#And I realized it was the replacement word for “love” in animal jam way back when.

[little-estrellita]

No lie, if someone were to give me the Pusheen loaf plush. I would not hesitate to get them a mermaid pendant. I ain't letting them go-

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: R.E. Seraphin

Whether kicking out raucous, throaty garage jams with Impediments a decade ago, or exploring power-poppier terrain with Talkies and more recently under his own initials, Ray Seraphin tells his stories in the radiance just above the fuzz. Sung low and hoarse, his lyrics blink in and out of reality, propelled by the instruments’ lively buzz and echo. Ruptured by an explosive guitar lead here or punctuated by a tidy, melodic bass riff there, this music doesn’t sit still. It’s familiar but captivating, a potent rock and roll fusion of lo-fi attitude and sweeping hit-record moves. Alex Johnson called his latest release, Fool’s Mate, ��dynamic and buoyant… a bright, powerful album with lurid desperation creeping in from the edges.”

Here are 10 of Seraphin’s formative records, books, and movies:

Outrageous Cherry — Out There in the Dark

When I was 17, my bandmate’s partner loaned this CD to me and I held onto it for a number of years before she was able to pry it back. I loved the pairing of Matthew Smith’s arch wordplay and Larry Ray’s mercurial guitar work. They are one of the classic vocalist-guitarist duos to me — up there with Bowie-Ronson, Ferry-Manzanera, Rollins-Ginn. All of their albums are great. Not to sound trite but they really should be better known!

Ralph Bakshi — Wizards

When I was fired from my first job at Arinell’s Pizza, the manager gave me a 1/2 pint of Ancient Age, a CD copy of Butthole Surfers’ Independent Worm Saloon, and a VHS copy of Wizards as my severance package. He proceeded to drink the whiskey with me (at 9am) but, mercifully, stopped short of insisting we watch Wizards together. The film is lifted into classic status by Bakshi’s signature crude and wild animation style despite a fairly ho-hum future-fantasy plot. Still visually arresting.

John Barth — The End of the Road

I was an English literature major in college and, because I fancied myself a Serious Person, I read a lot of books I didn’t understand in my extracurricular time. I’ve read a few of John Barth’s more celebrated, metaphysical works but this early, "realistic" story is the one that stuck with me. There’s a bleakness and ugliness to the book that feels really transgressive — albeit not in an edgy, cornball way. Plus, as someone who probably suffers from some form of executive dysfunction, I somewhat relate to the protagonist Jake’s crisis of self.

The Real Kids — Outta Place

Over the years, my music has largely been referred to as power pop. I chafe against the term a little bit but can't say I’m entirely allergic to it. The Real Kids likely represent my first real interest in the genre. Their self-titled album is their best, most complete work; however, I more frequently listen to their New Rose-era.

Flamin’ Groovies — “Whiskey Woman”

Growing up, the Flamin’ Groovies were the consummate rock group. They represented band-ness to me in a way few others did. In my mind, it’s The Replacements, NRBQ, The Faces, maybe Cheap Trick, and the Flamin’ Groovies. Their early records have this cartoonish, shambolic post-Stones vibe I love — the Roy Loney effect. That said, I was drawn to this somewhat atypical ballad sung by their guitarist, Cyril Jordan. I think this is the song that made me realize you could end a song with something other than a double chorus.

Tommy James — “Ball and Chain”

My record collection did and does consist almost entirely of dollar bin records. I bought this record on a whim at a garage sale and became enamored of James’ weird, Christian bubblegum world. The fuzz guitar (maybe played by Tommy himself?) on this song is absolutely psychotic. Big fan.

Kirsty MacColl — “They Don't Know”

I discovered Stiff Records through a CD box set my mom owned. Initially, I was lured by the rockin’ entries in their catalog: Nick Lowe, Wreckless Eric, Larry Wallis, The Damned, et al. I also adored Rachel Sweet and Kirsty MacColl, though. A perfect song that contains the most affecting use of the word "baby" in the history of pop music.

Thee Headcoatees — Girlsville

I vaguely remember being stoned at a friend’s house when I was 16 and getting introduced to this Headcoatees album. I nicked a riff for one of my first songs, "Pig Out," which I licensed to a vegan pork rind company 10 years later. To this day, I don’t know what song I ripped off and it may not have even been by Thee Headcoatees. But Thee Headcoatees are cool, so here you go!

Flannery O’Connor — Wise Blood

I attribute my interest in American fiction writing to Flannery O’Connor. The atmosphere in her stories is so suffocating and anxiety-inducing — in a good way. I think reading this was the first time I understood the emotional impact great writing can have. I have a slight preference for her short stories now but, keeping in the spirit of this list, Wise Blood was my first, most enduring exposure to her work.

Zero Boys — Vicious Circle

I grew up in Berkeley, home of the Gilman St. Project, and I think a lot of my peers in high school expected me to be into hardcore. The Zero Boys are probably the one the clicked with me the most. They were melodic and seemed still tethered to rock n’ roll. Could be because they cited The Dictators as an influence. I was wearing a Vicious Circle t-shirt the first time I was dumped but I don't hold that against them.

[lucky4in]

Magic Interferes in New Orleans

Prompts from Piccadilly's book #3

Words used: ☆matriarch ☆throat ☆impossible ☆vinegar ☆apology ☆slice ☆microwave ☆raspberry ☆choose ☆snore

God! I can't take it. The dread is killing me. I'm losing all the blood in my fingers with how tight I'm squeezing the steering wheel. The honking around me is not helping. I can feel everyone's fear collectively as we sit in agitated traffic. Stress. Fault. Jitteriness. Indifference. Panic, panic, panic.

God, I hate being an empath. I can't even hear my own thoughts. I need to breath! Yeah. Take deep breaths. I'm not far from the U-turn lane. So what if traffic is moving 1 millimeter a minute? The storm can't be faster.

Hooooonk!

Beepbeep!

I have to get out of this situation before I have a sensory overload.

From my front and my rear, I'm surrounded by vehicles. I can't move back, I'll hit someone. I can't move up, because they'll think there's space to move and I'll be more stuck than before. Looking to my right I realize the road across the gate is fairly empty. That last car I saw go that way was 40 something minutes ago.

I gulp loosening my grip from the wheel but still holding it firmly in my palms. Taking a breath I turn the wheel and step on the gas. My car races through the grass and crashes though the metal gates. With a screech, my tires are finally rolling and I'm off. Towards the dark clouds like a fool running blindly into a lions den.

When I finally catch sight of the curling palm trees and the flying debris, my weariness is replaced by anger. We had a plan. A simple schedule. Prepare emergency food, water, and medicine, flashlights and documents, locate nearest shelters, fill up gas tank, clear the yard, and turn off the power. When the evacuation order is set, I would be too far away at the time, so my husband would get the kids from home and we...would...evecuate.

Evacuate.

We would meet at the nearest shelter with our separate cars...

Unfortunately, my...sweet...dearest mother decided to take it upon herself to pick up the kids herself...and NOT evacuate. Instead, she wanted her grand babies to feel safe during the storm and cook them a nice meal...at her house.

I almost had a heart attack when my husband said they weren't there. Instead, a note was attached to the fridge reassuring us that my elementary school kids, including a baby, did not infact disappear off the face of the earth. She wants them to feel less threatened and stressed over this "flood nonsense". Make it seem like a regular thunder storm.

Except it's not a thunder storm! It's a hurricane!

I told my husband not to worry about it, I will get the kids and be ok. The hurricane is suppose to be a bad one, the weather man said. Anything left undemolished by the storm by the end of this would be a miracle. Hopefully it won't be my sanity. I swear, she's impossible.

By the time I get to her house, the streets are flowing with water and clawing up her driveway like waves at a beach. I step out and my shoe kerplunks into the water. I groan, feeling my ears eject hot steam. I stomp onto her porch with a squish, squish, squish and jam the key into the lock.

I kick the door open and slam it shut, my anger seeming to accelerate as soon I step inside. I cringe a bit, noticing my youngest asleep on the couch.

"DON'T SLAM MY DO-" my mother sticks her head out through the kitchen doorway and spots me.

"-Oh, hi baby!"

I stretch a tight smile, coaxing my child back to sleep. "Hello, mother."

"You came just in time. I just need to get a few things done before we eat."

And there she is. Like always. Not worrying about a thing while marinating apple cider vinegar on peices of pork. Probably to slice into the-

Sniff, sniff.

-gumbo. Her calm persona was infuriating. Almost insulting.

"Too bad my son in law couldn't be here. He'd love to stuff his face with the beignets" she continues.

"He's at the shelter. Kinda like we're suppose to be" I say, honey tounged and all "which begs the question..." I lean in, my palms face down on the table. "Why aren't we there right now?" I sneer, bringing my voice down.

"Because there's no need to. You know that" she says simply.

"Maybe in your case, but not mine. You just felt entitled to do things your way. Like you always do. I had everything under control and-and you had me worried."

"You know nothing was going to happen to these kids. I knew nothing was really wrong."

"If you really felt so aloof about this, you should have stayed yourself. You can't just up and take my kids like that. We've talked about this."

She finally looks at me, turning away from her task. "I should be free to see my own grand kids whenever I want to."

"I would have probably excepted that, if we weren't in the middle of a god damn hurricane-"

"Momma! Momma look!"

I was interrupted by my two children excitedly telling me that a pie was on the way. All while showing me their hands, proof of a raspberry massacre. Animated. Passion. Triumph. Pleasant. I ruffle their heads with a quick "good job" and they ran off together. Their happiness almost cures my frustration. It does calm me down a bit though.

"Is is so much to want to keep your family safe" my mother asks.

Aaaaaaand its back.

"Is it so much to just listen to me? To just let me do things my way? I am in no less danger than you are just because I dont have the same... tools that you do."

"It looks like it puts you in a lot of danger if you have to evacuate the city. You could simply come here so momma can protect you."

"That makes me look like a normal person, mom. The streets are already flooding and a ton of people just saw me go the opposite direction. I look stupid and suspicious." I'm taken back to my teen years. Having a similar conversation with my mother. "Not everything can be solved with your protection. I can make my own decisions. But instead you undermine me and tamper with everything around you. Just because I dont have it, doesn't mean I cant keep my family safe or simply be a mother. How about, for once, you let mother nature do her job."

"Your father made this house with his bare hands, rehydrating himself with his sweat. No one is touching this house. Not even Cosmo's or Gaia or whatever." She huffs and turn away. A puff of steam emerges over her head, indicating she opened the pot of Gumbo.

"Well, when your the Matriarch, you can start making the rules around here."

Realizing an apology isn't coming, I groan restricting myself from wrapping my hands around her throat. Its silence between us, as there is after every altercation. Especially when the house is mentioned, cause it's always Papa's house. He passed away before I could even learn to speak his name. Mama always told us about Papa. How she met him, how he put her on her feet and built a house for her (it was told he even built the bricks holding this house up), how his devotion to his family and the love of his life lasted until death did them part.

"What makes you think I'm going to be the next Matriarch?" I ask, slipping in the kitchen chair.

"You will. It's a family tradition that you need to uphold. And you are the only girl conceived by me." She answers, this sounds almost rehearsed.

"Why don't the others take your place?" I ask, for the millionth time.

"It's only rare that a boy has ever been in place of a woman. And once a girl was brought in, he was removed immediately."

"If it's that simple then crown them and get it over with."

"Oh, do you think it's that easy"? She quizzes, slowly turning to me.

"Knowing you, probably not."

"Hyde is much more coordinated than that. If they really didn't think you were worthy, we would have known, but I always knew you were special."

Here she goes again. Hyde,, is supposedly the person that gifts the family with magic, life, and girls. It's the spirirt who thrones and dethrones us. No matter who we are. According to mom, the next Matriarch could be good or bad, Hyde has a plan for them in the end.

Along with Papa's stories, Hyde was always directed towards me because I was the only girl, excluding my half sister. Truthfully there was no way to know if Hyde was actually real. I'm not even sure if my parents have seen it. Mom would tell me tales at night of different women throughout our generation, chosen by Hyde and how I would be like them someday.

Perfect.

"Hyde doesn't give you this gift for no reason" mom reassures "they always have a plan. You can't see everything in a negative light. What if Hyde chooses Clio and you-"

I stop her at the mention of my youngest name.

"I'm not putting that responsibility on my kid" I say sternly, though It probably won't matter what I tell her "Especially if, no offense, she ends up like you. Completely dependent on Hyde's gift. IT didn't give me any when I was born, like the rest of you, and I'd like it to stay that way."

Silence once more.

"Perhaps you're afraid-"

"I'm not afraid-"

"-its okay."

"-Of this imaginary ghost."

"Sure, keep believing that. But when it happens~" she sings.

"When it happens to me, pigs will fly" I sneer, memories of that same sing song tone prodding at me.

She says nothing.

"Just let it go mom, it's just not meant to be. I'm not a child that you can hide under your wings when hail comes. However your gifts came to be, Hyde, the house, whatever, it must've skipped a generation."

She continues to stir. She sputters "but-but the family-"

"-The family doesn't know what's best for me and neither do you. I know I'm the only daughter to the Matriarch. I know I wasn't born with any gifts like my siblings. I know refusing my path makes me an ungrateful child and Hyde will handle me" I say reciting what I also heard throughout my life "But that's not my life. And I'm not defenseless."

She freezes. More silence.

"And, I mean, it's not like having voodoo is easy. It consumes you and it messes a lot of things up. This worlds order and the next."

"That's what the council is for" my mom mutters finally.

"Oh, right. The council. The same family who's just as dependent as you. Do you even remeber a time where you haven't used your gift and actually did things yourself?"

...

...

"Don't you ever think of letting go of this life? Doing things for yourself and not the family? Hyde? Papa's house? I notice how this changes you as you age. If this is the answer to our problems I wouldn't mind the sea taking this house away for a while-"

"Mama! Mama!"

"Wow, look."

I follow my kids voices and they seek for me, a glimmer of wonder and awe in there wide pupils. My 2 boys are pointing to the window in the living room. My sleeping child is now up, standing on her toes to see what her brothers are looking at.

As I begin to walk In the living room, they're rushing back to the kitchen. I take a peek and see a part of the lawn, including my rental car but the road and the neighborhood is gone. A large amount of visible debris is covering up the world around-

No.

No.

That's not debris. That's not wind.

I follow my kids. They've opened the screen door and ventured into the back yard. I race after them and stop in my tracks. The water barrier has followed us to the backyard. My kids are screaming and dancing in the sprinklers as the hurricane is trapping us in its second eye. The oceanic barrier is circling around is, refusing to touch the property. With my kids instructions I look up, the sky is dark above us like it's the dead of night, yet inside the barrier, its murky like a cloudy day.

I can't concentrate. Excitment. Curiosity. Shock. Chills.

I sigh as my daughter wobbles to me and I scoop her in my arms. I can see it now, worst hurricane in 6 years and the Crobitt house still stands. This is similar but not related to the instance when a pair of swings at the run down school across the house seemingly froze in the air a few years ago... CIA is currently investigating...

I gather my children inside, they were starting to go towards the rushing ocean and who knows what'll happen. I shut the door with a defeated sigh and sulk at the table. The beneits sit gracefully with their powder sugar and I worship it by stuffing it in my mouth.

"I told you..."

I look up. My mothers eyes are glowing that familiar bright green and she has that devious smirk on her face. She always gave me that look as a child as if she's trying to tell me something. That, or it's to prove something, which I still dont know. I dont think I ever will.

"...you're father built this house. No one is taking it from me..."

...

...

"Now, elbows off the table."

-------

If you like to write or be creative, perhaps you need inspiration, go check out this book! Its the best!

[stray-tori]

TPN S02E06 - Initial Thoughts (anime-only)

hhh everything went wrong with my reaction video this time - the video is lagging (so i replaced the screenrecording with the actual episode), also facecam broken so my friends won’t get to see me tearing up and the wrong mic input was recorded so I’m sorry for the shitty quality. I’m so upset :(

Edit: Google Drive Link! :)

.

I don’t even know what to really talk about because I liked everything?? it was such a good episode and I just... AHHH. I wish we had so much more of THIS. please give them more seasons.... ik its already too late for that but pleaseee fidusdj- they just... do so well when they adapt imo. the whole comparison panels I’ve seen of the interactions with Norman, I just... genuinely think it’s such a highpoint and they did so friggin well.

I just... I’m so sad this will likely be the last season. I hope we’ll get more, in whatever form. I know there’s the manga and unless we get an announcement about more anime content at light speed, I do plan on reading it! I just... I love the anime. And it’s art. The manga’s art is unique but the style isn’t my jam and some stuff just looks a bit too stylized for my liking hhhh-

That won’t stop me but... it does make me emotional, I guess.

Let’s hope they stay on this path now that they’ve joined back in with the manga, somewhat (still, you couldnt even give them 12 episodes??).

.

. the reunion

It gave me flutters!! it’s so nice and intimate and sweet and dusdhj- THE NORMAN SQUISH. And him noticing Emma’s ear is gone TvT Her sweet, kinda embarrassed “I left it back at home” efiojsd

also the clothing line here separates the two groups, alluding to the conflict between them later in the episode. They’re strangers on two sides, and Norman is the only connecting piece.

I didn’t really dislike anything aside from Ray being left out. I just wanted them both to run for him I guess :( though it makes sense to be more distant, he also was at the shipment itself but idk, it just makes Norman seem so,,, rude that he doesn’t acknowledge Ray at all until Emma is like “hey btw I brought him too” :”D

Slap kinda deserved, on multiple fronts haha-

Though the mutual “baka” calling between Norman and Ray was adorable duihdasjdas

.

