was over, talking helped, so she kept up a low hum of chatter.

“Sam said Callen’s doing a lot better. He’s driving the nurses crazy,” she said.

Deeks tilted his head, just a small movement against her, making a sound of confusion. “Nurses? I thought he was home.”

Kensi didn’t speak for a moment, thrown off as she always was when he experienced a memory lapse.

“Um…no, he’s still in the hospital. Probably for a couple more weeks at least while his lung heals and he gets his stamina back up.”

“Oh.” He shivered again, and Kensi pressed her hand against his cheek, finding it slightly cool.

“Hey, you think you’re going to be sick again?”

He shook his head a single time.

Kensi helped him up to rinse his mouth, supporting most of his weight as exhaustion and disequilibrium set in again. Them made their way into the bedroom, and Kensi got Deeks settled in bed before going around to close all the curtains.

She moved around quietly, getting a fresh glass of water, anti nausea meds, a sleep mask in case he needed it. Afterwards, she slid into bed next to Deeks, tucking herself into his side.

“You know, you don’t have to stay in here with me,” Deeks murmured, voice rough with barely any volume to it. It wasn’t the first time he’d said so in moments like this, but Kensi didn’t think this was a case of his ongoing memory deficits so much as a reminder. He got morose and defeated some days, believing he was a burden.

“Where else would I be?” Kensi asked simply.

“Yeah, cause we all know sitting in a dark, quiet room is so exciting. Can’t even watch TV.”

“I don’t mind.” It was the truth. She wished Deeks could distract himself with binging the latest Netflix offering. That the sound and screen time wouldn’t make his headaches, vision, and vertigo worse. For herself though? She’d happily lay in bed in the dark all day and night with Deeks.

She combed her fingers through his hair, listening to Deeks’ breath even out slowly. “I thought I lost you so many times Deeks. It’s going to be a long time before I get tired of hearing you breathe, feeling your hand under mine, seeing you laugh at me.” She swallowed down the tight feeling in her throat because she didn’t need to add her tears into the mix. “I love you and you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

Deeks huffed a soft sound that might have been a laugh, tilting his head to rest against hers. “Like I’d ever want that. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Kensi’s eyes did fill with tears at that, and she hugged him closer. Deeks made another soft sound, body going limp with the tell-tale sign of oncoming sleep.

“I love you, Marty Deeks,” she repeated, cupping his cheek. “In sickness and in health.”

***

A/N: Hope this is suitably whumpy and hurt/comfort filled.

[lorenfinch]

Find the Word Tag

A massive catch-up post! I was tagged in four posts by @writinglittlebeasts, @liv-is, and @serenanymph to find the words agape, borrow, one, rummage, hum, don't, star, strong, summer, smear, smash, row, follow, mouth, drag, and great! Let's see if I can find all of them!!

AGAPE

And yet, as we approached the castle, I felt not like a hero in the making but like a prisoner marching to his own execution. As burly looking guards bearing the same seal as Ainsley and the rest moved to open the gates, I spotted two marble statues placed grandly at each side of the entrance. I recognized the visages instantly: on the left stood the stern, withered Visdar, god of order and law. On the right stood Dontos, god of retribution, clad in ancient Erydean armor and mouth agape in a silent shout.

“You can enter,” said Ainsley, and while a weight was lifted off my chest with the invitation, my body still prickled with unease as I passed between the statues, as if any moment they’d jump to life and kill me right then and there.

ONE

Ainsley too adjusted his seating position, criss-crossing his legs and resting his elbow on one of his knees as he leaned forward towards me. “So. Like I said, I’d like to get to know ya. I gave ya my name, didn’t I? I’d say it’s about time for you to give me yours.”

“I’m Renwick.” It occurred to me that perhaps I should’ve given him a false name. Would he know? Would he be able to figure it out? And yet I didn’t regret a single syllable, for telling him my name, my real name, felt like a triumph.

RUMMAGE

“Oh, you found my whale log! I’ve been keeping that for centuries!” Dahlia chirped from behind me. I yelped and dropped the journal in surprise. Over my shoulder, I saw her standing there sheepishly while Amaryllis rummaged through one of the drawers and Vlastimir—whose entrance had also been quite silent—leaned against the doorframe. “Sorry,” Dahlia stammered. “Should’ve announced myself first.” I gave her back her journal, mumbling an apology of my own.

“Aha!” Amaryllis held up a small, corked bottle and offered it to me. “Homemade pain potion. Made from ginger, turmeric, and from vampire venom produced by yours truly. Thought it might be of use; the regeneration process is much slower for newer vampires and that wound looked painful.”

DON'T

The woman in black spoke up next. “We don’t even know if she’s still alive.” Her voice shook with worry as she grasped her skirt in her hands. “I tried using divination to determine her location, but I couldn’t find her. It was like she was shrouded from my view. Which means either she’s blocked by significant amounts of silver, or she’s…”

“Of course she’s still alive!” Belladonna snapped. Her scarlet eyes blazed as she took to pacing the room, rage coloring her every step. “They lock her away behind their threshold spell, probably torture her for information about us, and then send our own fucking kind after us!”

STAR

He led us not along the main road, but instead veered off into the woods, following a narrow trail presumably left by deer and other animals. The further away from the Cedran border we trekked, the thinner the forest grew, the twisted old growths of the Ferrywood fading into conifer forests that reminded me of my home kingdom. They were still dense, yes, but looking up past their needling curtains I gazed upon the vast canvas of stars. They glittered like fireflies, comforting, and for a brief moment it felt like they were calling out to me.

SUMMER

Wait. I did remember the presence of a summer elf in the Saga. The Saga neglected to mention where he came from, why he was there.

ROW

Either way, I certainly wasn’t sleeping. After what felt like hours, I rose from the bed, giving up for now and deciding to explore instead. First, I examined the rows of books. Their edges were yellow with age, and many were written in languages I didn’t speak, but judging by the illustrations on the covers I gathered that most of these books were either about alchemy or magic. Witchcraft, likely, given what Amaryllis has told me. Though, truthfully, witchcraft was just a foreboding-sounding name for any magic forbidden by law, such as necromancy, summoning rituals, and curses.