. Emma’s arc

a few days ago, I made that whole “anime emma’s arc” post about her feeling useless and how that might come into play - and I do hope they address it and I think they kind of are? Because GF arc Emma was always ready to have her way, even if it seemed impossible.

Either way, I feel like part of why she didn’t speak up is kind of as alluded to, that she doesn’t feel like she has the right to when she doesn’t know any other way right now. And I hope that in the next few episode we will see her headstrong and do things and be pro-active and kind of challenge that and Norman.

.

. Norman (+ his crew)

It was kind of on the nose when Norman held that whole speech about what she had said before, a small hint to it would have been enough I feel like, for the audience -- because I think realizing that part of his motivation in all of this was just her words and that he wanted to do that for her (I think that’s the implication) is really sweet. He is kind of the carrier here and I hope that will change because it feels like we haven’t earned this bio weapon at all - which is okay, because it probably won’t be the solution, so it’s more of a plot-moving element than an actual solution. And I hope that whatever the solution really does entail will feel less like an ass-pull and more deserved.

I feel it may have been interesting to have a pov switch somewhere in ep4 or ep5 to Norman and what he’s been up to. The reveal was kind of “...? okay?” anyway so I feel like that would have made things a little interesting, but I also really enjoy getting to know his squad now.

I’m also HIGHKEY SUS (all alarm bells are ringing) at Norman being like “Oh I just did tests” like.... BABY. PRECIOUS SON, ARE YOU PRETENDING EVERYTHING’S FINE AGAIN?

The fact that Norman didn’t bother explaining further just solidifies (to me, anyway) that he’s avoiding talking about it somewhat. He spoke about it very distantly and from an objective viewpoint.

Alone getting that tattoo on his chest must have hurt a lot. So. Please, give me a lot of angst, CW.

I hope both him and his crew will get some flashbacks or trauma moments to really solidify how badly they’ve been treated (and deliver some juicy angst).

I really loved the close-up on the meat Barbara was eating in that scene too. I felt like it didn't even have to spell it out for us that they're eating demon meat but. Oh well - it was well conveyed but I guess the characters had to confirm.

I also love that whole part about how he’s always cold to them auidhjhs - I really do feel like making a gif out of that haha.

Lambda person: “Boss?” Norman: “What? :/” Emma/Ray: “Norman!” Norman: “Yes? :)”

Also only vaguely related but what’s with people who are made to be eaten, in a state of “dead??? who knows” and then coming back as a “boss” :D Yes I’m talking about beastars.

.

. Mujika

Norman called her the “evil-blooded girl” and the old guy called the temple “evil-blooded” too. And he said it wasn’t a place for kids to be --- and he likely assumed that they were demon kids.

Also some nice clue before we even know to connect Mujika with the temple.

A demon temple that’s “evil-blooded” and too dangerous for demon kids?

It could just be because it’s a ruin, but he IS praying for the world to change there. Mujika seems to be able to maintain her form without eating humans, so maybe that’s what this is all aiming towards.

I guess it also means that the statue with the violet veil is Mujika??? She does have purple hair I suppose.

At first, I was surprised that Norman recognized her just by the description - there’s more than one demon girl :D but I guess only one demon girl who doesn’t need to eat humans? - and I thought he may have crossed paths with her.

But for that to be the case AND for him to assume she’s alive because Emma and Ray have met her, it can’t mean he actually MET her. Because well, RayEm met her like 2 months after his shipment. Assuming he didn’t break out immediately, he couldn’t have met AND tried to do something to her (likely kill). So my guess is that she’s some sort of legend or diety or just like, commonly known and she’s supposedly dead and he’s shocked because she isn’t.

He also first asked “where did you hear about that?” assuming he also only heard about it. Norman's reaction to them having met them also isn't "when?" (so he could confirm if it was after or before his supposed encounter with her), it's shock that they met her AT ALL. Which to me, implies that she's supposedly dead (which lines up with the temple in ruin, so something happened to her line, or whatever she's a part of). And since Norman couldn't have met her before their escape (Mujika hasn't seen a human when they meet the GF escapees), that's my conclusion.

Assuming she’s dead also makes sense since her (religion’s) temples seem to be in ruin. maybe that’s why no other demons seem to have that ability (that we know of), because it was lost when her presence was destroyed (therefore the ruins) or something of the sort.

She’s never seen a human before apparantly though, so I’m not sure what exactly that means. She doesn’t seem to have wanted freedom for humans prior to meeting them either (she only seemed hesitant about eating them after all that), so I’m not sure what her own motivation in having that sort of religion would even be.

There’s of course also sonju, so maybe it is after all a religion-thing? Who knows-

.

As I’ve talked about before, I think it makes a lot of sense if the demons are part of the solution, I’m just really curious what that solution actually entails for the demons / what exactly Mujika is. I still think it’s plausible that another promise between Mujika and Emma will happen, considering the narrative mirroring TPN does a lot.

.

. other random stuff

there’s mass production farms! I shouldn’t be surprised, but I hope we get to know more about those (likely not since yknow 5 episodes left and all that)

I also liked how they showed the different plants while talking about it, mirroring how we too mutated plants and some animals to further benefit our needs and exploitation...

The pep talk from Ray was good and the sunrise was SO BEAUTIFUL, TAKE ME NOW ANIMATORS

generally the animation, especially in the trio scene and the lambda squad hideout scenes, was so BEAUTIFUL

I liked that I kept joking about how the WM system was rly insecure if a random guy just dropped the pen for Krone to find, but NOW WE HAVE CONFIRMATION IT WAS INTENTIONAL and Smee is truly the MVP / big brain puppet master of this series.

It did seem kind of weird that Norman just left like "yeah this will probably be discovered soon. anyway, I'm leaving you here to go to my base, see ya" - LIKE BRO TAKE THEM WITH YOU SO YOU CAN PROTECT THEM IF THEY SHOW UP LIKE, TONIGHT

[moonknightly]

Now I’m Hungry For Blood Again : Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader 

Word Count: 2.7k

Excerpt: “...you could find sweet religion in his eyes and build a church in the palm of his hand, but those eyes, that tongue — you would sin, and sin, and sin as he brought you to your knees. He was your confessional, his name your most desperate prayer, your moans an erotic hymn.”

Warnings: Blood, bad words you shouldn’t repeat in front of a 5 year old, sexual references but no smut. 

I totally 100% recommend listening to “Run” and “Blood Red” by The Maine oKAY

You love him.

Present tense.

You love the way your name drips from his tongue like honey, and the way his fingers tangle in your hair, and how they pull, sending pinpricks across your scalp and shivers down your spine. You love how he seems to know exactly what’s bothering you before you even have a chance to say it, and how his eyes scan your face as if he’s committing it to memory every single time he looks at you, as if he could never possibly get enough of you.

You love him, and his stupid messy curls, and the way his brown eyes sparkle in the sunlight, and the taste of his lips.

And those lips of his, they taste so fucking sweet, because you know he loves you just as much. There’s no doubt in your mind that he loves you with every ounce of his being, with every fractured piece of his soul, set on fire with a single touch.

He had managed to climb his way inside of you, settle between your bones and make a home inside of your chest, but you had managed to do the same. You could feel his devotion for you in the way his gentle hands gripped your hips between rough sheets, and in the way his eyelashes fluttered across the skin of your cheek as he breathed you in.

You love him.

And Poe Dameron loves you.

Even if he was no longer whispering your name in the dead of night and stealing the breath right from your lungs with a single touch of his lips to yours, he still loves you.

A love like that can’t just die.

Living things die. Plants, animals, people. Parts of people.

But not love. Not your love. It was infinite, and knew no bounds. It couldn’t just cease to exist, it didn’t make any sense. You refused to let it make sense.

It couldn’t have just disappeared, dissolving into the night sky like a cloud of gray smoke. Poe Dameron could disappear, but his love couldn’t.

Or maybe, it could. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe he really was gone. Maybe you were holding onto some sense of false hope and false promises of forever. Maybe you were stuck in the first stage of grief — denial.

You were okay, staying there. Remaining in the first stage. You didn’t want to be angry, or bargain, or fall into a depression you doubted you would be able to pull yourself out of, and you definitely didn’t want to accept the fact that his heart no longer belonged to you, and that it was over.

You didn’t know it was possible to grieve the loss of someone who was still alive, still breathing.

Maybe you weren’t grieving. Maybe you were just feeling.

Feelings. Emotions. You were so out of touch with them. The numbness, the nothingness, it was all you knew now. You couldn’t remember the last time you had actually let yourself feel something.

Actually, you could. It was that last night — your last night with him, now over a year ago, where you spent hours memorizing the feeling of his tongue sliding across sweat soaked skin and how his lips crafted a sinful poem between your thighs.

You had felt everything then. Every electric touch, every fluttering beat of your heart. Sex with Poe Dameron was nothing short of spiritual; you could find sweet religion in his eyes and build a church in the palm of his hand, but those eyes, that tongue — you would sin, and sin, and sin as he brought you to your knees. He was your confessional, his name your most desperate prayer, your moans an erotic hymn.

You missed feeling.

You missed him.

And Gods, you were determined to find him.

He was there, somewhere. Somewhere amongst the burning village, between the blood and the carnage lining desecrated streets. You could sense it. You’re with a person long enough, your bodies start to react like magnets.

You wanted to believe that maybe, he was looking for you too, that his soul still felt that pull to yours. Because it didn’t take you long at all to cross his path, nearly running into him as you both bolted around the corner in a deserted alley, and when your eyes met, for the first time in so long, he didn’t seem at all surprised.

You certainly were.

Surprised was probably an understatement.

Because seeing him, standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, in a black uniform that you hated to admit fit perfectly in all the right places, with the curls you so loved tamed, cut short and graying — it made it real. Made the fact that he left real, that he gave up sleeping next to you at night for a cause he had once sworn to destroy by your side.

Another thing you had been in denial over: you didn’t want to believe that the rumors, or rather, facts, were true. That he had joined the First Order, that he was now flying a TIE instead of his precious black X-Wing. That he had traded peace for power.

You could only stare at him, still trying so desperately to cling to that denial, but then he smiled at you. He smiled at you, but his eyes — you had never seen the warm brown so cold. So devoid of emotion. So lifeless.

Poe Dameron, your Poe Dameron, was anything but.

This wasn’t Poe.

The hope you had been holding onto immediately vanished, and you were finally slipping into that second stage of grief, because Maker, were you pissed. Pissed at yourself for refusing to believe what everyone else had told you, furious that you had been too blind to see it. Angry that his promises to you had meant nothing. Angry that he left the Resistance, left you for this.

The anger was quickly replaced by another response. You watched in something akin to horror as his smile turned to a smirk, and the feeling that creeped its way into your chest — it wasn’t relief. It wasn’t relief or happiness or contentment. It was nowhere near any positive emotion you could think of.

You didn’t even know what to call it.

All you knew is that you wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk clear off his face.

“Fancy seein’ you here, darling,” he said, and you cringed. His voice sounded exactly the same, his tone as soft as when he was still yours, contradicting everything else about him.

“You actually fucking did it,” you scoffed, surprising yourself by how steady yet full of venom your own voice was. You had nearly expected it to crack. Infact, you hadn’t planned on saying anything at all for that exact reason. It just slipped.

“I see you’ve still got that mouth on you.”

“You used to like my mouth.”

“Oh darling,” he chuckled, though the sound held no humor, his smirk turning even more wicked than before. “If I remember correctly, you used to love mine. Had you begging for it.”

He was right.

Used to.

Past tense.

“Still cocky as ever. Nice to know some things never change.”

“Everything changes,” he shrugged, slowly strolling closer to you, those brown eyes holding you to your spot.

“Not everything.”

Poe began to circle you, his gaze trailing over your body in a way that sent a shiver down your spine, but you worked so hard to ignore it, tried so hard to push it away. Tried to remind yourself that he wasn’t Poe anymore, he was just another member of the First Order. Your enemy.

Your hand twitched, knowing it should fly to your blaster, rip it from the holster. You knew you should spin around, and at least keep it pointed at him as you made your escape. You knew you would never be able to actually use it on him.

He had to have seen your fingers reach for it, or maybe he still knew you well enough to be just one step ahead, or maybe he was remembering his own training, because he was suddenly pulling the weapon from its spot on your hip and before you could even register his sudden movement, you felt the cold metal of the barrel press into your lower back.

“You’re not going to use that on me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re not going to kill me, Dameron.”

You felt the pressure let up, and even though it was only for a second, it gave you another ounce of courage to speak out against him, to let him know just how truly pissed off you were.

“You don’t have the balls.”

And he growled. He growled, and you huffed as your back collided with cool brick, the air catching in your lungs. You were so focused on trying to remember how to breathe properly, you almost didn’t notice when the tip of your blaster was suddenly jammed into the underside of your jaw.

Almost.

“Try me.”

His voice was threatening, eyes cold, calculated. He was watching your every movement, and for  a moment you thought that you might’ve been wrong. Maybe he was going to kill you. Maybe Poe Dameron would end your life with your own fucking blaster.

But there. There was just a flicker of something else in those cold and calculated eyes as he watched you gulp, visibly showing for the first time that you were scared. Something not entirely warm, but it was still something. A memory, an old, nearly forgotten feeling. And that was enough for you.

“You’re not a killer Poe.”

He laughed, the sound downright caustic, dripping with poison. “You have no idea just how fucking wrong that sentence is, sweetheart.”

He removed his hand from your hip that you hadn’t even realized was holding you to the wall, and once it moved into your line of vision, you noticed that he quite literally had blood on his hands, crimson running down his fingertips, still fresh, probably still warm.

Poe of course noticed you blatantly staring, almost entranced, and his eyes narrowed, gaze flickering between his fingers and your face. You didn’t notice.

“Open.”

That caught your attention.

“Excuse me?”

“Open your fucking mouth, Y/N.”

You gaped. He couldn’t be serious, could he?

“Fuck yo-”

He took the opportunity, and before you could finish your sentence, his blood soaked fingers were moving past your lips, sliding across your tongue and down your throat as far as he could get them. You gagged.

“Suck.”

You had half the mind to bite him.

“Come on, my fingers aren’t the first thing of mine you’ve had shoved down your throat.”

Yeah, you bit him.

He hissed as your teeth sank into his skin, but he didn’t move, didn’t yank his hand back like you had expected him to. Fuck, you had been anticipating a hard smack across the face. None of it came. If anything, a hint of arousal found its way into his eyes.

“You always knew just how to tighten my pants.”

Your eyes widened, and you hated the fact that his words traveled straight to your core, made you whimper around his fingers.

He smirked again, devilish and sinful and fuck, why didn’t you hate this?

“Now suck.”

Why did you fucking oblige him?

You slowly, just a little hesitantly, swirled your tongue around his fingers, the tangy metallic taste familiar, and you still didn’t hate it.

“That’s it,” he cooed, brown eyes nearly black, blown with lust and desire more so than you had ever seen. It drove you crazy.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth just a few seconds later, letting them drag along your tongue again, making you gag a second time.

And Poe laughed, raising his other hand, still covered in that sweet, heavy blood, to his own lips, his eyes fluttering shut as the taste hit his tongue.

Your stomach flipped, but you couldn’t look away.

Gods, he was crazy, but you were crazier for letting his actions shock your system and send electric jolts through your veins.

“Almost as sweet as your pussy.”

Maybe you weren’t that crazy.

You had enough of your sense left to punch him, swift and hard, your knuckles landing square on his jaw.

And he only laughed again.

Poe really had lost his mind.

“What the hell happened to you?” you nearly gasped, your voice barely above a whisper, the weakness you had expected before finally finding its way into your tone.

He only shrugged. He didn’t need to verbally answer, you knew. He had always liked control, and power, and he had finally given into the primal side of himself that always hid below the surface — a side of himself he only talked about at 5 in the morning, and only ever to you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, finally averting your gaze. He laughed a third time, and you suddenly felt a familiar weight in the palm of your hand.

You looked down, your fingers automatically curling around the blaster that you were now holding. You couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows. Every single action during this short exchange had you so utterly and entirely confused.

Looking up, you met his stare once again, lips pursed. You didn’t ask, not verbally, but your expression must have been enough of a question.

Poe tilted his head to the side, studying you carefully for just a moment, though his eyes weren’t any less intense, any less crazed.

“You wouldn’t be able to use that thing on me even if you really wanted to, sweetheart.”

“I’m not weak.”

He scoffed, and this time, he was the first to avert his gaze, staring down the alley, appearing almost lost in thought for just a single moment, that flicker in his eye returning, though it vanished as quickly as it came.

“No, you’re not. You never were. But you love me.”

Present tense.

He was right again.

You still didn’t hate him, couldn’t bring yourself too. Didn’t know if you ever could. And of course he knew that, but he wasn’t dangling it above your head, teasing you with it. No, he stated it as a fact, as if he had read it off a file from his datapad.

You weren’t weak, but you weren’t immune, either.

And he knew it. He knew it, and while he wasn’t exactly ignoring it, he wasn’t abusing it, either.

You didn’t understand.

And apparently Poe wasn’t going to explain, not that you expected him to. He was done talking, his hands moving behind his back once again as he started down the narrow alleyway once again. You were still frozen, and all you could do was watch him go, not knowing what else to do, but knowing that the blaster in your hand was useless. Why did he always have to be right?

But then he stopped, turned his face to the side just enough to look at you through his peripheral, and even from ten feet away, you could see that his jaw was clenched, and his eyebrows were furrowed.

“Next time,” he started, his voice quiet, though it dripped with acid, sending a chill down your spine and goosebumps across your skin. “I won’t hesitate.”

Still frozen, you wished that he had gone ahead and pulled the trigger.

Because even with a threat looming over your head, a threat that your instinct told you to not ignore, you just couldn’t bring yourself to believe him.

Still couldn’t bring yourself to hate him.

You still love him.

Present tense.

And he was gone once again, like a cloud of gray smoke.

[raisingsupergirl]

I'm Back! Returning to the "Real World" After Six Weeks Unplugged and Undrugged

If I'm being honest, I don't really want to write this post. I don't want to go back to the way things were. It feels like returning from vacation on a Sunday evening and setting my work alarm for Monday morning. I know my next vacation won't come for a while. I know I'm "back in it" now. And the sensation is completely opposite of what I'd expected from all of the "restrictions" I put on myself six weeks ago. But I'm sure you're just dying to know how I did, so here goes.

I failed. A lot. Just like I said I would. And the number one thing I failed at was reading to my kids. I tried it. Once. I started Harry Potter, but it felt like pulling teeth. I didn't enjoy it. The kids didn't enjoy it (even though I poured all of my energy into the BEST character voices). But even if I didn't read to my children, at least I didn't fail completely at reading. In fact, I stayed pretty true to my goal of replacing my weeknight TV with reading (with a subtle exception… but I'll get to that later), and it was honestly one of the biggest successes of all. Just an hour or two of quiet entertainment and contemplation in the evenings (whether with a Bible devotional or a bloody space adventure) did wonders for my mood and sleep habits. And speaking of sleep habits…

I failed at that, too. Again, not completely, but I definitely didn't live up to the whole bargain. I don't care how comfortable I got with going to bed at 9:45 pm and waking up at 5:45 am, when I would get home from work at 9:15 at night, there was no way I was going to have time to eat, shower, and wind down enough to be asleep within thirty minutes. And so, I bent the rules a little. But never more than an hour. And that's where I found my rhythm. I would never go to bed or wake up more than an hour different than I did the day before. That compromise allowed me to adjust slowly to different schedules without suffering too much.

Interestingly enough, the things I succeeded at completely are the things that sound like the biggest commitments. I worked out every day without fail, I didn't get on social media or YouTube, and I cut out all drugs (aka alcohol, tobacco, caffeine, night time snacking, and weekday fast food) cold turkey, right down to my morning pre-workout drink, which has a little caffeine in it. I'm not sure exactly why these things were easier to stick to. I'm sure a part of it has to do with my particular personality, but I suspect the bigger part is the nature of these things. They're easier to define. Easier to grasp and control. So what's the big deal about sleeping in a few extra minutes on the weekends (half-asleep rationale is always a little bit skewed…)? Why should I fight to read to my kids if they don't even enjoy it? But exercise and diet are very external. They're obvious to myself and to others when I screw them up. There's more accountability, so they're not as easy to make excuses for. The hardest promises to keep are the ones nobody knows about.

And… there's a third factor, and I hinted at it earlier. Remember when I said I didn't TECHINCALLY stick to the "no TV during the week" goal? Well, I didn't "watch" TV during the week, per se. But that's because I was playing a video game. A video game called "The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild." And, well, I was completely unprepared for it. First, Zelda is my jam. Always has been since I was a wee lad. Like most functioning adults, I fell away from video games after high school because I was trying to make all the monies and didn't have time to spend six hours at a time in front of a screen. But when Santa brought us a Nintendo Switch for Christmas, I knew there was a game I "had" to try. And, well, BotW didn't disappoint. Those who have played Skyrim or other open-world games would have known what they were in for, but I didn't. 

The moment I popped open that glider and drifted off of the Great Plateau, the real world faded away. This game had no limits. No boundaries. It's impossible to describe my awe at that slow and continuing realization as I delved into underground temples, climbed distant peaks, and trudged through vast deserts, so I won't try. Those who think video games are "a waste of time" will never get it, and those who embrace the value of story telling already know what I'm talking about. Suffice it to say that I "did the Zelda things." Not all the things, mind you. I didn't find all the koroks, beat all the shrines, or kill all the lynels, but I DID awaken the Divine Beasts, sneak into the castle dungeon to claim the Hylian shield, tame the royal mare, ride all the animals, build Tarry Town from the ground up, and head butt a guardian to death with the Lord of the Mountain. I trudged through every region and stared out at the realm from the highest spire of Hyrule castle. In the end, I defeated Calamity Ganon and brought peace to the land. And in that triumphant moment, I finally realized the truth about the game…

It was just another drug. You see, I never did have a real urge to sit down to a whiskey and a pile of snacks on a Saturday night, even though that had become an engrained habit over the past year. Why? Because I had an entire world to explore and save! And I needed to stay hydrated and healthy to beat the biggest baddies in Hyrule. The game completely overshadowed other primal urges. Any time I was feeling lazy or weak—times when I would look for a quick, mindless reward—I would pick up the Switch controller. And sometimes, that would be during the week. In fact, all told, I played 110 hours over six weeks. That's around two-and-a-half hours a day, EVERY day! So the amount of time I would have generally wasted with social media, TV, or "drugs," I instead committed to Zelda.

In the end, I'm not sure what to think about the whole six-week experience. I do know that I grew closer to God. My thoughts cleared significantly. I experienced deeper and wider peace, seeing previously scary and stressful situations with new clarity and confidence. I loved my family more completely, and I committed harder to my duties (work, family, etc). But I had low moments, too. Not enough to hit rock bottom or consider giving up, but because I knew what it felt like to ride that "high" with my savior and creator, to be present in the moment with a sense of purpose and appreciation, every moment of minor disconnection or apathy hit me harder than it normally would have. So I guess everything is relative. Once we know just how good we can feel, our expectations rise. On the other hand, my perspective has changed regarding rewards and fulfillment. A moment of earned relaxation or celebration doesn't need to include a glass of wine. I don't "need" to stay up late and sleep in on the weekends. And most importantly, my joy comes from God, not from the things I do, but there ARE some things that keep me away from God's joy. Mostly things that become habit—things I fall back on when I want to "check out."

And I guess that's the whole point. When we're present and intentional, life's good. We're happy with our choices and usually with the results. But when we're exhausted, when we've given all we can and think we've earned some reward (or at least a break)… well, that's when we make mistakes. And that's when we should just go to bed. Sure, maybe a little reading to calm us down and get our minds right first, but we're never at our worst than when we're mentally tapped out. And so, I plan to be more aware of this fact through the rest of the year. I'm going to continue to cut out electronics during the week. I'm going to avoid the Facebook scroll (which doesn't appeal to me even a little bit anymore). I'm going to enjoy sunrises and cuddles. And, most importantly, I'm going to create the time and space for quiet thought and divine whispers.

That's my secret to happiness. Do less (especially less "check out" activities like Twitter and television) and think more. Talk less and listen more. Let your "yes" be "yes" and your "no" be "no." In other words, live a life that speaks for itself and don't feel the need to justify your thoughts and actions to everyone. Live lightly, love deeply, and let the rest wash away with the tide. That's all I've got, friends. And you know what? This post was actually a joy to write. I'm excited to be back, to see my friends again, to share what I've learned with you, and to learn FROM you. And most importantly, I’m excited to enjoy all the beauty that the real world has to offer...

[freewheelshippin]

FIC: “What Do I Call You?”

There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes. 

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening. 

So! I had some fun writing for the roleswap AU, where I’m the punk rock idol and Ranmaru’s the freelance artist getting some juice from all the love and music.

Not much by ways of content warnings -- lots of eating, a fair amount of alcohol, too, and you know, we utter the word ‘fuck’ a few times.  

Ranmaru swore as he dropped the case on his toe. He could tell immediately that this was one of those jammed toes that would hurt for days from the bruising, especially when he still had half of the city to cross before he could get back home. And what was home? His shithole apartment and limping around while he went on his rounds for the local cats? 

At least the train was empty enough he could sit alone, even comfortably with all his equipment. He was still cross that the live house didn’t have it themselves. Weren’t they professionals? Stupid. The show had sucked, too, with the band spending more time fucking around then putting on the damn show they were paid for, that their fans came out to see, that Ranmaru had put such care into getting the tech just right to enhance. And that one jackass trying to throw hands with anyone in the crowd. Nobody on staff did a fucking thing to kick him out until Ranmaru dragged him out himself, and now he had a black eye and the stink of shitty beer and stale cigarette smoke hanging on him to show for it.

Thirty minutes ‘til his stop. He could listen to some music to smooth over this shitty...everything. He slipped his headphones on, ready to mute the rest of the world and stop anyone from entering his. 

Reiji (12:42 AM) : Iiiiiiiiiit’s dropped!!!!!

What, your balls, Ranmaru thought ruefully to himself, unconsciously clicking his tongue in annoyance. He moved his finger to swipe and mute him for … a week, maybe, from how shitty he was feeling right now, but Reiji was too fast. The link appeared, and Ranmaru hit it, if only to have something concrete to be annoyed with him for. 

It was a preview for a new PV. That’s right. It was technically tomorrow already, the day this content was due, but this was still early. Reiji must have found a leak. Lucky he was such an otaku, Ranmaru never had to go hunting for sketchy files or talk with weirdos he knew he wouldn’t be able to level with outside of the crowd. There was a long windup before the music even started playing, the visuals building dramatic lighting and obscuring anything but their silhouettes, but there was the low fuzz of an amp before it all hit at once. 

Ranmaru didn’t want to admit that his eyes darted right to that flash of turquoise as the lights came up in the PV, because it would mean that he might’ve smiled at just the sight of her. No, it had to be the sound. That clean, driving guitar, that strong bass, it felt like Deep Purple and Iron Maiden, but pushed to be danceable and idol-friendly with synth and a digital drumkit beat Ranmaru could vaguely recognize parts of.  

His toe and face didn’t stop hurting and body didn’t stop aching, but he stopped feeling so mad about it for the minute he watched and listened. There was professional polish there he’d missed seeing at the shitshow that was tonight’s gig, but there was still that rawness there of a good, irreplaceable concert. Something less precise than other idol groups’ practiced, saccharine perfection, but Ranmaru found it more welcoming than any other group he’d seen or worked with. 

The camera cut to a focus shot. Her hair was as bright as ever, styled like she were one of those princely girls from anime, just somehow made real, and she turned to look right at him-- 

Reiji (12:44 AM) : Ranran~~ how are you liking your girlfriend in this one :3c 

Ranmaru actually growled a little. He only realized he had been smiling because of how intensely he frowned at that bastard, barging into his texts --  

Ranmaru (12:44 AM): shut the fuck up and let me watch it. don’t call her that   

Reiji (12:44 AM): Isn’t she doing all the things you like??? 

Reiji (12:45 AM): So handsome! So rock! So passionate!

Reiji (12:45 AM): Feels tailor made for you ;o 

Ranmaru (12:45 AM): I told you to shut the fuck up. go text natsuki if you have to annoy someone

Reiji (12:46 AM): Aww Ranran did the show go bad? :(

Reiji (12:46 AM): But I already did, you know! And I’ve already gotten twice as many sparkly sticker replies than texts you’ve sent me in the past week!!! 

(He had to admit he laughed a little at that. Reiji was probably getting another onslaught as he was typing, his own push notifications as clogged as he was making Ranmaru’s.) 

Ranmaru (12:47 AM): I’m muting notifs since you won’t learn how to fucking shut up 

Reiji (12:47 AM): ohhhh she’s getting ranran’s full attention~! You must really like this preview, huh? I guess it’s true love 

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY   

Reiji (12:48 AM): You’re right, I should, I should be listening for wedding bells! 

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): go make out with your gacha girlfriend body pillow and leave me alone 

Ranmaru (12:49 AM): hypocrite 

He finally muted all his notifications. An hour should be enough to ride it out, he thought as he settled a little into the hard plastic of the seat, restarting the video. The anger from the past couple hours melted away as he watched, uninterrupted, and replayed it with eyes closed as the sound flowed in through his headphones and released the tension in his body bit by bit. 

--- 

The hour ran out when Ranmaru was squatting over an especially runty kitten, eating noisily while the others watched from a couple feet away. Why stray cats could understand him better than anyone else when he said to piss off, he’d never know. He swiped around to turn his notifications back off for the rest of the night before pocketing his phone again. 

“...Oi. Slow down.” He pulled the plate of food away from the kitten. It shook with hiccups as it watched carefully, almost fearfully, before it pounced back onto the food, gobbling it down like it was going to be its last meal. Ranmaru sighed but couldn’t blame the little thing. He dumped out the last of the food, gave the rest of the cats one last look as he stood up to walk away, and he heard the frenzied scratch of their claws against the pavement as they swarmed the plates of food. 

 Maybe it wasn’t so much they understood him as he understood them. To hunger like that, both literally and for something less physical but just as carnal.  

He plugged his headphones back in, listening to the leaked preview a few more times on his way back to the apartment. 

--

He liked this group to begin with mostly because of her. She dressed, talked, and acted more like someone from a band than an idol, and something about that felt weirdly familiar and good. The rest of the group were more unique than a lot of other idols -- you’d expect that from a unit made up of a pack of ragtag international recruits, sure, but it was refreshing how they’d made everything about their presence wholly their own. 

Hers just made the most sense to him. The brashness, the way she talked about music, the way she performed, it all felt like someone who was chasing and understood the same things he did. She even said her music was about giving people power in an interview Reiji’d dug up for him. 

“Beyond language, or the way words reach people,” she’d said in decent but definitely non-native Japanese; she’d grown up some in Okinawa while her family lived on the military base, but mostly shuttled between America and Bangkok before getting recruited by chance here. “I want to give everyone a home that makes them feel strong through my music.” 

He wondered, dimly, as he took a hot shower and stared down at his swollen red toe, if he felt drawn to the group because he wanted that for himself, or because it reminded him why he kept picking up jobs that made him as angry as tonight’s did. 

He went to bed that night with an ice pack balanced on his swollen eye, the frustration more or less passed as he listened to the classic bands that new song reminded him of. 

--- 

He woke up to his phone buzzing, the hold on push notifications finally expired, and he murmured in bewilderment at just how many there were. Not just from Reiji, but Natsuki, too. 

Rather than try and parse whatever the hell happened while he was asleep, Ranmaru just went into the group chat well after he’d gotten himself breakfast. 

Ranmaru (9:28 AM): what the hell happened last night that you had to blow up my phone 

Natsuki (9:30 AM): Maru-chan-senpai! Ah! You’re alive!!!! 

Ranmaru (9:31 AM): I just went to bed is all 

(“Why the hell are you calling me ‘senpai’?” Ranmaru had asked him, and Natsuki had looked at him with those big dopey eyes and earnestly said since he’d been a fan longer, he was naturally Natsuki’s senpai, and any protest Ranmaru made never stuck.) 

Reiji supplied a link without any fanfare, introduction, or goofy dramatics, which almost startled Ranmaru. 

Notice (posted by Ootori Eiichi x/xx/xx): 

We are currently seeking an emergency replacement sound/stage technician for performances at the following dates and locations. Inquire immediately. [PAID] 

Ranmaru stared at the listing, barely processing the lurch in his stomach that came from just reading it. It was for them. That act. The debut mini-tour for that new single. It’d take rearranging his sound editing queue and massaging some deadlines, but he could feasibly make all of those dates and times.

He thought for a moment of doing that sound check, and seeing for himself the electric energy of that live. Of working with that group whose respect for their audience he personally felt, of watching her prepare, having to talk directly to her as she tuned her guitar....

There was the very real possibility that it’d prove everything he believed about them - about her, really, that ethos he was drawn to - was just smoke and mirrors, too. 

Natsuki (9:35 AM): Can you do it, Maru-chan-senpai? 

Reiji (9:36 AM): Ranran, you have to do it. 

Ranmaru (9:36 AM): this is just a listing, just because I ask doesn’t mean it’ll go through 

There was a long pause, where everyone went on and off typing, never actually saying anything, and he frowned. 

Ranmaru (9:40 AM): can you all just fucking say what you’re thinking already 

Natsuki (9:42 AM): You really love their magic and energy, I just wanted to say I hope you do it and get it because your heart wants it! 

Reiji (9:45 AM): Yes, Nacchan, you said it! Ranran, I’ll give you all the free bento you need to keep your tummy full to go do this! 

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): don’t fucking do that, reiji, you’ll just piss of your sister. I’ll buy them myself

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): assuming I even do this 

Reiji (9:46 AM): I really think you should. 

Reiji (9:46 AM): Not because we want the insider scoop. But because when’s the last time you had fun at a live you worked? 

Ranmaru could curse Reiji where he stood. Whenever he stopped fucking around and got to his point, it was always a good one. 

---

He got the job, somehow, after a little emailing back-and-forth and negotiating the contract. Now he was on a train to Yokohama for the first gig, his case packed full, his backpack stuffed with supplies for a week. Comping travel, hotel, and meals was enough to take the job, even if it paid like ass, but it didn’t. The contract was actually pretty decent. They -- or, well, at least that Ootori guy -- were upfront that he’d be worked hard, the hours were going to be long, and there wasn’t going to be much room for rest or leisure. But the pay was good. Enough that if he had a dryspell of jobs afterwards, he’d be okay for longer than usual. 