I spied one work of fiction, a copy of The Saga of Lief the Uniter lying discarded on the ground and covered in dust and cobwebs.

FOLLOW

I closed my eyes. I had been unable to transform before, or fly, but perhaps now would be different. Perhaps now that I stood in my future home, surrounded by fellow vampires, I would finally be able to grasp that power.

Nothing.

When I failed to follow, Styx dropped her transformation, as did the two Night Terrors. “What’s wrong?” asked Vlastimir.

Shamefully, I stared at the ground, arms hugging my torso. “I can’t transform,” I admitted. “Not to a bat, not to mist. I can’t fly, either. Or charm people.” I looked back up at the others, chest tightening as I considered a terrible thought. “I’m…I’m not a failure of a vampire, am I?”

MOUTH

The corners of Styx’s mouth twitched, but she didn’t reply to my apology. Instead, she asked, “When did you feed last?”

“The other day,” I replied. Slight pangs of hunger resounded through my body, as if a beast stirring from its slumber. “Ainsley let me feed from him.”

“Explains the bandages,” Styx mused, spaded tail flicking side to side like a cat’s. “Remain watchful of your hunger. The less blood a vampire takes, the more they must feed. Have you killed yet?”

DRAG

I approached one creature from behind and drove the stake through its head, unsure if it would do the trick, but thankfully it fell. I did the same with another, saving the last remaining hunter from its snapping maws—Thomas, I remembered.

Thomas stared at me with wide, terrified eyes and sweat running down his brow. For a brief second I thought he would try to spear me too. But instead, he swallowed, nodded, and muttered a thanks.

I didn’t even have time to react before he too was dragged off.

GREAT

My hands shook and my breaths grew rapid. There had been so much blood. I had been drugged, beaten, chased into the forest and captured by swordsmen bearing my family’s banner. Men who had been hired to take me back home, a fate worse than death. Then, in the night, a great black shape flew from the woods and tore through one of the mercenaries. A fight broke out. In my addled state I tried to stumble away, only to fall to my knees. Then, blood. A river of it, flowing from my own body. Then, I was in someone’s arms, blood steadily dripping into my slackened jaw, before darkness claimed my vision.

BORROW, HUM, STRONG, SMEAR, SMASH: n/a

TAGGING (gently): @macabremoons @outpost51 @sam-glade @writernopal and anyone else who wants to for the words home, history, point, and local!

[fitzpirations]

haven’t really been on here in ages- had all these articles I was going to share and proper nerdy posts to make but really who has the time 😔

Also gave up all my socials for Lent and felt I’d get stuck on here if I returned. Made a year at my job @ the streaming service the other day which has been… idk how I feel about it. I still work a weirdo late shift so I may or may not be in the office now, sitting alone, getting the setting sun on my cheek. The schedule is not conducive of socializing. Have thoughts on the Tony noms,, although mostly petty ones as I have been so uninterested in just about every musical this season and only technically saw DOWAR, (off-Broadway because I feared I couldn’t recreate my magical/chaotic night @ the Atlantic) and Prayer for the French Republic V pleased for their collective noms. Re: Days of Wine and Roses-Idc that they closed. Where’s their best musical? Orchestration? Some of these nominees… I have to remind myself New York, New York was up for a TON last year. Sorry to all involved but BOY was that show,,, tragic to me. Had the bones on a surface level but refused to come together for me every step of the way. My friend won the lotto post-Tonys and we went on a lark, and our lukewarm feelings translated into the show announcing its closing that very night. My power, if you will.

volunteered @ my local theatre for a night and left wanting to cry because I’ve been getting v into ~acting craft~ recently, and all the community people are so nice but I can’t do any work on any production,, so sad but nice to be asked to stage manage a One-Act Festival,,,

I do background work on my weird Monday off from work & had two really cool experiences recently! Worked on a film with less than 30 others w/ a huge, half up-and-coming star that I’m pumped about- did they even look my way? No. But they were locked in & it was a real cool set-up. Would it have been nicer if the costume and prop and makeup people didn’t rub fake dirt over all of us extras? Yes. But I got paid the union rate and met some really cool people, including a gentleman 33 years sober who was greatly moved by Days of Wine and Roses! And you know what? He brought up the show, not me.

also did a fancy streamer show I’m quite stoked on- got placed right in the action in the scene, the lead walked right up to me as he swapped with his stand-in and said hi, which is such a minimal thing (and I don’t do it to leer @ stars or w/e) but he thought he was sitting next to me the whole scene and was being friendly. The seat next to me was unfortunately empty by design, but there were a ton of takes where the only people visible were the two actors & me. Which,, is crazy. Like they cleared the room and I was just sat there. Can’t give context, but boy was I actually acting for once. To the extent I was sure I was doing too much. But no one said anything, except the friends I made hours prior on the bus during our early call time, who were thrilled on my behalf about the great placement.

trying to join the union now which is crazy, and maybe a mistake, but the hourly pay is better than my full-time job at a v reputable media company. Know my worth or something? Even if I worked on just the occasional Monday, it’d be great money, and better gigs/placement on jobs. And who knows, maybe I’d put in for even better gigs. Right now I’m chained to the 3pm-11pm, and the dogs I walk in the morning.

saw Prayer for The French Republic with my friend a while back which we sobbed through & had a truly enriching convo on life & religion and such at dinner afterwards. I also saw Teeth at Playwrights which was a wild treat, it was still in previews, literal Michael R. Jackson was in the lobby, my mother felt bad I was going alone and INSISTED I bring her with,, imagine how I felt when my tickets were center SECOND ROW and not in the fourth row, and I was sat next to my mom watching vagina-has-teeth, the musical. She was crazed when we left. I warned her prior, but once she committed to going with me, it was pointless to remind her the concept of the show. Quite the time! It’s one thing to be close enough to occasionally make eye contact with the actors, and another to be locked in an intense gaze with Steven Pasquale as he plays a pervy gynecologist, plunging his arm into someone. Was shaking in my boots. They’re hinting on moving it somewhere which I am against! but as long as it lives off-Broadway it can still rock, I think.