It was worth it for other reasons, though, he thought to himself, stuffing spare merch he’d gotten in blindbags (and a couple other last-minute buys he didn’t tell the others about) into a bottom corner of his suitcase. None of it was of her, none of it for him. Something felt unprofessional spending this job acting like a fan, but at least there wasn’t any harm grabbing some signatures for friends who never made it to meet-and-greets. 

The single was out properly, now, and so was the PV. There was a section of it he especially liked and had gotten into the habit of watching on train rides, where she broke out of the dance routine to put her arms around her teammates, grin a dumb grin, and kick her legs high. It cut to a different shot of the group in different costumes but perfect sync, and when it cut back to that first shot, she stumbled and fell right on her ass, dragging the others down with her. Still grinning stupidly, and singing through it all. 

She didn’t take many vocal solos. She only had one line in this song to herself, and she was singing with the whole group for this shot. He read in an interview she wasn’t happy with the tone quality of her voice yet -- it needed to be richer, and she still needed plenty of training before it reached what her teammates and audience deserved. 

Ranmaru told himself, as the train was minutes away from the station, that this had to be the last time he watched this video and listened to the song like this. At least for the duration of this job. Every time he watched that shot, as she kept singing and the rest of the group tumbled down with her with the same dumb grin she wore, he knew in his gut the voice she sang in must’ve sounded like the soul of rock. Even if that gesture were directed and performed, there was still something genuine there that reminded him of those moments at concerts that convinced him to walk the path he did. 

Maybe he’d get to see it live. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he had to stop imagining it. She - this whole group, rather - was about to become real, and whether or not everything he imagined would turn out to just be something he made up to deal with his shit, he had a job to do. 

------------------------------------

He had a chance to leave his clothes and belongings in the hotel before heading to the live house. Ranmaru was unsure why this Ootori guy had picked him. He didn’t have an exactly long resume with idol shows, but then again, this was a group that debuted without any typical idol sound. There wasn’t any gimmick to them (Ranmaru wouldn’t call being made up of foreigners much of a gimmick when it came to the music), and they weren’t afraid of reaching into all sorts of genres he more typically worked with. 

Right as he got to the live house, his phone rumbled with back-to-back notifications. 

Reiji (5:48 PM): Ranran~!!! Ganbarimachochho from us! 

Ranmaru wouldn’t deign the attached selfie with a response right now (he was about to work, after all), but he felt himself suppressing a smile. Reiji was sticking his tongue out and making a victory sign, Natsuki further in the background, half-buried in stuffed animals and doing the same. They were going to be streaming the event for special-tier fanclub members like REIJI, which Ranmaru had always harangued him for. If he was a fan, wasn’t it enough to just cheer their hearts out live, enjoy their music, buy a CD and shirt, and feel the energy they had to give that way? 

(He still pored over the behind-the-scenes and advance material Reiji forwarded to him and Natsuki regardless. Sometimes he translated the English from their social media accounts, even. It was satisfying, as stupid as it felt sometimes, to do those little things in between the real shows.) 

He’d never been to the live house before, but it had the same vibes as so many others he’d been to. He found the back entrance effortlessly, where a man with glasses almost took him by surprise. 

“Kurosaki?” he asked. His gaze felt just as intense as all the other communication they’d had over e-mail. 

“Ootori,” he grunted back. 

“You’re early,” Eiichi replied, grinning at Ranmaru. Not that it surprised him in the slightest, but it made him look less approachable and instead even more intense. “Good. I like that in a recruit.” 

Ranmaru gritted his teeth quietly. This guy was going to be an absolute bastard, he could feel it, but at least he seemed like he knew how to run a show. “Don’t say that like I joined your agency. Tell me where the group’s at with setup, and I’ll get started.” 

 Eiichi’s eyes glinted from behind his glasses. He looked too satisfied with himself for Ranmaru’s taste. “I liked how you didn’t beat around the bush when you reached out for the job, and it’s good to see you hold to it. They’re rehearsing in the space, but we still have equipment to unload and cues to sync. You read the notes I sent you, I trust.” 

“All forty fuckin’ pages of it.” Ranmaru left out that he’d actually found it pretty impressive, appreciating the thoroughness and ambition of the show for a smaller group and venue. “Are we going to stand around shooting the shit or are we going to get started working on them?” 

Eiichi laughed at that. Ranmaru wasn’t sure if it pissed him off or made him feel eager to get to work. 

“This way,” he said, showing him to a van stuffed full of equipment. 

------ 

Ranmaru went straight to the live house staff to start doing his work. The master controls were kept in a little room that overlooked the stage. His gut flipped when he first saw them all, rehearsing some specific-looking choreography that needed to adjust to a new stage.  He wasn’t about to let that interrupt work. This was just like any other job, except he liked the performers a whole lot more, and things progressed like any other job. Until she looked dead at him from the stage, calling out. 

“Heeeeey,” she said. “Scuse me, are you the new tech guy?” 

“Yeah.” Ranmaru forced the feeling rising in his throat back down (as much as he could with sheer willpower, anyway). “Whaddya want?” 

“I just wanted to ask your name! We gotta call you something!” 

“Ranmaru,” he answered, hoping dearly that whatever he felt burning on his face was hidden by the dim lighting. 

“Cool, OK. Ranmaru-san,” she continued cheerfully. Ranmaru felt his chest tighten as he heard his name on her lips. “Are we queued up enough that we can do this number with music?” 

“This is the one for the new single, right,” he called back. He took a look at the levels, gain, and so forth as they were and instinctively nudged the knobs where the countless plays of that new song told him to. He’d imagined the vision of its stage presence for weeks. “I’m gonna test out some different settings for the levels ‘n stuff while you do that.” 

She made an expression of surprise as it came on. Delight, even, as she rode out into the following beats. Ranmaru couldn’t help crooking into his own smile, satisfied his know-how just helped that vision become a little bit brighter. She flashed him a thumbs up, then a gesture to pause, still grinning. 

“Can we take it from the top? Five, six, seven, eight---” 

-------- 

Ranmaru had never felt this sort of contradiction. She was restringing her acoustic guitar, from steel to nylon strings, as she hummed and practiced segments of songs, and Ranmaru was adjusting amplifiers and other equipment on the stage nearby. His head swam with the thought and excitement they were sharing the same stage, even just as a tech and pre-show performer, but approaching her felt like being both sides of a magnet at once. 

But that push and pull gave way, eventually, as the guitar finished being re-strung and tuned, and the humming turned into full-on singing. Ranmaru fought desperately to make sure he wasn’t just confirming what he’d already imagined, to just appreciate her live voice on its own merits and flaws. But he could feel in his chest that that character, that quality he’d responded so much to was there, that even with some lacking technical skill, there was still a rich tone color you could only get with passion and the spirit for rock. 

“You doing any solos tonight?” he asked in English. 

“Hm?” She looked caught by surprise. 

Ranmaru answered, already anticipating the question. “I’m half-American. I speak it fluently enough.” 

“Well, shit,” she said with a grin. “That’s convenient for us. I mean, I don’t mind Japanese if it’s easier…” 

“‘Sfine. Do what you want. I won’t complain about the practice, though.” 

She chuckled. “Man, maybe losing our usual guy from the agency was a stroke of good luck.” 

Ranmaru laughed challengingly. “Say that after the show goes well. And you still haven’t answered my question.” 

“Oh, uh. Right. Not really? Why do you ask?” 

“Why not?” 

She took a moment and laughed brightly in reply. Ranmaru could practically hear the insecurity she was covering up. 

“‘Cuz we’re an idol group.” 

Ranmaru gestured and murmured in vague acknowledgement. “You still have less solo lines than everyone else.” 

“Oh, do I,” she replied flatly, going back to her guitar, trimming overhanging strings. “I guess you would know, now that you’ve gotta manage all our sound.” 

“I just think it’s stupid you’ve clearly got your own voice but can’t think of sharing it without hiding behind everyone else’s.” 

She looked up at him incredulously. “Ranmaru-san, right?” 

“...Just call me Ranmaru.” 

“Alright, Ranmaru.” She looked at him again. Somehow when she looked at him dead-on this time, nothing went to mush inside of him. “Don’t fucking talk to me like our group voice isn’t the backbone of everything we’re trying to do.” 

“Nothing’s wrong with your group voice,” he shot back, getting heated. “It’s good. I can feel the soul behind it all, even when you’re rehearsing.” 

“So why are you fucking complaining?” She was still smiling, laying cheer and energy over her growing frustration. “Is there something you wanna say to me about my crew’s voices?” 

“They’re fine!” he barked back, frustrated she wasn’t getting his point. “This isn’t about them! You have something your audience is gonna be lit on fire hearing more of, that’s all!”  

Some eyes were starting to fall on them, but Ranmaru could barely notice them over the way her chest rose sharply and her expression became inscrutible. 

“...how about,” she said, speaking slowly as she deliberately, diplomatically pulled out her words, switching back to Japanese. “You save any notes you have for after the show.” 

“......Sure.” His stomach flipped again, more intensely and more painfully than the last few times. He went back to fussing with the amp, and she laid the pliers she’d trimmed her strings with on it before heading backstage until the show started. 

--- 

The show was electric. Ranmaru couldn’t say he was the right audience for most idol groups -- not so much out of distaste as much as incompatibility, he guessed. The way Reiji and Natsuki would lose their minds over their favorites’ cheerful cuteness or the kindness in their voices, Ranmaru wouldn’t. The fanatical, cult-of-personality devotion some other idols could curate with otaku-types, he didn’t connect with, either. What spoke to him was passion, backed by steely sounds and the sweat behind them; the excitement and fervor of rock and a crowd stinking of sweat; how well you could make someone scream themselves hoarse for that one, shining moment without any care for how sore they’d feel the next morning. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline from earlier, but when he could look away from the tech, he felt that here, too. There was no drum or bass player onstage, but he could still feel the beat thrum through his chest and rumble through his bones until his breath quickened, like he were jumping and dancing with the crowd. There was joy in their teamwork. In how they shaped their bodies together in song and in voice, and pushing and pulling the spotlight until it was something brighter, something shared and tangible between them and the audience.

His eyes fell on her. What should he call her? She had a stage name in Thai, but she was open that wasn’t her given name or anything friends and family called her. “Aroon” was just something she picked so she could wear her heritage proudly. It meant ‘dawn,’ it sounded cooler, more idol-ish than her Western name, which wasn’t a secret, by any means, but he heard her called by so many versions of it, none felt real. 

It only felt so weird because seeing her onstage, he felt far beyond any confirmation bias he could’ve had that the person he’d seen in the PV’s was every bit as real as he’d hoped. He saw someone who didn’t just fit on stage, but relished and grew like a plant in the hot lights burning down on them. There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes. 

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening. 

They got cheered back on for an encore. And towards the end of that last song, Ranmaru watched as she broke choreography to literally lift the one Natsuki was convinced was a fairy, spinning them around as the practiced moves dissolved into joyful chaos. The whole group ended the song arm in arm, sloppily holding mics for each other as they alternately laughed, belted, fumbled, and shouted thank-yous into the audience.

Ranmaru still felt something tug at him as the mic got held in front of her, she grabbed it, and handed it to someone else. Just sing, damn it, he thought to himself. It didn’t matter if it was perfect, it just mattered that it was hers. 

Didn’t she realize she deserved to be adored the same way she wanted the rest of her group to be? 

Ranmaru cut everything as they filtered offstage, staggering and softening the mics as they put them back and let them go. He took a deep, sighing breath in and out, almost like he’d been holding it for the entire concert, as his stomach growled. 

Maybe he should’ve taken some more of Reiji’s bento, after all, and give Natsuki’s cookies another try.  

-------- 

They closed up quickly. With the group no longer bound by rehearsal, takedown went faster than ever, and there wasn’t any meet-and-greet at today’s venue. Ranmaru dimly considered looking at the merch table, but he had a week to do that and had other things to finish with today’s closeup, anyway. 

He could hear the group discussing amongst themselves in English about where to go for a late dinner celebrating a good show.

“I want chicken,” she pleaded. “Is there one of those Taiwanese shops where you can get boba and chicken around here? You know, the kind that comes in a little bag and a toothpick?” 

Eiichi approached them, and she started to repeat herself in Japanese before he asked to interrupt her. 

“We’re all headed to the izakaya two blocks from here,” he announced to everyone. “I’ve already called ahead to reserve the space. Consider it a reward for a triumph of the first show on tour.” 

“But is there chicken,” she repeated in Japanese in mock desperation as she mussed her own hair, fussing it out of the careful styling she’d had it in for hours. 

Ranmaru’s phone buzzed from the notifications he missed, shutting them off for the duration of the show. Mostly from Natsuki and Reiji. He scrolled through the groupchat as they reacted live to the stream and tried to compliment Ranmaru on managing sound so well, though he was sure it couldn’t have possibly made much of a difference for the stream. 

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): it was a killer show, wasn’t it 

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): they’re talking about craving chicken right now. Guess it’s too bad we don’t have a kotobuki bento branch around here. 

Ranmaru (11:38 PM): i could go for a kara-age bento 

Reiji (11:38 PM): Ranran….! 

Natsuki (11:39 PM): Waaaah~! I hope you find some kara-age soon and share it with your shining star! 

Ranmaru immediately locked the phone after that. His stomach somersaulted once more time. He stood by what he said to her earlier, but he couldn’t imagine she’d want to talk after the way things had gone. Better to leave the group to that postshow glow, feed himself, and head back to the hotel. 

--------- 

The room was swimming just a little. Ranmaru blearly looked at his phone, trying to ignore the fact that he’d drank beyond his limit like an idiot. He knew he was like this, so why did he keep downing beer after beer? He’d gotten too used to needing as much as he could stomach to tolerate Reiji’s antics (and, he knew dimly, he was just too used to being able to rely on him once he’d hit his limit). 

She was seated right across from him, because of course she was, but they didn’t exchange any words or even eye contact. She was entirely focused on the rest of the group and the meal itself, laughing loudly between boisterous stories and jokes and devouring whatever snacks she ordered. 

Ranmaru got up. He could make it back to the hotel by himself, probably. Nobody asked as he left, which was how he’d preferred things, right? 

If there was such thing as taking a desolate wizz, maybe this is what it felt like, he thought to himself as he dried his hands on his shirt and left the restroom to step outside. Just for a moment. Just to get some air. 

Eiichi followed him out. 

“Can I help you,” Ranmaru said roughly after Eiichi caught the door behind him. 

“Hardly.” He had the same look in his eye as before. “I thought I’d take the opportunity to say well done.” 

Ranmaru grunted. “You still have six more shows with me. Compliment me when I’ve nailed all of them.” 

“Hm. I’d certainly expect no less. But,” he continued, that grin going places Ranmaru especially didn’t like. “I can’t say that was what I was referring to.” 

Ranmaru looked at him suspiciously. 

“She’s been a tough nut to crack,” he continued. “I’m glad my instincts were right, Ranmaru Kurosaki, your brusqueness and deep experience with music laid her heart bare enough she recognized some changes she needed to make.” 

He didn’t think, and only saw red -- he couldn’t blame the alcohol entirely, but the haziness was enough that his brain needed a moment to catch up to his gut reaction. 

Eiichi laughed, unfazed by Ranmaru’s hands on his collar or snarling expression. 

“Bastard!” he barked. Eiichi’s eyes glinted behind his glasses. 

“I heard your little conversation. Do you not stand by those words?” 

“Of course I do,” Ranmaru snapped. 

“They reached her,” Eiichi cut in before Ranmaru could think of what to say next. “She’s already asking me about extra vocal training before the next recording sessions.” 

“She doesn’t need more training!” He threw Eiichi back, finally letting go. He barely needed any effort to recover, and Ranmaru just glared at him as he kept raising his voice. “And I’m not your for-hire music coach! Is this how you treat all your contractors, you rat bastard of a producer?!” 

He just laughed that laugh of his, making Ranmaru even angrier. “Your passion for music and straightforwardness was evident, even in your initial inquiry. It was just excellent luck your technical skills were just as useful for sending this idol group hurtling towards their fullest potential.” 

“If you want her to reach it, you’d tell her she doesn’t need any extra lessons. You’d just tell her she’s a great goddamn idol the way she is right now,” Ranmaru spat. “Trusting her voice is just what’ll make her into a better one.” 

“I hear some selfish intent in that, Kurosaki.” Eiichi looked like he was burning with excitement. “But that just means I can trust your intentions more than anyone. You speak as someone whose heart’s already been moved. A fan...a loyal follower who desires their success. Perhaps even more than she does.” 

“I’m going back to the hotel.” Ranmaru strode past him, feeling himself burn from top to bottom. He gave Eiichi one last look in the eye. “If you need me before the show tomorrow, find someone else.”  

------- 

The next day and next show went uneventfully. Now that he’d met the group at Yokohama, he was travelling with them in the cars and equipment vans, and he made a point of finding a back seat nobody wanted to share, stretching out, and napping the whole ride. The setup at the next live house was a pain in the ass with their unusual devices and systems, but Ranmaru was quietly grateful to have his hands full. He liked having a good reason for not wanting to talk to (scold) anyone but the live house staff itself. Being irritated they went for weird, cheap models with lower quality helped him double down on the attention needed to make the group shine. They collectively got ramen afterwards. The only words he exchanged all meal were with the one Reiji liked so much, ferrying his ramen order for him when he got frustrated with the shop crowd and left to go wait outside. 

(He’d have to find a way to talk with her later about Reiji. Not just for the autograph -- he opened up his phone, ignoring any notifications that weren’t his work email, and messaged him. 

Ranmaru (9:42 PM): send me a pic of your Mae shrine 

Reiji (9:45 PM): ehh? Ranran, what for? 

Ranmaru (9:50 PM): just send it 

Dutifully, Reiji did. Ranmaru couldn’t have imagined he really had no idea what he planned to do with it, but if he wasn’t just playing dumb, at least he’d be getting one hell of a surprise.) 

It was during the third show that things started to happen a way he could scarcely believe. The show went pretty normally, except for one point where she stumbled badly enough during a complex turn she completely ate shit. But she played it off into something hammy and funny, rolling out of the way of the others, lying like she were posing in a cheesy beefcake calendar while she found the beat again to sing. 

Ranmaru still thought she needed to own up to her lack of courage and just sing more, but putting it like she was a coward was a mistake. He thought dimly to what Reiji had said that had convinced him -- “when was the last time you had fun working a stage like this?” And he wondered if he’d ever had fun onstage like he saw. He might’ve tasted the glory and passion of the stage, the delicious energy of the audience, and the power of rock -- he knew he did, he’d looked an easier, blander life in the eye and felt too desolate to walk that path, even with his inescapable debt. 

But it could be more fun. That audience could feel more, even more connected, that he could smile through mistakes when the performance came from camaraderie as much as passion and soul. Things could be better when they were shared beyond just the respect of an audience and a performer.

He didn’t realize he was smiling as much as he was until his cheeks were hurting, but that was also because he felt hungrier than he’d ever been.  

----

He couldn’t help calculating how many meals he’d be cutting into as the convenience store clerk rang up everything, even though he’d already gotten Eiichi to confirm he was going to expense him the bill and get refunded every cent. 

The show closed late. They had a special meet-and-greet he didn’t need to be around to handle, but none of them had had the chance to eat much outside of some spare snacks. He figured something fast and easy before they could collapse in the hotel would fit the bill. 

She wasn’t there when he went around knocking on the hotel room doors and delivering the goods. Gone out to relax on the roof, they said, and when they offered to hold her food, he said no, he’d take it right to her. 

The sound of the roof door opening looked like it startled her, and he didn’t know what else to do but hold up the bag full of food like a peace offering. 

“Eat something,” he said in English, tossing her a banana from the bag. She caught it before eyeing him up and down, then settled back to the outdoor lounge chair she’d been resting on. Ranmaru took a seat in the one across for her, setting the bag on the ground as he pulled the rest of the food out. She looked hesitant, only speaking until he’d laid everything out, even the drinks.

“...That smells good,” she said in Japanese. “What’s that, kara-age?” 

“I heard you guys were craving chicken.” 

 “I mean, I sure was. Thanks.”

“I told you English was fine,” he said, back to Japanese. 

“My Japanese is fine,” she said, tearing into the banana first. 

“Yeah, but if you’re tired of speaking outside of your native tongue,” Ranmaru started, already feeling himself get heated. “Why wouldn’t you take the chance to just rest?” 

She finished her bite of banana before giving him a look. “...If you insist.” 

They just sat in silence as she ate for a bit. 

“Is there something else you want from me?” she asked. She left half the kara-age and bottled tea.

“...No, not really. I wanted to say sorry for the other day, though.” 

“Ah.” She smiled knowingly, though she didn’t look happy about it. “Don’t worry about it. It sure isn’t the first or last time I’m gonna be criticized in this industry. I can handle it.” 

Ranmaru murmured in acknowledgement, not sure to what end making himself clear to would earn, but he had to, anyways. He stared down the half-full kara-age container. 

“...This is your goddamn food, you know.” He pushed it closer to her. “Eat it.” 

“Oh, you’re sure?” 

“I didn’t have a meet-and-greet that made me miss dinner. Do you really wanna work a tour on an empty stomach?” 

She scooped it up with a knowing ‘hmm’ and a half-smile. After polishing it off, she let out a heavy sigh. 

“You are right, though. I’m being a coward, not singing more.” 

“You’re not,” Ranmaru grumbled. 

“Sure,” she said dismissively. “But I guess I should apologize for getting so defensive. I thought you were just another macho shithead trying to talk the piss out of our group and the voice we have.” 

“That’s nothing to apologize for,” Ranmaru said resolutely. “....when I was in a band, I wish I’d had bandmates who’d do that kinda shit for me.” 

“Oh, shit, what’d you play?” 

“Vocals. Bass. Rock.” 

“Aw, c’mon, get more specific than that. Surf rock? Indie boy shoegaze? Folk punk with a little dash of polka?” 

Ranmaru gave her an incredulous look. “...Oi. Do I look like a polka guy?” 

She grinned widely, looking very satisfied with herself. “I dunno, you never know who’s got a secret accordion! I could see you, maybe you painted half of it, like, red to match that edgelord RPG hero heterochromia thing you got going.” 

Ranmaru grumbled, looking away. She laughed. “....I just like rock. If you had to pull my leg I guess I’d tell you hard rock. Maybe a little alt and prog.” 

“Ooh!” She exclaimed, barely letting the sip of tea get down her throat. “That’s the good shit! Did you ever record anything?”

Ranmaru hesitated. “...Yeah, but nothing that anyone can listen to anymore.” 

She seemed to understand without much more explanation. “...Well. You’re fucking good at the sound engineering side of things. Don’t tell management this -- or well, just don’t quote me on this --  but I like you a hell of a lot more than the guy we were supposed to have from the agency. He doesn’t know shit about how to make music that’s about soul and hype. It’s like, all one level the whole time, you know? Like it’s just sitting at an 8 the whole time, we don’t really get to do stuff like crescendos. Or like, punch someone in the dick by taking it from a three and shoot it to an eleven, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Ranmaru said, throwing a hand up. “What’s with that shit? There’s a bunch of stupid clients I had who were like that. Just one kind of loud, the whole album or concert through. What’s the fucking point if you aren’t gonna make people hear something other than just fuckin’ loud?” 

“Yeah! You get it!” she whooped, before she held her hand out for a fistbump. 

It surprised Ranmaru enough that it took a moment to register. But he smiled a little and pounded it. 

------

“Man-eating momma, steam-driven hammer

Sorts the men out from the boys--” 

She slid her arm around his waist, and he nearly choked on his beer. 

They were at Korean barbecue tonight, their own private room. The last meal, after the last concert, after the last meet-and-greet, after the last frantic merch sales. Ranmaru tried to buy himself a shirt, but instead was presented with a staff hoodie for the tour and a “one of everything” comp for the rest of the merch. They were now safely tucked with other goods he’d gotten signed for Reiji and Natsuki last night while everyone hung out in their big hotel suite. Hotel management made a mistake and upgraded the whole crew to their biggest room with extra cots to fit them all, and they spent the entire post show in a dizzying, joyful, communal haze. Ranmaru even told stories of the embarrassing depths of his groupchat’s devotion to the group and each of their favorites, and everyone took turns recording chaotic, personalized videos for Ranmaru to share later. They fell asleep at a truly stupid hour, and Ranmaru wondered if this is what having sleepovers as a kid felt like. 

“Takes no messing, all-in wrestling

Is one of her pride and joys” 

Ranmaru recognized the words as she pulled him closer, swaying after slamming her beer to the table. Maybe less the tune, since that was being yelled more than sung. 

“She's a classy, flashy lassy

Imitation sapphire shine-- c’mon, dude, you know!” She looked at him expectantly. She was very, very flushed, and at this point, he had to be, too. 

“We’re not at a karaoke bar!” he barked. 

“Where’s all that ‘you gotta sing more, fuckass’ energy now, huh,” she said, lowering her voice so much to mimic that Ranmaru briefly questioned if this is what he sounded like to her. 

“....Fine! If you’re gonna sing it, actually fuckin’ sing it, don’t just yell!” 

“Oh yeah,” she said with what passed for a shit-eating grin with her. “Then show me, partyboy. Hey, everyone, meet my new vocal coach! Hold onto your dick, folks, he better fuckin floor you with all the shit he’s been talking --”  

Ranmaru looked at her a moment as she kept ranting, first with incredulity, then with a weird surreal awe. What the hell was happening?  

Why the hell should he bother questioning it? 

“-- Two-faced liar, full of fire

But I know the flame is mine!” He cut off her rant, singing as much as he could like this were a stage. 

She -- and a bunch of other staff at the table -- whooped and cheered and laughed, but she and only she joined in with him without a care in the world. “Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her

If you think you can--” 

He let the arm that’d been just awkwardly dangling behind her wrap around her shoulder. He felt warmer than he’d ever had, burning all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her you can!” 

They hung on the last note of the chorus -- she hung on comedically long before dragging them both up to bow while everyone else clapped, laughed, cheered. A server came, yelling that they had an order of grilled beef up. Eiichi, from the other end of the table, gestured that he’d ordered it, but passed it down until it sat in front of Ranmaru. 

-------- 

They had an overnight bus trip to get back home -- or close enough to home, anyways, Ranmaru still had another long train ride waiting afterwards, so he’d planned to sleep the whole bus ride. 

But she wound up sitting next to him, and even if he could pretend like that didn’t make his heart thump now by itself, she was chatty. 

He didn’t mind the conversation, though. They mostly talked about music, sharing concert stories and albums. He even talked a little about what he wanted to do now in between all the freelance work, and when she wished him luck and couldn’t wait to hear it, he didn’t feel like she was just blowing smoke. 

There came a pause while she downed a bottle of tea. 

“...I meant it when I said there’s something in your voice the audience oughta hear,” he said, looking at her intently. 

She laughed uncomfortably after she swallowed. “Thank you. I’ll…..I guess I just have to go for it, huh.” 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“I...hm….” She paused in intent thought for a while. “Well, for one, the technical control isn’t there.” 

“Yeah, but you’ll improve that by doing it.” 

“Yeah, yeah. But there’s more than just that, I guess.” 

“Like what.” 

“...Well, you know how this industry is. It’s…hard. Finding the balance of what you’re good at, what people want, and what the higher-ups think they want. I don’t think I’m anywhere near figuring that balance out...”

“Forget all that.” Ranmaru looked at her very seriously, shifting in place so he could look her in the eye a little better. “Don’t worry about any of those things.” 

She laughed disbelievingly. “Okay, sure, lemme just. Throw out my job description while I’m at it. Dude, the whole point of this job and this work is to make other people happy.” 

“I was happy hearing your voice just as it was that first day. You just. Sang the way you wanted to. I liked that. It felt good. Genuine.” He took a moment to recall the words he found at the beginning of the tour. “...You like it when people connect with your group’s voice ‘n adore your groupmates. So let ‘em adore you some.” 

“Oh, cuz I’m so adowable,” she joked, laughing as Ranmaru scowled. 

“I mean it. I….” he started. “...The audience is going to be better for hearing more of you. Whatever that means.” 

She thought about that for a moment. “...I...you know. I don’t think I’ve ever asked myself what that looks like. Or let myself realize it, anyway.”

“You can handle the criticism if it comes. If that’s something you’re scared of.” 

“...Maybe it is. Thank you, Ranmaru, I’m going to think about that and kick everybody’s teeth in the next time we record.  

“‘Snothing,” he murmured, but he felt like his heart was going to soar out of his chest, and later, as they both nodded off and slumped over each other as the road stretched on, he realized he felt sated in a way he couldn’t remember being. A weird sort, that took away the pang of hunger, but made him feel it more deeply through his whole being. 

---- 

When he arrived ‘home,’ it was lunchtime, and he was too dazed, hungry, and tired to weather one last long walk home without some food in his stomach. It was on the way-- he may as well go to Kotobuki Bento and make Reiji make good on the free bento offer. 

(His sister rang him up, and Ranmaru paid up.) 

Reiji found him after the meal, and he wound up heading to Reiji’s room. To give him the merch, theoretically, but after Reiji earned enough grouchy monosyllabic replies, he brought something that sounded like an actual question. 

“...So, Ranran, while you were away…” 

“Just say it,” Ranmaru muttered, eyes too tired to focus. “I’m too fucking tired for you to take the long away around.” 

“Nattsun’s friend wants to join our little fanclub!”

“....And.” 

Reiji shrank a little, speaking more sheepishly. “The thing is...we mentioned you and....he’s pretty sure you two already know each other and you’d want nothing to do with him.” 

Ranmaru hazily tried to recall who that could be. There were too many people whose guts he hated for him to figure it out by himself. 

“Who is it,” Ranmaru growled tiredly. “Just fucking say it.” 

“Does...Hijirikawa ring a bell?” 

It did. Ranmaru fumed in silence for a moment, thinking about the whirlwind of disaster that name was attached to, but also the vague memories of that quiet, serious boy in traditional dress who fretted after him when they were too small to know of things like debts and bankruptcy...

“...Whatever,” Ranmaru muttered. He looked at Reiji’s bed and decided he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of this exhaustion -- he had a reliable neighbor to leave food out for the cats, anyway, what was a couple more hours? “It’s not really much of a fanclub if it’s just the three of us. He can join if he wants. It’ll give you ‘n Natsuki someone who’s better at responding to your crazy nightlong gushing than me.” He tossed the dakimakura on Reiji’s bed, dented in the middle from so much hugging, to him, before he shrugged closer into his staff tour hoodie and slumped into Reiji’s bed. 

He could practically see Reiji stammering, even as he turned away and settled into the comfort of eyes closed and a real bed. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and it wasn’t the one Ranmaru was expecting to give, either. 

“-- R...Ranran, you really--” 

“Yes! What the fuck wasn’t clear about what I said! Masato can join! Go add him already! Just let me sleep, you noisy bastard!” Ranmaru barked one last time at Reiji. 

Ranmaru ignored whatever last jabbering Reiji had for him, already carried off to proper sleep. He wondered what he could possibly dream about that would rival the past week and this satisfying feeling, cradled in his new hoodie.  

(I perform semi-professionally -- not as an idol, mind, but I’m still getting up on a stage/camera to entertain people on the reg -- and it was so weird but also really......doki-inspiring, let’s say, to imagine Ranmaru being a fan of my stage bravado :’’’’’D To be honest I’ve been feeling a little discouraged and burnt out by it lately but this really refilled my tanks!!!) 

[pangtasias-atelier]

A Fat Winter Robin who can’t keep up with his faster teammates

It’s always really fun having semi FEH mechanics in kink stories so this was a blast to do. And a fat Robin is always a good Robin. 

Feel like I got a good mix of fat stuff and non fat stuff, so I hope you enjoy!!

______________

“I’m  *huff* almost there,” Taking large deep breaths, Robin lags far behind the rest of his teammates. 

This Robin summoned during the winter festivities, he had been a valuable asset to The Order Of Heroes immediately upon his summoning. But the strange effects of Askr and its summoner quickly left Robin with a larger waistline that seemed to grow with every passing day. Red winter coat replacing his usual one made him reminiscent of  the jolly old man, Robin’s white mop of hair had further accentuated the similar appearance. Losing his trim figure and gaining a hefty one, all Robin seemed to lack was a beard. 

Askr’s food positively delicious, Robin’s voracious appetite for it had only enabled in his growing width. The perfect holiday size with his red coat and pants, his bulging gut and thighs seemed perfectly matched with Santa’s. Requiring a larger wardrobe to emulate the holiday cheer, it had been granted to him, Robin’s hanging heft contained behind thick layers of clothes.

But Robin’s own desire for food left him pushing past Santa size and even further than that. Large clothes growing tight once more, soon even the tent like clothing wasn’t even enough to cover his entire expanse of fat. Yet despite his size, or perhaps because of it, Robin’s deployment in battle is an often occurrence. Swapped around constantly, every new team the vast and large Robin got paired with only garnered attention. And while his size was an impediment on his ability, it also greatly helped on the battlefield. And with each victory, Robin was happy to celebrate said victory, his gluttonous figure growing and showing his hedonistic tendencies as he gobbled and devoured whatever delicious meats and drinks Askr had to offer. 

Which leads to his current predicament, a predicament not exclusive of today and instead is indicative of his daily performance on the battlefield. 

A Tempest appearing and strengthening, Robin had been sent to help quell it. Alongside him had been the Eliwood wielding a lance, Lucina with her bow, and Ares with his sword. All three 

been beside him. Except unaffected at all by Askr, all three simply moved far faster than him. 

Nearing the end of the tempest, the room had been mostly composed of axe users. Ares taking the lead, he had simply charged through his trusty steed swiftly carrying him to each opponent before they could strike. The enemies fading away, Lucina and Eliwood simply followed behind, both ensuring no enemy would ambush them. The room cleared in record time, leaving the room is anything but.