anyway anyway. Trying to write more and be more around art & dig myself out of this rut I’m stuck in. This time last year I was fruitlessly waiting to hear if I got a Stage Manager fellowship with the City Center. It was a nice thought at the time! Maybe one day. The market is so weird I’d have to win the lottery and have a generous offer before I’d be comfortable actually quitting my job for something else. I’m unsure. Feels like I’m wasting away, in friendly enough company at least.

been reading War and Peace (or trying to!) which I jokingly refer to as WAP to myself. Tolstoy would get a kick out of that one, I’m sure. Enjoying Matt Koplick’s Broadway Breakdown podcast which may sound very geeky to admit but he’s very well-informed and isn’t afraid to have a real opinion on modern theatre! Maybe that sounds conservative-coded, but I mean he is never downright cruel, but willing to say some shows were bad (and why! In academic detail) and I’ve got into some great peices & performers listening to his work. I recommend. See also: BdJ on the Drama podcast recently, I am not a frequent listener by any means- the only other one I think I’ve caught was Kelli’s back last year? But what a great listen. (Seriously)

anyway anyway. I love a long-read. I think my writing is half-nonsensical here, but here we are. I enjoy the tiny little community of people I follow on here. Trying to go back to this blog’s roots- inspiration! Art! Action!

[lotusmi]

hi again, i’m really sorry for sending another ask!! i’m the anon that asked if unique deactivated her tumblr (im not sending an ask anonymously this time).

i sent unique an ask (not anonymously) when she announced she was going to be leaving just saying that i loved her blog so much and that she really inspired me. i haven’t been able to follow or view any of her posts since then, i figured she had just deactivated but idk if she blocked me? but i’m not sure why cus i thought my ask was completely respectful & came from a good place. i’d love to still be able to follow her, i really enjoyed her blog. she was actually the first blogger i sent an ask to so i even took a screenshot of the ask i sent her. i’m really sorry, i know this doesn’t have anything to do with you!😭 i just thought i’d ask cus you guys seem to be friends and i wasn’t sure if her account was gone.

also i’m still quite new to tumblr, i’m really sorry to be annoying and send two asks in a row about this i’m still learning how this app works and stuff🥲<3.

no, it is fine! Hm, misunderstood maybe? @uniquelymeandmyworld2 i don't want to bother you but this dude looks like your #1 fan HAHAHAH

[feelin-kinda-cocky-bmc]

FKC Mini-Update 2/21/23

Alright, don't have a lot for this update, but hey, I thought I might as well keep posting so people are aware this project is still very much active! I'm currently on Mardi Gras break, and will be utilizing the next two days to work on writing Dustin's Route. There is a bit in Dustin's Day 1 that was originally going to take me a hell of a lot of time, in which I would be writing eight unique chunks of dialogue based on three options the player chooses in a row. However, for the sake of getting a rough draft out ASAP, I have streamlined it to where each topic will flow into each other without much of a missed beat. The eight interactions might appear in a later installment of the game, though.

However, while I'm here, I'd like to announce that the FKC Tumblr now has a new header image, courtesy of our new artist: Rose! I'm extremely happy with the art and I'm so glad we have another great artist on the team. Here's the full image because Tumblr dimensions are wack lol

Anyway, in an absence of content on my end, I'll go ahead and put out what is completed, what is currently being worked on, and what I'm hoping to achieve in the future:

The rough draft of Rich's route is done. However, in an effort to keep up with momentum during the earlier stages of writing when I wasn't on ADHD meds, I ended up skipping a whole part and promptly forgotten that I had skipped it. It's still very much a draft with a lot of repetition that I need to iron out, solely because when you work on something for so long in spaced out intervals, you forget what you did previously.

Once all of the incredibly messy drafts of each route are completed, I will be going back to revise them and hopefully get to a point where I can personally playtest the early stages of the game.

Also, in addition to completed routes, Rich and Jeremy's routes will have secret routes. These won't be as important and as high priority, as they are genuinely just me throwing some OCs into a fangame. But hey, if you like hot, borderline criminal bad boys, or flower-loving, theater kid soft boys, then I've got just the routes for you ;)

With the way I'm writing the routes, I'm also simultaneously coding. Or half-coding, anyway. I'm writing it all in a way that makes it easy for me to simply copy and paste it into ren.py, and then I just edit the Python from there. Double tasking woo!

I also have basic GUI assets that I made,,two years ago,,so I'll need to revise those. But aside from the title screen art, everything looks moderately okay and is completely functional.

At the moment, I'm working on Dustin's route. This is going to be heavily headcanon-based, I'm warning everyone now, but it doesn't stray far from canon. He's just a little unique because there's not a lot of canon information about him

Also, I don't know if I ever clarified this, but each route will be structured in the same format: The default exposition (where you choose your route), around 5 in-game events (or days), the dance day (where your bachelor of choice has invited Michael to the school dance), and if you're lucky, the date day (self explanatory, only available on good endings). In addition, each route with have a bad, neutral, and good ending. This does not include secret endings

After the Dustin Route, I plan to start Jake's, and then Jeremy's (sorry Boyfs shippers!). When all are completed, I'll start revision and the addition of the secret routes.

When the writing stage (which I'm almost entirely sure will be the longest) is mostly complete, we'll be going into the art stages. I have several talented artists already volunteered to help out, and I will likely make a hefty portion of my own. Art will include backgrounds, GUI assets, sprites, and possibly promotional pieces.

And after the art stage, we'll start playtesting a beta version so we can figure out bugs, adjust the stories as needed, and overall gauge the interest of the BMC fandom :)

I would love to create background music for the game at some point, and have the capability to do so, but that genuinely might not get there until later stages of development

Though this is far off, after the game's release, I'd also like to release events. These events would allow for a new storyline to be played regarding Michael and the rest of the BMC crew. These will largely be either self-indulgent or catering towards the fandom as a whole, such as writing all the characters in FKC into an AU. These sort of events would happen for things like Halloween, Christmas, Valentines, etc. Again, far off! But I'd like to make it at least known

Discord | Community Idea Drop

[hot-cocoa-addict]

nanowrimo 2022

hi i just wanted to announce that i wrote a lot of words. i cannot remember if i even mentioned that consequences started as a nano project and was supposed to be just 50k words (that did not happen lmao). more details under the cut as i’m writing this at 12:30 am after an 8k day and so i’m just gonna word vomit about this

okay, so, for starters this is my third nano year ever and in a row. i have actually won both years previously, but always with a very desperate last push to get over the line and usually just barely before midnight. there was a rush to update with 10 minutes left on the clock here in the PNW, but not to hit 50k.