Robin taking one unconfident meticulous slow step after the other, by the time the room was cleared, he had taken no more than ten steps. Face flushed, sweat drips down his round face, trails of it pouring past and around his engorged cheeks. Robin desperately sucks in whatever air he can get.  Wheezing, his state desperately shows his obvious lack of mobility. Arms forced at an angle from the bundle of fat occupied between his arm and chest, Robin even forgoes a spear entirely, his body too slow and bulky to make use of a weapon. Reverting back to magic, even said task is difficult, Robin’s heavy cheeks making him struggle to chant a spell with several pauses for air and wheezes in every line. Instead Robin is mostly there to take hits that the others cannot. Robin’s magic so innately potent, his ridiculous width accentuates it, Robin resistant to any magical attack without fear of damage. His swinging gut appears like that of a pendulum, the bottom half of it uncovered despite the circus tent for a shirt. His usual gray shirt vastly upsized, they reach past the sagging splayed piles of flesh for his breasts, and even cover his cavernous navel. Unable to lift his knees properly with so much fat limiting nearly all of his mobility, they scrape against each other in a desperate bid to keep moving, an exceedingly difficult task when all Robin begins to crave is to lie down and eat, his body and mind yearning to do so. His pants seem painted onto his figure, the broken button and zipper unnoticeable with his large overhang covering it. Seams showing as they rip and tear, sizeable portions of his flab seep out, Robin’s purple boxers underneath also visible. The leather of his boots so warped and stretched out, cracks form on them, Robin’s legs and cankles deforming them. His coat so overwhelmingly massive, the sheer amount of fabric needed for it alone had been staggering once others in the Order found out. If removed from Robin’s obese figure, the coat could be used as a massive carper for Askr’s Hall in the Order. And yet despite its obscene width, it seems to strangle and fight with Robin, the coat still too small for him. Fabric caught in every roll imaginable, the folds of it clearly envelop show off Robin’s size to everyone. Tire size love handles press against the soft red fabric. Four partitions of his stomach press against  the sides. Doughy fat saddled wings for arms sag the sleeves as all his fat bunches the fabric. The coat rests and dangles off of his ass, Robin’s massive personal two seater for an ass sagging down far behind him.

Forced to keep moving ,the ripples in his fat increase with each step, Robin’s body forever jiggling as he huffs and puffs to catch up. “So.... close,” Robin murmurs to himself, eyes downcast as he focuses on keeping his body moving. Only half way there, his own preoccupation with himself makes him not near his teammates.

“If we have to wait for the last room, I am-” Ares seethes under his breath, staring at Dark Mystletainn and then Robin. His horse whinnying, it flicks its tail as if mimicking its rider’s impatience. 

“Perhaps we should lend a hand?” Eliwood offers, concerningly staring at the way Robin seems ready to keel over, his wheezing sounding somehow more desperate than before. Without waiting for an answer, Eliwood steps off of his horse.

“I agree,” Lucina absentmindedly adds, already going to Robin’s side before Eliwood had even asked. 

Robin glancing up, his neck prohibits him from looking to the side as a pair of arms dig into his plush side. Eliwood on the right, he grabs Robin and slowly eases him with each step. Lucina on the left, she instead reaches lower, her hand grabbing a fatful of his ass. 

Speeding up the process, Robin’s breathing picks up, his wheezing stronger and harsher as Eliwood and Lucina force him at a faster pace. 

“Fast..” Robin wheezes out, not able to utter another word. Ares stares with a frown from the end of the room, annoyed at feeling like his team has a handicap.

The two making quick work, they both grab Robin by the arms as the reach the door. Both going through, their mouths open as Robin ends up jammed in the door, his frame far too wide for the frame. Robin struggling and groaning, all he accomplishes is shaking the numerous folds of his body, Robin wedging himself tighter. 

Ares stuck on the other side, he grits his teeth as he dismounts his horse. Counting, Robin’s titanic ass seemingly stares back at him. Getting a sprinting start, Ares slams into Robin. Sinking into him, Ares groans as he ends up pushed back, nearly falling to the floor. The doorway gaining a single creak, Ares blows his hair out of his face. Lucina and Eliwood grabbing Robin’s  hands, Ares goes once more. Crashing into him, Lucina’s and Eliwood’s help gets him unstuck, Robin almost coming crashing down. 

Ares picks himself off of the floor, and mounts his horse. Entering the next room, he glares at both of them “Never speak of this to anyone,” 

Both nod their head, Eliwood also grabbing his horse and mounting it.

Now finally reaching the last room of the tempest, a lone mage stands as their final enemy. Lewyn. The rest of the team groaning as Robin still attempts to catch his breath, they all stand behind Robin. Pushing him forward, his wide body provides the perfect shield to cover all three of them combined. 

Forseti no match, the effects of it cause no damage to Robin, though he’s too tired to even be appreciative of said fact. Instead Lewyn’s wind magic only cause Robin’s body to wobble and shake, his clothes fluttering in the wind.

All three struggling to move a resistant and tired Robin, the rushing winds crashing against the side of Robin alert them to their proximity. Eliwood the fastest of the bunch, he rushes forward, piercing the fake Lewyn who soon begins to fade away.

“At least he was useful for something,” Ares mutters, glancing at the still ever wheezing Robin. Lucina bites her tongue at the insult.

“Well, the tempest should disappear soon. I must admit, this is my first time in one,” 

“It’s Ares’ and mine first time as well,” 

“Not mine,” Robin frowns, or would if his fat saddles face didn’t prohibit him from frowning. Eliwood and Ares merely widen their eyes upon realizing Robin has done this before.

Smoke rising up from the building, all minus Robin are shocked as the area begins to disappear. Before they all know it,all four of them end up back outside the tempest, the stormy weather replaced with a calm sunny day.

“Now…” Robin sighs, glancing down. His neck rolls squish together. “to walk... back,” The tempest far away from the Order’s  home base, they only ended up outside the tempest.

“We have to walk all the way back to the Order!?” Ares ready to fight, Eliwood and Lucina go to placate him. 

A massive earthquake occurring, the trees shake and leaves fall, birds fly off in the distance as other animals scurry about. All three nearly panic before realizing it was merely their teammate falling to the floor on their ass, his body giving up and needing a break. A hole forming in the dirt where Robin sat, Lucina has Eliwood and Ares go to get the summoner, the magic of the contract able to easily move Robin.

Lucina waits patiently as the two of them storm off on their horses. Both out of sight, she smiles as she sinks into Robin’s stomach, finally glad for some alone time, already rubbing Robin’s stomach.

[koala-smiles]

Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince, Chapter 2

A Jily Au where Lily transfers from America in the Marauder’s Seventh Year

Read Chapter 1

Read on AO3

Lily woke up with blurred vision and a pounding head. As she got ready, she thought back to the previous night, trying to remember what actually happened. 

She knew she went out to hang out with Sirius, and he brought a bottle of firewhiskey. After that, it’s just flashes. Laughter, sneaking out, a town, some stinging on her back. What had they done?

Just then she heard her roommates whispering behind her. Something about a wing? Her head was beating too loud to make it out. She turned and saw that they had been pointing at her. She shrugged it off and walked to the bathroom.

She started brushing her teeth, but then saw a movement near her neck. Confused, she lifted off her shirt and saw that there was a butterfly flying around on her torso. That explained the stinging on her back, at least. She would have to ask Sirius about it later to see if he remembered what happened and how she got a magical tattoo.

When she walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, she heard whispering around her. Why was everyone always whispering as she walked by? She didn’t think she was interesting enough to warrant it, especially after three weeks had passed. Well, she supposed it didn’t matter. They should talk to her if they wanted to know more. 

“Hi, Lily,” James greeted as she sat down next to Sirius. She smiled in return, then leaned closer to Sirius.

“What did we do last night?” she whispered, trying to make sure the others didn’t hear.

“From what I can recall, we each got a tattoo on a dare. I think we stole some brooms and went over to Hogsmeade to do it, but I’m not really sure.”

She nodded and sat up straight, putting some jam on toast. 

“What are you two whispering about?” asked Remus.

“How James could use a haircut.” Lily replied quickly.

James looked offended, and ran his hand through his hair. “You just wish you had locks as luscious as mine.”

Lily snorted and took a bite of her toast.

---

Lily found it strange how only the first years seemed comfortable around her. At Ilvermorny, at least, younger students tended to avoid the older students.

She supposed that it must have started the week before, when she heard a young student struggling to figure out what a spell did in the library. She turned the corner of the bookcase and asked if the student needed some help. The student and her friend next to her looked utterly petrified. She sat down and pointed to the written out version, and explained what the roots of the word meant. At that point, the two students became too intrigued as to what she was referring to to continue being scared. 

It was then that Lily realized that Hogwarts didn’t teach either Latin or Greek. She pulled out her translation guides and began explaining the roots of spells and where they originate from. More and more first years started gathering around. By the end of her lecture, there must have been at least twenty surrounding the small table. 

One particularly brave one asked her how they could learn Latin and Greek to figure the spells out. She smiled, stood up, and told them to follow her. 

They passed James, and she gave a small smile as a greeting. He gave her a confused look as a reply. She must have been quite the spectacle, a seventh year with dozens of first years following her through the library.

It was all worth it when she watched hoards of kids swarm the language section of the library. 

---

Lily found herself in Transfiguration, writing notes in her book as McGonagall lectured the class on the finer points of animal-to-animal transfiguration. It was a far cry from the animal-to-inanimate object  transfiguration that they taught the younger students. 

She had her Latin book open in her lap. She was trying to come up with a spell that would make her broom block the rain or snow from her without slowing it down. All her previous attempts had ended with the broom going at a fraction of the speed she was used to. 

“Miss Evans”

Her head jerked up.

“I was asking what the problem with amphibian to mammal transfiguration is. Perhaps you will be able to help, since you are so far ahead that you can afford to not pay attention.”

Lily smiled. “The main drawback is that the amphibian brain will take the first opportunity to drown the mammal. That’s why most animal-to-animal transfigurations fail when going between different main classifications of animals.”

McGonagall looked pleased with this. “Correct. Please pay more attention in the future.”  She continued with her lecture, and Lily continued flipping through her book. 

When class was over, everyone started gathering their things. Lily was rushing to try out her new version of the spell, when McGonagall called out to her. 

“Miss Evans. The headmaster has requested that you go to his office so that he might speak to you. Please do so directly after class.”

Whispers broke out across the room, and James looked over to her with a raised eyebrow, to which she shrugged. Remus chuckled beside him. She heard the girl next to her mumble something about being a player. Was she talking about James? She shook her head quickly, knowing she had bigger things to do than worry about rumors.

She made her way to the gargoyles, and realized that McGonagall had forgotten to give her the password. But, to her surprise, they jumped aside as soon as she stopped in front of them. Making her way up the stairs, she thought back to the past week, trying to figure out what she could have done wrong. 

“Ah, Miss Evans. Thank you for joining me today.” Lily sat down across from Dumbledore, and gave him a small smile. He didn’t seem particularly angry, but then again, he never did. “As you may have heard, yesterday we found a group of first years surrounding a destroyed painting. From what we understood of their explanation, they were trying to make a new spell to change the hairstyle of the resident of the painting.”

Lily cringed, thinking back to her first attempts at spells. “I’m guessing they tried to mix Greek and Latin. They should—” He put his hand up to stop her.

“I brought you here to talk to you not about what goes wrong in making spells, but to talk about the phenomenon of first years attempting to create spells in the first place. Would you happen to know where they got the idea of making new spells?”

Lily crinkled her eyebrows. “I showed them where to look to find out what spells do, but I didn’t try to put any ideas about making spells in their heads. I always found it important to find the roots of spells when learning them.”

Dumbledore nodded his head and reached out to pet his phoenix. “Yes, that is one approach to teaching students. Unfortunately, that is not the one we subscribe to here at Hogwarts. We prefer the one that does not result in smouldering paintings. So, I’m only asking you to not teach that to younger students anymore, and to gently lead them in the safer direction when they come to you with questions.”

Lily nodded, and stood to leave.

“Oh, and one more thing. If you plan to continue to make your own spells, I recommend looking for a room on the seventh floor to test them. I usually find the one across from Barnabas the Barmy quite helpful.”

Lily smiled, and nodded as a thank you. She quickly left his office to find her notebook of spells that she hadn’t been able to test yet. The last place she remembered putting it was in her wardrobe…

---

Several people looked up as she entered the common room. Sirius looked up from the guitar that he appeared to be trying to learn. 

“Evans! What did you get in trouble for, and should I be concerned?”

Lily smiled. “Just got told off for leading first years astray. Apparently I’m a bad influence and all that.” 

Sirius shook his head, and went back to strumming. 

After grabbing her notebook and replacing her robes with her leather jacket, she went back down determined to find Barnabus, and the room Dumbledore mentioned. 

Reaching the common room, she was relieved to see that James had joined Sirius. She walked up to him and grabbed his arm. 

“James! Doing anything? No? Perfect!” She started to drag him to the portrait hole before he could respond.

Once they were alone in the hall, she turned to him. 

“Would you happen to know where Barnabus the Barmy is?”

His look of confusion cleared, and he smiled mischievously. “I know exactly what you need.”

Not long after, they were staring Barnabus in the face. Lily turned around, and her face immediately fell. James noticed this, and took her by the arm, a mirror of what she did earlier. 

He began walking back and forth with her. She was starting to think that he might actually be crazy. 

“Think of what you need, and keep thinking about it.”

Confused but intrigued, she followed his instructions. Looking up, she found a door that she could have sworn wasn’t there before. Mystified, she barely registered James following her in. The high-ceiling room had dummies, mats, and even a fire extinguisher.

“I have got to ask, what is this room for?”  

Lily smiled and pulled out her wand. Opening her notebook to a random page, she began casting. 

---

Lying awake in her bed that night, she began thinking about all the things she heard. She weighed what she knew of James against what she heard of him. 

He couldn’t possibly have dated every girl in their year like she heard people saying, right? He seemed like such a nice boy. 

The James everyone talked about, suave, cool, and a heartbreaker, just didn’t line up with the one who watched her cast her spells, nice, sweet, and a bit of a dork. 

But is that just the persona he shows girls to get them to fall in love with him? Was she just another person for him to date and dump? She had no way of knowing which was the real James.

She didn’t sleep well that night.

[killian-whump]

@wyntereyez replied to your post “When you’re scrolling through your super old fics and find that...”

Ooh, was it whumpy, at least? Now I'm curious what kind of fic high school KW wrote.

Okay, so this reply turned into story time, and I’m not sorry XD

Before high school, Young KW actually fancied herself an author-in-the-making. I always had a story in my head, and was constantly filling notebooks with hastily scribbled tales of childhood adventures and talking animals and heartfelt friendships. My friends liked my stories and my teachers loved my stories, even to the point of allowing me to turn in “free writing” stories in place of the more structured assignments the rest of the class was given. (In retrospect, I have mixed feelings on whether this was actually good for my writing education or bad for it - but that’s another whole subject.) I dreamed of being a rock singer, mind you, but I think I (and those around me) just sort of assumed that “author” was probably where I’d realistically end up ;)

Ah, but then high school came. And I just assumed that as I grew out of reading children’s fiction (or so I thought at the time - it’s still one of my favorite genres today), I should also grow out of writing it. I dearly wish someone had steered me out of that line of thinking, but I never really vocalized what was going on in my head. At any rate, I stopped writing the stories I loved writing... and started trying to write “grown-up” stories. Or, at least, young adult stories.

Well, ONE story. It was such a complete and utter failure that it shook my confidence as a writer and made me feel like my writing would never “mature” past children’s lit and, therefore, I couldn’t be a “serious” author. Yes, I know that’s stupid NOW, but I assumed that was just reality back THEN.

But that story... marked a huge step forward in me becoming the whumper I am today, and is the point where my writing past and my whump past become irrevocably intertwined. Because IN that failure of a young adult thriller, there was a scene where the MC’s crush (the teen heartthrob of her high school, of course, who else?) gets attacked by the killer. He’s left to bleed out in his family’s bathtub, in an apparent suicide attempt, but the female lead manages to save him just in time. It was the only scene of that failed novel that I liked writing and felt good about.

Umm. But maybe a little too good. I really, really enjoyed it in a way that kinda scared the ever-loving crap out of me. Writing anything else just seemed dull in comparison, so the story completely stopped right there. In fact, I realized the entire story up to that point was mostly just thrown together to get me TO that scene. It was passionless tripe because it was all just an excuse to write that one scene... and I knew it.

So I came to two realizations: (1) Writing was only fun for me anymore (and only something I felt I could do well) when it involved the torture and peril of young men and (2) Obviously, there was something super duper wrong with me (see 1).

I had to come to terms with (2) before I could revisit (1). And in that time... I didn’t write. I only wrote what was necessary for schoolwork, and nothing else. And my coming to terms with (2) is a whole other subject. But suffice to say, I did come to terms with it - enough so that while I wasn’t ready to share my interests with others, I was comfortable letting my imagination run free within the confines of my own head, and willing to seek out and even dog-ear scenes in mainstream novels that piqued my interest. And it was at that point that I sat down in front of an old word processor and started writing again.

At first, it was just me re-typing my favorite book scenes, replacing the names with my favorite celebrities or high school crushes. And then... one day I opened a new document, stared at it for no less than a half an hour (probably more) and then started typing. And I couldn’t stop. I was like a woman possessed or something. I just dumped out every dirty, naughty, wicked, evil little fantasy in my head - each whumpier and dirtier and kinkier than the last one - and kept coming up with more. And more. And more. Fanfic. RPF. Original tales. All as whumpy as could be, all for my eyes only, and all so very, very precious to me.

ANYWAY, the story in question, 2010, was an RPF about two of my favorite musicians’ unfortunate adventures in a matriarchal future where all men were slaves. In this case, they were very, very poorly treated slaves. In fact, in every case, and in every story, you can rest assured there are men being very, very poorly treated XD The only other things I’ve written in the past, oh, 20+ years have been the few fluff pieces I’ve written on here. And I’m insanely proud of them, because they mean I CAN still write about mainstream things when I set my mind to it. So maybe someday, if I can stop writing whump long enough lol, I might just try my hand at doing more of that.

So yeah. It was whump. That’s my jam XD

[dearlydreadful]

ASTRO Reactions

Scenario Requested: can I have a reaction of Astro having a kiss stolen from a fan they've been crushing since they saw her waiting?