i hit 50k all the way back on the 18th of november, and in the 12 days after that i nearly doubled my word count and my goal. i hit my three highest single day word counts this year, that being: 6,130 words on the 1st; 7,306 on the 28th; and 8,087 words yesterday on the 30th. i went into this year’s nano with three goals in mind. One, and most importantly: get the fucking consequences rewrite started because i did NOT handwrite around 17k words over the month of october for my damn story outline only to not go anywhere. Two: hit 50k this year and continue my winning streak. Three, if possible: get every badge on a project for the first time by writing at least 1667 words every day. i did all three

this was not easy. i was really lucky to a) have the musical i’m in be pushed back from opening in the first week of december to opening the the second weekend of january. if this had not happened i would have been writing through tech week and as a lead in the show i’m in i simply would have not had the time. b) had very light workloads in all of my classes and my creative writing class being dedicated solely to working on nanowrimo. no my teacher does not know i wrote fanfiction and no she does not get to know. c) had a ton of support from the two local regions whose borders i technically straddle. it’s a whole thing i’m not getting into because i am not telling a bunch of internet strangers where i live, sorry guys :( this was a really long post ik but i just needed to vomit it out somewhere because i feel like this is an accomplishment worth sharing? also i’m really sorry to announce that chapter 3 ain’t going up until i finish chapter 4 and although i promise i’m really close to finishing chapter 4 i’m not letting myself touch it for the next few days. actually that brings me to another point i’m sorry this is all stream of consciousness and i cannot be effed to edit it right now but! most surprising thing of overachieving this hard?? i actually really want to write right now and am likely going to have to actively force myself to take a break for at least the next day or so. i’m not proud of everything i wrote this month but i wrote a lot that i am proud of and everything that’s on my doc feels good to me right now. For anyone else who did NaNoWriMo this year and actually read to the end of the post, I have one last heartfelt message to y’all. No matter who you are, no matter where you come from or what you do, no matter what goal you started out the month with and no matter whether it changed or not. No matter if you wrote 1k, 10k, 25k, 50k or even beyond that, you did it. You got through November. You got through NaNoWriMo. You wrote words that no one else could have, You created something else no one could have. Whatever you wrote is uniquely yours, and you took a first step that so many people never took just by writing your story down. Whether you finished your story or, like me, still have a long ways to go from where you are now, you did something beautiful and so very impressive. And if there is no one else in your life who appreciates your accomplishments, then know that I do. The first draft might suck, but that’s okay! Twice now I’ve completely thrown away my previous year’s draft; only now that I am on a third year with a third draft do I feel this that my story is actually close to about as good as it’ll get. It may take you many more drafts than me to find the version of your story you like best, but know that there will always be people out there looking forward to reading what you write. for anyone else who read this far i love you <3 (platonically) and i want you to know that even if you don’t write, if you create anything so much of what i said can apply to you too (the broad points, not the specific stuff about writing). creation of any kind is beautiful and incredible. and for any non-creative types who see this, don’t worry! you’re wonderful and have your own place in this world of ours. i really wish i had more to say to y’all who don’t do nano but im very sleepy and, again, am coming off of an 8k day already so my brain is kinda empty rn ngl. i’m gonna get this tagged and go to bed now as i’m finishing this post at about 1:00 am my time and may or may not have school in the morning if it snows again

[mrs-dr-reid]

My Personal Steve Rogers Headcanons

Part 1/?

The first time he went to a grocery store post-Capsicle, he very nearly had a public meltdown when he saw what 70 years of inflation did to the prices

He always makes “Back in my day…” statements unironically mainly to annoy Tony, and once Bucky comes back he joins in and Tony very nearly has an aneurysm because “Oh dear god, there’s two of them”

He loves taking you on walks in Brooklyn and showing you all the places he frequented growing up, and is sometimes pleasantly surprised when a place from his childhood barely changed at all since the 40s

He volunteers at the VA as an art therapy instructor when he has spare time, because he found that drawing and painting really helped him relax when his PTSD decided to aggressively announce its presence

He is very happy when record players and vinyls start coming back into fashion, and he’s especially happy because Bucky’s sister Rebecca put all of their stuff in a storage unit when they went MIA, and among their old stuff was his 1940s record player and the milk carton he kept all of his records in, which meant he didn’t have to go out and rebuy his entire collection

He loves going to Central Park in the fall and looking at all the leaves change color, and you even buy him a Polaroid camera so he can take pictures

To help him get caught up on modern pop culture, you pick a new show or movie to watch with him every couple of weeks, and most of them are early 2000s comedy-dramas and chick flicks (he liked Mean Girls a lot more than you thought he would, and now he unironically yells “SHE DOESN’T EVEN GO HERE” whenever there's an alien invasion)

He’s obsessed with Broadway. Back in the 40s, he only really knew about “Anything Goes”, “Oklahoma!”, and “Kiss Me, Kate”, but now that he’s in the present, he makes it his goal to see at least one new musical every couple of months, either on stage if it can be afforded, or the pro-shot or movie adaptation. His newly-discovered favorites are Newsies and Hamilton, but he is also a big fan of Wicked

He likes learning about potentially useless information that he doesn’t really need to know for the hell of it. No, he doesn’t need to know who invented aerosol cans, but he wants to, and who’s gonna stop him from learning about it?

He was genuinely befuddled the first time he rode in a modern car, and not even a fancy one like Tony's Audi R8 Spyder. Nat took him for a drive in a 2009 Nissan Altima once and he spent the first ten minutes messing with the seat mover buttons

A gentleman above all else. He opens doors for you, pulls out your chair when you go out to eat, gives you his hand to help you out of cars or down stairs, and will give you his arm whenever you're walking anywhere together, because Sarah raised him right, aiight?

When he learned about Dapper Day at Disneyland, he immediately dropped everything and borderline extorted Tony into arranging a trip to California for the team so they could go. You two go as Duchess and O'Malley from The Aristocats, and you almost die because of how good he looks in his outfit

For a while he thinks voice-to-text and voice notes work like telegrams did, so for a while you receive voice notes of him yelling "HI Y/N STOP ARE WE STILL ON FOR DINNER TONIGHT STOP I LOVE YOU STOP" until Tony finally sits him down and explains how it works, so then you start receiving normal texts and voice notes

He loves stargazing, but since he lives in modern New York he barely gets to see the stars anymore because of all the light pollution, so a few times a month you drive him a couple hours away from the city, and you just lay down in the grass somewhere and watch the stars together

He is very fond of board games. So much so that he insists on a weekly Board Game Night with the team. Monopoly was kicked out of the rotation because of a Code Green after Bruce caught Tony trying to steal money from the bank eight times in a row, and then he still won, but the most popular games are Clue and Sorry

He doesn't understand the obsession with true crime. He does however very much enjoy procedural dramas like Grey's Anatomy, 9-1-1, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and Criminal Minds. He thinks they're interesting

He absolutely hates being cold. One time the heat went out in your apartment, and you came home to find him on your couch wrapped up in every single blanket you owned while grumpily watching Legally Blonde

He’s borderline addicted to flannels and Henley shirts. Like, you open his closet and he has one in every color of the rainbow. I mean, the man looks good in a flannel or a Henley so you’re not mad about it, but it’s becoming a teeny bit excessive

[marvelcriminalhoe]

Stumbling West

Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Chapter 13

A Crack in the Glass

i.e. season 8 episode 16

Chapter summery: The team gets closer to the replicator, or at least, they think they do. The cup as finally overflowed.

TW: Typical criminal minds jargon.

AN: Sorry this took so long, I was almost finished with it and then I got sick :(. Anyway, I've finally finished, and hopefully I can get the next two chapters done an out tomorrow so I can be back on schedule.

word count: 2,158

Series Masterlist

The sound of your alarm wakes you from your dream state. You reach over to the night stand on your side, silencing your phone. Aaron protests your movements, dragging you back into his embrace.

“Aaron I have to go.” You tell him softly, trying to pry his arms from around your waist.

He just tightens his hold on you, “Why,” He whines, “We still have an hour until we need to get ready.”

“Because I’ve stayed here for 2 weeks now and I have officially ran out of clean clothes as of yesterday.” You tell him, finally breaking free, “I need to go back to my apartment.”

He sits up, watching you move around his room as you gather your scattered clothes from last night, “Will you come back here tonight? Granted we don’t have a case.”

“14 days in a row not enough for you.” You joke, throwing on one of his hoodies you stole. It smells of his cologne, putting you at ease this morning.

“No.”

You send him a wondering look, “What? What do you mean no?”

Aaron rubs the rest of sleep out of his eyes, standing up to grab some clothes for himself, “I mean,” He tells you, walking closer once he has boxers on, “I don’t like it when you aren’t here all the time.”

“Well,” You nod, not entirely following along,” as sweet as that is, I’m paying for an apartment every month, I should probably use it.”

Aaron pulls you into him, “Well,” He drags out the word, slightly mocking you, “What if you paid for this apartment instead?”

Oh.

That’s… hmmm.

“You want me to pay your rent for you?” You tease him.

“He raises an eyebrow at you, too tired for your antics, “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” You tell him softly, looking at him tentatively, “Can I think about it.”

He is very good at hiding his mild disappointment, sending you a comforting smile, “Of course you can.” Kissing your forehead, “As long as you need.”

You look up from your desk later that day, when Garcia comes into the bullpen, holding a big bouquet of flowers and walking over to JJ’s desk, “Guess what just came to the reception desk for an agent Jennifer Jareau.”

You stand up to walk over to her and Reid, as she laughs softly, “From who?”

“They must be from Will.” Garcia says like it’s obvious, “Or someone’s got some ‘splanin to do.”

“Just wills not really a flower bouquet type of guy.”

You point to the card, “See what changed his mind then.”

You watch as she pulls the note out of the small envelope, her face dropping as she reads it, “Zugzwang.”

You share a look with Garcia, Reid grabbing the card from JJ, “What? Let me see that.”

“Isn’t that what Diana Turner said to you-“

You’re cut off from Reid finishing your question, “Before she killed Maeve.”

“But Diana’s dead so who sent it?” Garcia asks breathlessly.

The four of you go and inform the team of what has transpired, then informing Erin Strauss of everything revolving the replicator case that you have.

You are being followed. The team is being followed. Aaron informs everyone that he’s posting security details at each of your homes, but the sick feeling that you’ve been watched without your knowing won’t go away.

You’re drawn away from the last replicator crime scene when Garcia speaks up, “Uh, sir, Philadelphia P.D. Just uploaded a homicide to Vicap. An unidentified woman was found this morning, with her eyelids removed.”

“Just like our blood artist Bryan Hughes.” Derek says.

“That’s also where the Flowers came from.” You state.

“Jet’s standing by. Wheels up in 20.” He announces to the team, gathering his things like the rest of you.

He calls your name before you can leave the room, “Can I speak to you for a moment in my office?”

You feel some of the team watching you, but you just nod, letting him out the door first as you follow him.

When you get to his office, he sets his things down in a chair in front of his desk, before sighing and turning towards you, “I know I said you could think about the offer from this morning, as long as you would like.” He places his hands on his hips, looking away from a moment, then back to you, “But I need to know if I should send security detail to your apartment or not.”

So much for having time.

Not his fault.

Not mine either.

You breathe out of your nose heavily, dropping you head down and covering your face with your hands, letting out a groan.

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to pressure-“

“I know.” You look back up at him, stopping him from feeling guilty about the situation, “I don’t think I would get much sleep alone now anyway.” You say, trying to lighten the mood.

He nods, still not sure. You walk up to him and run your hands up and down his arms, “Aaron I was probably going to say yes in a few days anyway.”

“Probably?” He questions you.

“I was going to say yes.” You roll your eyes, “I just didn’t want to jump into it without properly thinking it through.”

Aaron seems to relax a little, leaning down to kiss your cheek, “Okay.” He whispers, eyes closing briefly, “Thank you.”

You smile up at him, hands going down his arms to grab his own, “Don’t thank me yet, I’m going to need you to do some laundry later.”