A/N: I had a lot of fun interrupting this one. I didn’t like the idea of a girl just kissing them without their permission so I tried my best to make most of them very innocent.

Send me more requests! I love them 💚

Myungjun

Myungjun placed his elbows on the table, leaning his chin into his hands. He pouted as he watched her talk happily with Jinwoo beside him. He’d been waiting patiently for her to get to him, watching her since she entered the room. She was so close now, but still not giving him any attention.

He exhaled loudly, earning a side glance from Jinwoo, before perking up as she bowed goodbye to him. He popped up with perfect posture and a big smile. She introduced herself and went right into telling him how much she loved his vocals.

He felt like he was on a cloud as he listened, nodding along with a goofy smile. It wasn’t until she covered her face to giggle that he quirked an eyebrow.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing! Your dimples are just so cute in real life.”

His smile dropped immediately, a pout replacing it. “I don’t have dimples.”

She laughed harder. “Yes, you do! They’re the most adorable thing.” He shook his head and she leaned forward. “Come here and I’ll show you where.” She smirked as she held up her pointer fingers.

Myungjun leaned forward as well, still insisting that he didn’t have dimples. She poked his cheeks, making him laugh.

“Right,” she mumbled before swiftly tilting her face, landing her lips on his cheek. “There.” She giggled as she pulled away.

He felt his cheeks heat up instantly. He covered both cheeks with his hands, squishing them together ever so slightly. “Okay, maybe I do have dimples then.” He succeeded, feeling his insides melt together.

“Take care, Oppa.” She winked before moving along with the line.

He rubbed at his cheek, feeling the ghost of her lips still there. He stole glances at her as he talked to the next person. He’d never have the guts to go after her, but he watched her longingly as she got farther and farther away.

Jinwoo

Jinwoo had noticed her early on in the show. She had been close to the stage and spent most of the time with her eyes closed as she mouthed the words. He was completely smitten. Only someone who was really here for his music would do something like that.

His heart rate increased as it came closer to start the HiTouch. He was hoping she would be there. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to say something. He sighed, knowing even if she was here there was no way he’d get to talk with her. He wiped his hands on the fabric covering his thighs before falling in line behind the boys.

A manager lined them all up, getting them ready with their hand outstretched and high up. Usually there were tables keeping some distance between them and the fans. Jinwoo took notice as he stood in his place at the end of the line that there was no table this time. He thought to ask as his eyes scanned the oncoming line of fans.

His words died on his tongue as he found her. She was the very last fan in line. He grinned and chuckled as he watched her get nervous the closer she got. She bounced on her feet. She chewed on her bottom lip. She pulled at her fingers.

Finally, she was there.

He watched as she high fived everyone in front of him. MJ. Sanha. Rocky. MoonBin. Eunwoo. His heart fluttered as she paused in front of him. Her eyes looked glassy as she exhaled.

He let out a groan of sorts as she flung herself at him. She hugged him tight, burying her face in the juncture between his shoulder and neck. He chuckled as he waved an angry manager off before hugging her back.

“You mean so much to me.” She whispered the words so only he could hear. He felt the cool liquid dampen his shirt before a pair of warm lips touched the base of his neck. He went frigid while his feelings went wild at both the words and the action.

She pulled back, taking a warm comfort with her. She had some tears sliding down her cheeks as she bowed to all the boys. “Thank you.” She choked out before turning to continue on the way.

He surged forward to grab her. He couldn’t let her just leave. He needed to know more. He wanted to have more. But he couldn’t reach her. She was gone and he was being pushed into another direction. He sighed as he determined he’d never be able to forget about her.

DongMin

DongMin pursed his lips as he watched the next group file in. It was a special VIP event where the boys were taking photos with some fans. They were letting the fans select a theme for the photo before bringing them up. His eyes caught on to a bright haired girl. He couldn’t help but snort as he noticed it was the same obnoxious pink color as MoonBin’s.

He quickly elbowed the other boy, bringing his attention to it too. Of course, MoonBin loved it. As the group started to walk toward them, MoonBin tried to grab her attention. DongMin arched his eyebrows as she strode directly to him, standing before him with her hands on her hips.

The director announced the theme and he quickly felt his mouth go dry as he stared at her. Couples Poses.

The boys chatted eagerly with the group as they matched up two by two with a pose. DongMin cleared his throat when he nodded toward the camera. She smirked at him.

“Are you camera shy?” Her words took him by surprise. He quickly shook his head, feeling heat flood his face. “Good. I’ve got an idea.” She winked at him before turning toward the camera.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but the girl made him nervous. She was pretty, like really pretty. His pulse quickened as he eyed her up and down before turning toward the camera as well. Her confidence was what stuck with him though.

He smiled softly as he thought about the sassy way she had approached him. It was the most he could do without knowing what her idea consisted of. But he didn’t have to wait long.

As the blinding flash went off, he felt her warm body press against his. Her hands locked behind his neck, pulling him toward her. He widened his eyes as her lips landed on his. They closed slowly as he softened into the kiss. His hands locked behind her back, pulling her a little closer.

It was a crazy idea. She disappeared as soon as the clicks stopped. There were managers and assistants that descended quickly. You didn’t just kiss an idol and get away with it. Except she did. DongMin reassured everyone that it was fine, that he had asked for it. He received scolding after scolding about kissing a fan. But he just grinned everytime he thought about the feeling of her lips on his.

Moonbin

MoonBin wasn’t the type to get jealous, normally. He felt an unfamiliar turn of his gut though as he watched her talk to Jin Jin beside him. She was so animated and going on about how Jin Jin had encouraged her to follow her passion for writing music. He had to actively watch himself so as not to roll his eyes.

He didn’t understand it, but he wanted her attention. He wanted her to talk to him like he was the only one at the table. He swallowed nervously as they started to say their goodbyes. He wondered if she would even want to talk to him after that. He licked his lips as he met her eyes. His insides melted as she smiled so wide, a pair of dimples appeared.

“I’m so glad you made it today, Oppa! I’ve been so worried about your health. You need to rest.”

Warmth spilled from his chest to his limbs at the affection in her tone. He smiled back at her. “I promise, I will.”

“Good.” She chided him but then giggled. “You’re so cute when you smile.” She leaned forward, taking him by surprise as her cool hands cupped his cheeks. “I mean you’re handsome all the time, but this smile here, this is my favorite.” She left a sudden small kiss to his nose. Her hands left his face immediately, her eyes widening at her own actions. “Oh, I’m so sorry Oppa! I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! Please forgive me.” She bowed multiple times as she pleaded.

MoonBin had to lean over the table to reach her. He gently put his hand on her wrist to get her attention. “It’s okay.” His cheeks heated up as he gave her a small smile. “I - I didn’t mind it.”

Minhyuk

Minhyuk tapped his hands on the table idly. He had moved to the final spot as a last minute adjustment. But that meant for about the first 30 to 40 minutes, while the fans trickled down the line to him, he was bored out of his mind. He took the opportunity to scan the line.

His eyes immediately glued to the body that moved as fluid as he hoped his own did. He grinned as he watched her jam to his music, mimicking their moves at a skilled level. He felt a little sad when the first fan stood in front of him, interrupting his view of her. He pushed it away quickly, enjoying his time with his fans.

He looked forward to the brief pauses though so he could relocate her in line. His worry went into overdrive when he couldn’t find her, only to eventually realize that she had made her way to the table and was greeting Eunwoo at the front.

His foot tapped away anxiously as he waited for her to go down the table, one by one. He couldn’t help but straighten his clothes as she stood talking with SanHa right beside him. It felt like even that interaction took an eon, before finally, she stood before him.

“I am so happy to meet you. You have been an inspiration. I love watching your choreo videos. I hope to someday be as good as you.” Her words flowed swiftly from her pink lips.

Minhyuk grinned. “You’re definitely talented. You might even be better than me.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. He could see her trying to figure out how he could be so confident in those words with only just meeting her.

He chuckled. “I saw you dancing while you were back there in line.” He gestured toward where she’d originally caught his eye. She flushed as she dropped her chin. “You were really good.” He reached his hand toward her without much thought. He just wanted her to look at him again.

She looked at his hand, her eyes glancing up at him through her bangs, before biting her bottom lip. “Thank you.” She mumbled.

He smiled and started to pull his hand back, startling slightly as she grabbed for it before he could. “You’re welcome.” He squeezed her hand gently. The next scene left him in a daze.

In response to his squeeze, she leaned forward and pressed an innocent kiss to his hand. Her lips met the skin just between his thumb and pointer finger. He blinked and her warmth was gone, as was she. He looked down at his hand to find the perfect imprint of her lips on his skin. He grinned as he moved his hand side to side, noticing the lipstick glitter a little.

He didn’t have the chance to go after her as the next fan stood before him, but she would never leave his thoughts after that.

Sanha

SanHa could hardly contain himself as she introduced herself. He had been watching her as the line had dwindled, stealing glances as she got closer and closer. She stood out in the crowd for him. He eagerly took the photo from her hands though his eyes wouldn’t leave hers. He uncapped his marker, holding the pen in mid air.

She giggled. “Oppa, aren’t you going to sign it?”

His mouth curled into a smile as his heart fluttered at the affectionate term. He felt his cheeks warming up so he quickly ducked his head down to sign her photo. He was mid signature when he saw her lean forward from his peripheral. His eyebrows rose as he watched her place her hands on the table carefully as she crept forward.

He felt like his heart completely stopped as he felt her soft, plush lips press ever so gently against his forehead. His eyes widened as he lifted his face to look at her. She grinned at him, her cheeks matching his with a light pink tint.

“Make sure to take care of yourself, Oppa.” She whispered before reaching for her photo and moving forward.

SanHa watched as she glided over to Rocky beside him. He wanted to stop her, to talk to her more. He’d hardly been able to say anything due to his shyness and shock. He watched as she bowed to Rocky before sliding the photo over again. He chewed on his bottom lip, hoping that their interaction was special.

His breath caught in his throat as she locked eyes with him. She gave him a wink and a grin that made him want to drop dead. She thanked Rocky as he gave the signed photo back and continued on down the row.

SanHa felt like his cheeks would split from how wide his smile was. He greeted the next fan, knowing that at least the small moment they had was special. That kiss was just for him.

[thecleverdame]

Sleepy Hollow - Chapter Nine

Series Master List

Pairings: Sam x Reader, mentions of Dean x Jo

Summary: In 1799, specialized police constables Sam and Dean Winchester are sent from New York City to a small town called Sleepy Hollow to investigate a series of murders. Approached by the town’s council, the Winchesters discover the local residents believe that the murders are the work of a deadly Hessian horseman whose head has been mysteriously chopped off. With help from the beautiful Y/N Van Tassel, Sam Winchester’s investigation takes him further through the dark wood where more murders have been occurring. What Sam does not realize is that the mysterious Horseman is being controlled by someone in a sinister plot to kill the most suitable men in the village.

Warnings: Canon-level violence, murder, smut, horror, gore and a little fluff for good measure.

Words: 40k

Beta:  ilikaicalie

This series is completed. You can read it on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

The Forest Brom, Theodore, and Glen are on patrol. Brom is particularly proud with his new rifle. They can hear a horse crashing invisibly through branches, the sound of hooves, but can't tell what direction the sound is coming from. “Split up!” Brom shouts, “He won't get away.” The three of them gallop off in three directions. They hear the sound of deep rumbling, the same sound heard before Jonathan Masbath was murdered.

Killian’s Home

Killian, Thomas, and Beth, Killian's wife, have finished supper in their small kitchen. Beth is clearing plates as Killian picks his teeth with a knife. There’s a faint sound in the distance. The glasses on the table shiver audibly. Killian notices, watching but the phenomenon promptly stops.

Thomas gets down from his chair. He goes to the fireplace to light a tallow wick, which he takes to the next room. Thomas plops on the floor and lights his magic lantern: a lantern with an outer sleeve of glass painted with silhouettes of lions and monsters. He turns the lantern, watching the wall where the shadows are cast. He roars for them, imagining them real and having a grand time. Beth comes back to the dining table for the last of the dishes. “Don't pick your teeth. You teach Thomas bad habits,” she quips. Killian pulls her to him playfully. “I am a bad habit. There's nothing for it.” “Oh isn’t there.” She smiles, kissing her husband. -

In the forest a mighty Brom rides his black horse, hooves pounding the ground. There is thunder in the distance and the horse stops and Brom looks skyward. All around the wind halts. A dead silence falls. Distant hoofbeats can be heard in the silence. Brom takes his rifle from his shoulder and rides toward them. - Behind where Killian sits the mantelpiece stones pulse, breathing. Demonic faces form, then disappear as the wind screams like an angry beast. Thomas continues his fun, shadow animals circling him as his mother enters his room to join him. The magic lantern suddenly stops spinning. Shadow creatures freeze. Beth looks up, noticing the ferocity of the wind as the smile leaves her face. The entire house creaks and groans. Killian stands, looking up. The house groans again, then suddenly the wind ceases and there is nothing. “Beth…” He calls a warning. Beth picks up Thomas. The magic lantern shadow creatures begin spinning anew, quickly, around and around. With a roar, the fire flares. Killian looks, and in the leaping flames, he seems to see the illusion of a face molded out of flames. Behind Killian, the door splinters inward. The Horseman steps in, a battle ax in each hand as the wind blasts behind him. The door to the other room slams. Killian grabs a chair and hurls it but the horseman swings, smashing it aside. “Beth, run!” he screams.

Beth holds Thomas as she backs away from the closed door as they listen to Killian yelling from the kitchen, get out! Killian grabs an iron poker from the fireplace, swinging it to fend off a blow from the Horseman. The Horseman swings the other ax and Killian ducks as the ax cracks fireplace stone, throwing sparks. Killian lunges, jamming the skewer into the Horseman cutting clean through the Horseman's back. The Horseman swipes with the flat of one ax, pounding Killian aside. Killian hits the wall, bashing his head and wilts to the floor. The Horseman pulls the skewer out of his body and throws it aside. He lifts Killian by the hair with one hand, brings back the ax in the other hand.

Beth kicks a carpet of Thomas’s room aside to reveal a trap door, lowering Thomas to small stairs leading to a crawl space under the gapped floorboards. Thomas is crying loudly and Beth puts a finger to her lips. “Hush, hush, my love. Quiet as a mouse, now.” “Mother.” He cries, small and trembling. “You must hide,” she shushes him one last time closing the trap door, frantically replacing the carpet. The room's door flies open. The Horseman strides in, carrying Killian's severed head and Beth shrieks. Beth's screams end quickly. Her body is heard hitting the floor above. Thomas sees the shadow of Beth's head rolling across the gaps in the floorboards above him, coming to rest with her hair showing, hanging down in the gap as the Horseman walks the length of the room. The Horseman places the heads in a sack, cinching the it shut. Then stands, long, silent. Thomas cowers, trembling and quiet as the Horseman falls to his knees. He starts to chop at the floor with both axes. Chopping, chopping, chopping, making quick work of it. A hole appears as debris falls. Thomas looks up, screaming as he tries to crawl away. The Horseman's arm shoves through from above, grabbing Thomas and yanking him up through the hole.

Killian’s Farm - Outskirts Brom rides from the forest. Ahead, at Killian's house, among scattered homes on the outskirts of town, an evil steed steps up as the Headless Horseman walks out with his sack of heads. The Horseman ties the sack to his saddle and leaps up. The Horseman ignores Brom. But sadly, Brom refuses to be ignored. He puts his reins in his mouth, aims his rifle, firing at the horseman with a might crack! Boom, the slug blows the Horseman off his stallion, exploding. The Horseman's smoldering body is left face down. Brom halts his horse, climbing down, pleased with himself Until the Horseman moves. Brom backs away, satisfaction diminishing and the Horseman rises to his knees. Brom falls to one knee, begins reloading. He fills the gun from his powder horn. The Horseman stands, unsheathes his sword and turns. The blast has exposed rotten flesh and maggot-infested muscle. Brom readies his ramrod, but there's no time. He rises, hefting his rifle, straight at the Horseman with a yell. The Horseman is on him but Brom swings the rifle, blocking. The battle is on, with Brom fending off the Horseman's sword with the rifle - CLANK - CLANK - CLANK Across the field, Sam and Dean arrive upon the scene of the fight. Gunpowder rears back knocking Dean to the ground as Sam charges toward the action. The Horseman makes a backhanded swing, knocking Brom's rifle away, sending Brom to the ground. The Horseman walks away from Brom who pulls a knife and throws it. The knife blade goes through the Horseman from back to front, like a spear thrust through a smoldering sack of rotten flesh. The Horseman pulls Brom's knife, blade first, from his chest and turns upon Brom. Brom scrambles up, fleeing, running toward Killian's. The Horseman throws the knife with precision and it embeds in Brom's thigh as he strides closer. Sam closes in, pulling an unlit lantern off his saddle. The Horseman changes his sword grip, blade open, plants one foot on Brom's back, raising his sword to skewer. Sam arrives at full gallop, smashing the lantern into the Horseman, effectively knocking him off of Brom. In the distance, Theodore and Glen arrive on horseback. They halt where they are, watching in amazement. Brom runs, limping to Killian's house, a goal in sight, there are farm implements propped there. Brom grabs scythes with long curved blades, one in each hand. The Horseman rises up, on a mission.