He laughs lightly, “With pleasure.”

You squeeze his hands one more time, before turning leaving to grab your things at your desk.

Well, one problem solved. Too bad it was the easiest one.

Landing in Philadelphia, You, Morgan, and Reid go to the latest crime scene, a detective spots you as you cross the police tape, “Wow, excuse me. Can I help you?”

Derek shows him his badge, “I’m Agent Morgan.” Before introducing you and Reid.

“Feds?” The detective questions you, “What are you doing here?”

“Assisting the investigation.” Morgan states the obvious.

“Well, no one told me.” The detective shakes his head.

“Someone probably just forgot to make a phone call.” You try to reason with him. For whatever reason, he does not like the three of you here. “Just an oversight I’m sure.”

“Would you kind showing us the victim?” Reid asks.

The detective hesitates for just a moment, before turning around, “Yeah, right this way.”

You share a look with Morgan and Reid before following, “Is there anything you can tell us about her?”

“Her name was Sandy Larson. Went missing two days ago. She’s a retired widow with six grandkids.”

“Any idea where she was last seen?” Derek questions.

“Found her car at a drugstore across town. Apparently she fills a perception every Wednesday morning.”

The lead detective hates the team. The brass wants the team off the case. The attorney general wants you all replaced. AND a picture of your boyfriend taken by the replicator was found at the last crime scene.

Yeah, not having a great time.

Also Erin Strauss is being weird and Rossi talked to her as if she couldn’t fire him on the spot.

“Do you really think they’d replace us?” JJ asks.

“Sounds like they’d have to kill Strauss first.” Rossi answers, looking over at Aaron who was seated at the other end of the table, “And I doubt if that’s as easy as it sounds.”

“All right, so what do we know?” Aaron brings the attention to Reid. Who was studying the picture found with the body, “This photo isn’t digital. It was printed on real chromogenic photo paper.”

“So he’s old school.” You state.

Blake nods, “We’re still trying to ascertain when the photo was taken.”

Aaron’s phone rings, he answers, “Garcia, I’m putting you on speaker.”

“You guys, there are a shocking number of weirdos out there who have a thing for nurses.” Her voice comes through the phone, “But I got a giant hit. 15 years ago the BAU had a case in Pittsburg, involving the stabbing murders of 4 nurses.”

“That’s close enough to be related.” You speak up.

“That rings a bell.” Rossi tells the table, pondering look on his face, “But I didn’t work that case, Gideon did.”

“It ended relatively well.” Garcia goes on, “The killer was caught, and we managed to save one of his would be victims.”

“Garcia, what happened to Kemper?”

“He died, 5 months ago from lethal injection.”

“What if that was the trigger.” Reid theorizes, “The silencer copycat murder happened 5 months ago.”

Bidwell, the current unsub for being the replicator, overdosed on his medication after he made his phone call in holding. His body language was all over the place, and he only confessed to the 3 murders in Philadelphia, not the other copycat ones.

You and the rest of the team are in the local PD’s confer room when Reid and Aaron walk through the door, joining you, “I just talked to Strauss, she wants an update. What happened?”

“Bidwell died en route to the hospital.” Derek tells him.

“It’s bizarre. If he wanted payback, why would he kill himself?” Blake questions.

“Maybe this is his version of payback.” Reid considers, “If he takes his own life we can’t put him in prison.”

Rossi however, doesn’t agree, “But his body language- you should have seen it. When JJ mentioned the copycat murders, he had no idea what she was talking about.”

“He did it after his phone call, maybe that made him change his plan.” You think out loud.

“Local police traced the number.” Derek sighs, “It was a prepaid cell that went dead right after Bidwell’s call.”

“A partner?” Aaron raises his eyebrow.

Rossi shakes his head, “He didn’t know about the other copycat murders. He wouldn’t be someone’s partner.”

“He’d be their pawn.” You finish for him.

Sitting on the jet, headed to Pittsburg, Aaron goes over the plan with everyone for when you land. Swat will be waiting for you, along with the local P.D. You all make it off the plane, headed straight to the SUV, Garcia over the bluetooth telling everyone where to go.

“Guy’s I don’t like this, it seems like we are going exactly where he wants us to.” Derek tells everyone, speaking the thought that everyone else has.

When you all pull up to the warehouse, the head of swat comes over, talking to Aaron, “The snipers are set and all the exits are covered.”

“Air support?” Aaron asks him.

“Choppers are standing by.”

“We’ll enter from two sides.” Aaron tells the team, pulling out his tablet and showing the floor plans to Derek, who will be running the other point, “You’ll go through this side, we’ll come through this way.”

“Alright guys,” Derek turns to the swat that will follow your side in, “I need you to stay tight and keep alert.”

They all nod, tightening their vests, “This man has a vendetta against us. This could be a trap.” You tell them, voice hard.

The head of swat looks at his team, “Alright gents, lets move out.”

Your team splits up, getting into position. You go with Derek and Reid, following behind them and entering the building, turning left. You shine your light as you walk through the hallways, making sure the area is clear. You all come to a sliding door, and after making sure it’s clear, the swat slides the door open, letting the team into the room where music is playing.

The rest of the team enters at the same time as you from the other side, everyones lights flashing around. Aaron goes up to the girl in the middle of the room, checking for a pulse, “She’s gone.”

You walk around, looking at the pictures that are up on the wall, the pictures of the team on cases. Off cases. Pictures of you outside your apartment. Your breathing starts becoming erratic when you get to a wall where several pictures of you and Aaron hang. Pictures of you both laughing at dinner, or running in the park, or kissing in his car. In every picture, your face has a big red X on it. Your relationship is out there. Your lives are being targeted.

Your head stars spinning, and you feel like you’re going to throw up, when Aaron comes up behind you, seeing the same thing you did. How long has he been following all of you, watching you without you knowing? How much does he know about your lives? Aaron pulls you into his chest, letting you breakdown, whispering in your ear, though you can’t hear anything he’s saying, too far into your own head.

The threat is clear, he’s coming after the team, coming after you. The team gathers around you and Aaron, trying to comfort you while also trying to not break down themselves. Looking at all the pictures on the wall. How could we not know?

The glass has finally overflowed, and now it’s cracking.

*********

taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @averyhotchner @rousethemouse @malindacath @buckyswintersoldiermask

[berlinini]

Clem's Tour Commentary: Vancouver (y/n edition aka my show)

Sooooo!!! Last May I was lucky enough to get tickets for the Vancouver show, which wasn't sold out at the time, and Portland 2, which had just been announced. I love Vancouver so I thought I'd visit once again. Having heard of the city of Portland, and especially because of the venue (one of the smallest of the tour, with GA), I thought let's do both! I ended up buying tickets to LA and so for months I have been thinking about what I called Clem's West Coast Tour 2022. This has been a simple way to explain to friends and family the reason of my trip - and get concerned looks at the idea that I was seeing the same artist 3 times, to which I wanted to say... bestie I'll have seen the show 20 times before I even set foot in the first venue...!!! I know the show by heart at this point! Anyways.

All of this to say, you can imagine the anticipation of finally seeing Louis live myself, especially after witnessing his performances over livestreams for the last 5 weeks, and after months of waiting and incertitude!

As usual, I wrote a full length novel about my experience, so each show will have its own post. Recap under the cut! :)

VANCOUVER

Pre-Show

The show was on Sunday night and I started feeling jittery on Saturday. I went to check out the venue, unfortunately Louis' name wasn't on the marquee. Sunday around noon I went around the artist's entrance and fans were already lining up to see Louis arrive. I spent the rest of the day being a mess. The show was an all seated venue, which I loved because I found it less stressful, and thought it would be as good as Nashville. Oh! And by the power of the Louie God, I had the chance to exchange my balcony tickets for better seats in the orchestra, in ROW 28 so!!! It was a blessed event! Even more so because Louis showed up at the venue in PURPLE???? Very truly blessed!

Me and my excellent solo louie companion @bbrox arrived around 7:30pm, and lined up in the short line (there were two lines because there are two entries to the venue). Upon entering (at 8, so we knew the show would be delayed), we saw that the lines for the merch stands were a literal maze going up and down the stairs, it was insane!!! The venue was SO beautiful, a palace fit for a King. We got drinks, which was funny because I got carded (being confused for a 19 yo is always nice) and my mind was elsewhere so after that I took my drinks and started leaving and they were like... girl you have to pay! That gives you an idea of my state of mind! We renounced getting merch and decided to join our seats. Row 28 baby!!! It was the last row, right in front of some of the sound consoles. We did a little visit of the front of the stage, where people were taking pics. You could feel how everyone was so excited! Sun Room was nice, and the girls in front of us were apparent fans and it was very cute to see. During the break @captainlouisuniverse (which I sadly didn't get to meet :\) texted me to say that if you payed cash at the merch counter you could go quicker. So we jumped on the opportunity and cut the queue (sorry not sorry). I got the white tour t-shirt (with the eye!!!). Also, I asked the venue lady if they were handing out water and she was like...well you have to pay for it?! and honestly I'm suing LTHQ for discrimination against Canadians fans...

It's Showtime!!!

I was SO nervous when Smells Like Teen Spirit started playing and we KNEW the guys would get on stage, we KNEW the drums to WMI were coming up and we knew LOUIS was coming up!!! To paraphrase Louis, one year of built up energy!!! The atmosphere in the room was crazy, Louis showed up wearing all black (so sexy of him!!!) and honestly from that it's just a blur of emotions...

Compared to Portland show (more on that later), I have a hard time describing how Vancouver felt. I hardly remember stuff... (ok this 1 000 words post is saying otherwise) Maybe because it was too intense on a emotional level, maybe it's because I wasn't as close to the stage... It's gonna sound weird but I was so focused on myself during that show and on the communal experience in the room. It really felt like we were sharing a moment, after such a long time waiting. When I think about it there was Louis singing, me singing with Louis, and the awesome atmosphere. I was just living the moment and I honestly felt like I deserved to have this moment of pure joy considering how bleak life has been for the last two years.

And the way I experienced the show was so different from watching it online - I didn't care to find out what brand Louis was wearing, I didn't care to rate the crowd, I wasn't focusing on Louis reacting to fan signs, hell I hardly looked at the guys (except Michael). I wasn't trying to take pictures (RIP my iPhone XR's shitty lense) or get Louis' attention, I just wanted to have a good time and give him a good time. The crowd was good and all the fandom drama was far away - we were there and we were happy, and so was Louis and the band. The songs just kept on coming, with the rush of OMG THIS IS XYZ!!! and before you knew it, we were losing our minds to KMM and it was over.

I had so much energy singing and jumping around and yeah one thing about me is that I scream a lot at concerts (RIP the people standing besides me), so I did that. I screamed. A lot. I had no voice at the end of the show... I was so hot, thank God I was wearing layers but my fleece-lined platform Converse were very uncomfortable. Suddenly I understood the fans fainting in the pit - at least we had room to move around.

My (almost) enemies to lovers story with Matt Vines:

Ever since being in Vancouver at the same time as Louis and his band but especially ever since knowing me and Michael had walked the same street on the same day, my mind was going overdrive with some y/n fantasies, which became a running gag among some of you here (I love you all). It wouldn't be the first time in this fandom that fans think they're in a fanfic, however I'm not dumb enough to think Louis will invite me on his tour bus so I had placed all my hopes (delusions) on Michael, because... well you know why. So that was the joke. Alas, if someone noticed me (even that...) from that night it was... Matt Vines.

Matt was standing behind us, a little bit to my left, in between the sound consoles. He was there almost the whole time, on his phone for a good part. I know because I looked at him a few times, since @silverfoxlou had given me the order to give him a stinky eye if I ever saw him. So I sent him bad energy. So what happened for me to say he noticed me? Well bestie don't believe anything you read on tumblr dot com especially dodgy fan reports because nothing concrete happened LOL. But I was so close to him and as I said I screamed so much, jumped so much, that there's no way Matt didn't at least looked at me once and thought: who is that crazy chick with her wannabe Ariana Grande ponytail and her bouncing cross-body bag and who's wearing awesome Converses (ok there's no way he saw my shoes). Dreams do come true!!!! If anything I hope he saw me going hard on the non-1D songs and I set a good example of solo fans (as if that was written on my forehead lol - though my attitude during Habit probably gave a clue). Anyways, fuck you Matt I still hate you.

Some honorary mentions of the show (the bits that I recall):

The lights during Two Of Us: this was not a fan project, it just happened organically? Not to brag (but I will) but I was one of the first to put my torch out, it just seemed like it fit with the emotion of the song? I'm glad we had that <3

There was a fan project for the rainbow lights for OTB . We didn't have a lot of flags (some will say we were homophobic for that), but it was still a very emotional moment. I haven't seen what the rainbow lights looked like - that's what happens when you're at the back of the venue... Also, it's interesting to see how the perspective is different being live vs being "front row" via a stream.

We did the lights for Beautiful War as demanded asked by Louis. That song always makes me tear up and hearing it live, I feel so lucky. Just thinking about this makes me emotional.

Louis messed up Walls (video) which I didn't realize because unfortunately I always forget Walls #dontcancelme. I'm so glad we got to scream YOU WERE MY BECAUSE to him twice!!! It was so awesome!

This was me when Habit rolled on. I boycotted the song and kept my mouth shut, yes I'm petty. I hope Matt caught that.

When the drums to 7 started playing I was going INSANE. Unfortunately the crowd wasn't that much into it but me and my bestie went 110% on it, I was out of breath at the end, it was everything I ever dreamed off. I had a slight obsession with that song last summer, so seeing it live was a real #wemadeit moment.

I had this urge to scream "Michael you're so hot" because... why not... but didn't want to be disrespectful, so finding the right time felt tricky, but luckily I saw an opening during the band pic break. Around 0:35 in this video if you squint really hard you can almost hear it? God I wish I had been closer or had a louder voice. Anyways I hope he heard me <3 If anything Matt definitely did so I count that as a win in the things he's gonna tell Louis and Michael about me because he totally noticed me and talked about and this is my y/n moment

OK but talking about Michael being hot... He's insanely talented and the way he works that guitar during 7, LBD, is sooooo hot!!! He's just out there manspreading like a king while a whole venue is screaming for him, go little rock star!!! I'm also "manspreading" thinking about it but for different reasons

Fearless: I've been saying for months that hearing Fearless live would cure me and boy did it work!!! It's so good!!! I still have the reflex of singing "enjoy this Crystal Palace" (lol) I hope Louis would give us a "enjoy this (name of city)", because it's the perfect introduction - he know... he knows.

Defenseless and Always You are so good, fuck the person at Sony who didn't make at least one of them a single, because you can tell these are bops that the crowd loves. It was awesome to sing "it's been two years since I saw your face" and "just wanna be loved by YOU" to Louis, the way he reclaimed those songs, go off my love.

The energy for KMM was insane (video), it's such a good way to end the show, but it's also so bittersweet? The high is insane and then you're left to yourself, with the inevitable realization that it's over... :(

See @seasurfacefullofclouds1's wonderful highlight post about the show here.

Post Show:

In true Groupie Fashion™️, and because we couldn't handle the show being over over, we waited outside to see Louis getting on the bus. We spotted Oli going back and forth several times, Kyrstle and Jessie (to whom I sent bad vibes) going on the other bus, Isaac, Zak and Matt getting on the bus together.

Then LOUIS!!! The King of England! God I can't believe he was there, right across the street from me (video). He got in pretty quick and then sat at the window like the annoying little shit that he is, just being there and basking in the attention (Michael's that is). I truly wondered how it must be like for him...Like there is no reason for him to have that window open (except for when he smoked)?? He's just a superstar. The crowd was shouting "Louis we love you" and because I had to balance my karma from my 'Michael you're so hot' shout out, I yelled at least two times "you're so pretty" because Louis needs to know it and also I love to objectify men.

Michael arrived late, by himself, with his huge backpack, which is one of the things I considered worthy of my camera roll. I have 3 blurry pics to prove it.

JD and Wolsey were stellar in their crowd management, especially because it was a busy street with a lot of cars (and trams - we were joking that the tram would block Louis from our view when he got out, à la Walls mural van). At some point the fans shouted some praise for JD and Wolsey and Joshua was filming and it made a little bit of a commotion, thus prompting Louis to curiously put his head out... Drama queen!

Joshua was hanging out a bit outside the bus, taking pics from under the window. Charlie was really doing the rounds, he was so close to me, I almost started chatting him up about dinners in Portland. Instead I made sure my mask was all up so I wouldn't be recognizable if I ever make it in that damn documentary he's making (another 18 months before I find out, another y/n moment wow I'm so lucky).

Post-Show: the Crowd/ Fandom stuff (anecdotal notes that you can skip if you're tired of reading this essay):

The crowd waiting outside was interesting. They started singing No Control - it was inevitable... but luckily it was the first time of the night, since we didn't get it during the show break. The problem with my brain is that I just start singing songs without realizing what they are - I'm on automatic mode. I truly thought we were singing Miss You before I realized it was NC... RIP. They also sang Home, WMYB and later Perfect Now (cute). At some point the singing got drowned by shout of 'we love you', which was nice.

In waiting we chatted a bit with the girls close to us and this hilarious (to me) interaction happened, when Louis was still inside and someone rolled out a box:

Girl: OMG maybe he's pulling a Harry and he's hiding in that box LOL

Me, turning around: excuse me? Céline was doing that first

Other girl: yeah I was going to say Taylor did it before Harry

Me: Sorry. Céline Dion.

Don't disrespect the queen like this UGH.

Also some fans were acting like the fandom police telling other what to do/ not to cross the street and I rolled my eyes to far back into my skull. Can we not? It's not your job so please stay in your lane.

Anyways, it was fun to wait out for Louis and see him, and I could already picture the gifs I would see on tumblr the day after of his adorable face out the window. It was a bit strange to think about how the show would be "perceived" and brought me back to fans who've been saying that livestreams don't do justice. I know it was a good show but at the same time I truly didn't give a damn about how people on tumblr and twitter had reacted - I had a good time, we had a good time. Louis sounded amazing, the crowd was loud and supportive, it's all that matters!

I feel like this was all over the place... thanks for keeping up with my Thoughts™️

TLDR: I fucking love Louis Tomlinson.

PS: for another recap of the night you can read @bbrox's post here