Sam leaps off his horse, running to Brom's side. Once more, the Horseman turns away. “I'll get him!” Brom yells, grabbing for Sam’s pistol. “Wait! Don't you see? He's not after us!” Sam shouts, grabbing for his gun back. Brom shakes himself free and fires. The bullet rips through the horseman’s stomach to reveal putrid innards. The horseman turns back, locked onto Brom. “He’s not after us!” Sam shouts, grabbing Brom and trying to pull him along. Brom throws the pistol at the Horseman.

Across the way, Theodore looks to Glenn, turns his horse and flees. Glenn follows Theodore away as Dean rides closer, praying he arrives in time. Brom steps up, scythes ready. He and the Horseman go at it. Brom blocks the ax and sword, deflecting blows. Sam grabs a long-handled sickle, circles them, swinging the sickle as the Horseman blocks his efforts. The Horseman battles both men at once, catching blows, countering every strike, the sounds ringing out into the night. Sam's sickle is knocked out of his hand. Brom catches the Horseman's sword in one scythe, catches the ax handle in the other scythe, but the Horseman flatfoot kicks Brom, sending him down. Brom picks up Sam's sickle and swings it, the blade embedding in the Horseman down to the hilt. “Now you've pissed him off,” Sam yells, but Brom will not listen. The Horseman drops his ax, grasps the sickle handle. The handle slams Sam away, hitting the ground. Sam crawls, shaking off the blow. The Horseman staggers, trying to pull the blade from his body. “We cannot win this.” Sam pleads for Brom to have some sense. Brom yanks Sam to his feet and grabs his scythes. As they flee, Sam grabs a wood-splitting ax from the stump where it's embedded. Behind, the Horseman manages to extract the sickle, drops it. Brom and Sam head toward the covered bridge that leads across to the town square. The Horseman strides after, retrieving his ax on the way.

Brom and Sam start across. Sam must help support Brom as he limps beside him. Behind them, the Horseman picks up the pace, closing in fast. Inside the bridge, Sam and Brom are halfway across. Footsteps pounding behind them. Sam glances back and to his surprise, the Horseman is not behind them. Sam and Brom look up. The pounding feet are on the roof, passing over. Ahead, at the mouth of the covered bridge, the Horseman leaps down, spinning in midair, lands, crouched. Sam and Brom halt as The Horseman rises. Sam releases Brom and moves forward, gripping his wood ax in both hands, swinging the ax downward... The Horseman swings his own ax, splintering Sam's ax handle. The Horseman, ax in one hand, sword in the other, turns upon Brom, and in pulling Brom aside out of the path of the sword, Sam receives a sword-thrust in the shoulder, which makes him scream in agony. The Horseman lifts his sword arm, throwing Sam and withdrawing the sword in one motion as Sam tumbles to the ground.

“Dean!” Sam yells, clutching his shoulder, blood running from between his fingers. Brom moves forward with the scythes. The Horseman sets upon him with incredible ferocity, battling Brom back, striking so hard and fast it's hard for Brom to keep blocking. Sam tries to get up, but falls knowing he’s of no help now. He watches as the horseman knocks one of Brom’s scythes away, taking another swing, sending Brom spinning in a spray of blood. The Horseman stands over Brom's body, chopping with his sword.

Sam’s vision begins to blur as the horseman approaches, now at the specters mercy. He’s ready for a final blow but it never comes as the horseman strides past him. “Sam!” He hears only his brothers voice, and a hand pressing over his wound as he loses consciousness.

[themagicalari]

For the ask thing you may or may not have reblogged yet: 001 Community 002 Ship DabiHawks 003 Character Kirishima

The last one took me forever because I’m scatter brained af rn, but let’s hope I do better with words this time!

Fucking community spoilers warning I guess.

001 community

Fave character- Abed, of course

Least fave character- I mean it’s Andre, Shirleys husband or ex husband depending on season. I know that they work past all the bullshit but I still haven’t gotten over that he was mad she missed the wedding rehearsal because she was trying to get her business started. And like especially since him leaving was the reason she was going back to school and trying to be financially independent. I just have a lot of feeling about Shirley.

Five fave ships- Jeff/Annie is number one (I’m over the age difference stuff I guess? But all in all I am happy they didn’t end up together), Troy/Annie, Britta/Annie, Annie/Abed (but I do prefer them as friends), and the Dean/a healthy relationship

Honestly didn’t realize I just ship Annie with everyone

Character I find most attractive- ok so this comes down to my giant crush on Paget Brewster but it’s gonna have to be Frankie

Character I would marry- gosh none of them are really stable enough for marriage right? But I could probably marry Annie or Frankie

Character I would be best friends with- Abed for sure, plus you get Troy as part of the deal

A random thought- after season 4 the “family” dynamic was strained by the replacement of pierce I think, and the whole show felt a lot darker than it had before. It lost some of the fun and optimism, there were plenty of good episodes in season 5 but still, the tone changed.

An unpopular opinion- I hate the way Pierce was sort of forgotten about, for a while he was growing with everyone else but then suddenly that stopped and was even reversed. I know there was a scandle with Chevy Chase, I don’t actually know what happened, but it sucks that it affected the writing so much.

Canon otp- Annie and Vaughn were really cute

Non-canon otp- Annie with anyone I guess lol

Most badass character- Annie once framed a man for the senseless destruction of a dvd that she broke. And she dominated in the second paintball episode.

Most epic villain- Chang took over the school with an army of children

Pairing I’m not a fan of- Troy and Abed, I’m not against the pairing I just really value their friendship.

Character I feel the writers screwed up- the last two seasons really didn’t focus on the characterization of Abed, he was really animated and emotional compared to other seasons.

Fave friendship- Troy and Abed

Character I most identify with- oh man it’s Britta, the more you get to know me the worse I get

Character I wish I could be- Jeff to an extent, I just want his powers of persuasion

002 Dabi/Hawks ooooh man

When I started shipping them- well before I actually met hawks in the manga, I saw a lot of shipping on my dash and was just down for it

My thoughts- I mean it’s a destructive relationship, but aus are super cutesy, there’s endless angst possibilities. There’s just so much potential and I love all of it.

What makes me happy about them- enemies to lovers is just my jam, and I love a conflicted hero

What makes me sad about them- just who they are as people, they’re both so damaged

Things done in fanfic that annoys me- removing Dabis scars, I mean like no quirk aus where they’re replaced with tattoos I don’t mind, but like just taking them away or *magically* healing them is the worst

Things I look for in fanfic- pining, angst or hard the opposite way like soulmate-y tooth rotting fluff

Wishlist- I mean given the sheer amount of potential with these two it really depends on the day

Who I’d be comfortable with them ending up with if not each other- hmmm for dabi idk, there’s pleanty of ships out there but not any I like as much I like him shipped with hero’s the best though, eraser maybe? As for hawks someone I follow really ships him with Natsuo and I love it

My happily ever after for them- they just runoff and forget their aspirations and become farmers together

003 Kirishima (my son!)

How I feel about this character- I just love him so much! He’s honestly like a comfort character and an inspiration for me. He has issues with insecurity and he fights through them, I wanna do that too.

Who I ship with him- Bakugou is the big one, but I could easily ship him with any one from 1a

Fave non-romantic ship- kiri and Mina! I love them as friends so much!

Unpopular opinion- do I have one? Are there any? I know unpopular doesn’t always mean negative but still

One thing I wish would happen- I mean, Bakugou could hold his hand again, I don’t want much, I’m a simple creature

Favorite friendship- I already mentioned Mina, I also love him a kaminari as friends, sero too, I mean the whole bakusquad really

Fave crossover ship- I’ve never really thought about but I guess I’m gonna ship him with Lonnie from She-ra because the last ask has my head full of she-ra love and he would be good for her

[historyrepeatsitself]

modern au headcanons p2

hey guys, so after uhh everything crashed and burned as u can see from this post, i did not follow thru in good time with writing a modern au headcanon post… BUT!!! fortunately, i have returned from my semi hiatus to bring you… inspired by this OG post… httyd modern au headcanons part 2!!!

also sorry for the weird bullet points, i did this in microsoft word so the entire thing wouldnt fucKING DELETE AGAIN

·         so like i said with the last one, cami is obviously internet famous for her ridiculously cool youtube channel

·         shes also quite popular on insta but youtube is more her jam

·         her fame started when a video of her pickpocketing stoick and them him finding out and absolutely Losing It went viral

·         it was a vine

·         you can hear hiccup laughing in the background

·         her videos used to mainly feature pranks she did but since then shes branched out

·         she still does a lot of pranks but now her videos also include: parkour, absolutely HORRIBLE karaoke (ft. hiccup and fishlegs), Q&A, playing with toothless for an hour and thirty minutes (yes, it did get a lot of views ((also toothless is a cat in this au))), roast battle vs snotlout (spoiler: snotlout cries), “a compilation of hiccup doing nerdy shit and me calling him a nerd (8 min, 30 sec)”, “reading yalls fanfiction abt me (fishlegs has an asthma attack)”, videos of her doing sports, & more

·         like in the original hiccup and fishlegs have their own channel

·         its literally shit

·         they update it only on lethal amounts of caffeine

·         its usually VERY active during finals week (hence their not great grades)

·         it puts shane dawson to shame

·         “NOT CLICKBATE: OBAMA IS FROM THE MOON????”

·         “NEIL A IS ALIEN SPELLED BACKWARDS??? DID ARMSTRONG USE THE MOON AS A WAY TO FUEL UP BEFORE JUMPING BACK TO HIS COLONY ON MARS??”

·         “MY CAT IS NOT FROM EARTH (VIDEO INCLUDED!!!!)”

·         “got rejected again…. </3”

·         “video of fishlegs on sugar high after i gave him a bunch of candy bc he wouldn’t stop crying”

·         “kids from our school found us” (during the whole video theyre panicking while wearing wigs and fake mustaches)

·         needless to say its very confusing when someone connects that those guys are also on cami’s channel

·         shes pissed but comes around and they regularly star on her channel while she regularly stars on theirs

·         hiccup also has his own side channel where he explains different animal species (natural history stuff) and also does various language tutorials

·         fishlegs reads poetry and sings on his side channel

·         cami has a video where she reacts to hiccup’s channel, he actually gained a lot of followers from it

·         hiccup and fishlegs go to the same school while cami goes to an all girls school across town

·         she actually doesn’t hate it

·         hiccup and fishlegs are public school kids

·         that public school vibe

·         kids from their school are so confused how they know cami and rly jealous

·         cami once stopped by after school (her school gets out a little earlier) and punched a bully for them

·         it was iconic

·         she smacked him right in the face and hauled hiccup’s ass up and dragged them both in the car

·         cami is pretty popular at her school

·         hiccup and fishlegs are NOT

·         theyre honestly a bit like peter and ned from spiderman

·         gotta love that lego deathstar

·         cami does not like legos

·         both hiccup and fishlegs are smart but don’t put in a lot of effort

·         fishlegs excels at English and hiccup is good at science classes (esp bio) and history

·         fishlegs is ok at history but finds some of it a little boring

·         they HATE gym

·         theyre both shocked to find that cami (a dumbassTM) is actually a straight A student

·         shes super competitive so she actually does super well and gets rly rly good grades and all her teachers love her

·         she didn’t for awhile bc she has ADHD for school was HARD but shes gotten a lot better and got tutors and study methods and also shes just super competitive

·         she was on math team in middle school and hiccup wont SHUt Up about IT

·         “hey theres my favorite student mathlete!!!!!”

·         fishlegs doesn’t even try and help him anymore, he does this to himself

·         fishlegs wins English awards every year

·         he also got a 36 on his English ACT hes just SO GOOD

·         hes also a theatre kid lmao

·         he does shakespearean theatre on top of his school theatre too

·         “to be or not To Be”

·         Hiccups not a huge English fan and he doesn’t rly like Shakespeare but he does rly like Oscar wilde

·         Dorian gray is the Shit

·         Fishlegs was so happy when he read it bc they could finally talk about LiTeRaRy ClAsSiCs!!!

·         the trio met bc hiccup and cami’s parents own rival business companies

·         both stoick and bertha are very Rich and Important

·         hiccup and cami sometimes have to go to business dinners

·         they fuck around

·         that’s how they met

·         hiccup bumped into cami replacing the soap in the hand dispenser in the men’s room with silly string

·         he thought she was the coolest person ever

·         she tried to fight him at first but they quickly united against the Evil Boring Dinners With Stupid Old Men

·         they locked this one old racist dude in a bathroom stall once and sent fishlegs a video

·         truly forces of chaos

·         the forces of chaos were unfortunately grounded for that tho

·         stoick is very busy and valhallarama travels a lot so they hang out at hiccup’s bc its usually empty (cami’s house is also kinda far)

·         cami’s parents are divorced but her dad stops by occasionally

·         fishlegs has a foster family and that’s how he wound up meeting hiccup was when he moved to be with his new family when they were in second grade

·         hes rly grateful that hes been able to stay with them for a long ass time

·         theyre actually pretty nice

·         hiccup gets to come over for dinner

·         snotlout is hiccup’s bitchy cousin whos a grade ahead of hiccup and fishlegs

·         he eventually becomes nicer to them at the beginning of sophomore year

·         some bad stuff happens  (might write an angst fanfic idk lemme know (itll prolly be hiccup centric))

·         basically, snotlout kinda realizes hes been a bitch

·         hes sorry

·         things get better

·         until yknow

·         gotta keep things sad cant get rid of all the emo

·         but anyway snotlout does wind up becoming a good friend to the trio!! <3

·         oh lmao when valhallarama came home for Christmas she thought hiccup was either dating cami or fishlegs and she didn’t know which one bc hiccup was so shy she just figured he was dating one of them and just didn’t tell her (theyre all like super close yknow)

·         after seeing hiccup and cami holding hands (a RARE moment, it was bc they thought it would annoy snotlout bc he hates cami (it did)) she assumed it was cami

·         she brought it up

·         LMFAOOOO hiccup laughed for like 10 minutes

·         She then immediately was like oh ok ur gay and its fishlegs

·         that was even funnier

·         “mom fishlegs is weird lmao” (he and fishlegs probably friendly roast each other a lot tbh. they definitely call each other “weirdo” “freak” “nerd” other possibly explicit words, its chill)

·         Valhallarama is so confused

·         she didn’t say it but “child u literally told me that u thought ur little cat that’s missing teeth is prolly from area 51, ur the weird one son”

·         she asks stoick

·         hes just as confused

·         she drops the whole topic

·         it has yet to occur to bertha

·         fishlegs’ family is good as long as hes good theyre chill like that

·         oh and cami’s school has uniforms

·         yes, she does have to wear a skirt

·         yes, several of them were shredded freshman year

·         bertha is So Tired

[hcnnybcnny-archive]

  The 90′s seriously put a damper on Honey and Bugs relationship and caused Bugs to become a more negative person in her life. Now before I go on I want to reiterate: Honey doesn’t hate him nor will she ever badmouth him. He was a wonderful husband to her, she knew he cared, and he was  a great guy. But the fact of the matter is this -- Bugs did hurt her. Even if he didn’t mean to, or even know, or had ‘no control’, he hurt her. He hurt her because he didn’t seem to do more against the studios degrading of her.

  Before 96, Honey knew Bugs was changing. The studio was pushing him more into this ‘cool’ 90′s personality. Something they go through often -- new decade, new ‘hip’ stuff, the works. But she shrugged it off. Sure, the studio was making him sell out ( granted they always did ‘advertisements with weird brands’ ) with their ‘hip’ ( laughable now ) t-shirts and merchandise, plus commercials of him and celebrities, and more. It didn’t bother her much. Again: they go through it every decade to seem ‘popular’.

  Despite popular belief, Honey was never a jealous figure ( aside for one or two minor incidents in comics that seemed ooc to me ) and when she was jealous she never took it out on the females but on Bugs. Often it was a misunderstanding. And, unlike some cartoon dames, Honey never raised a hand. She just told him off and walked away. She didn’t, no she REFUSED, to perpetuate that ‘violent looney wife’ stereotype. Words are better anyways.

  When she was asked to be in Sp//ce Jam she had been excited. Only to be, understandably, horrified when the concept art they used was of her least favorite design. The ‘Bugs with a bowtie’ design. Even though she had flowing blonde hair, a more curvy form, and distinct features. They chose the one they FORCED upon her against everyone’s wills and then proceeded to mock her. ANIMATION’S FINEST, sarcastically done, as they laughed at her.

  The wanted a ‘new and improved’ female Bunny. Plus the mocking continued as the newer girl was drawn. And Honey, despite being hurt, was supportive. ( I say this because:surprise surprise, Honey is shown supporting Penelope in Carrotblanca Merchandise -- HONEY WAS SUPPORTING FEMALE TOONS WITH LOVE INTERESTS IN  BUGS AND THUS DIDN’T FALL INTO ‘new girl i’m jealous and hate her!!!’ TROPE ).They co-existed. Lola in the Sp//ce J//m stuff, Honey in other WB merchandise ( proven by the fact that there’s merch and artwork of Honey after 96 as well ).

I bring this up because, to Honey, it was never HER FAULT. She refused to blame Lola. Even to this day, while she’s hurt, she never once blamed her for it. When you’re drawn, when you’re first inked, you’re lost and confused even if you do have a purpose. And she heard enough of the backlash from their original creators about her. Honey even attempted to defend her.

She doesn’t blame her.

She blames Bugs.

She blames Bugs for not speaking up as they mocked her. 

She blames Bugs for swooning and fawning and acting like a lovesick teenager, not a grown man, over a new girl while not seeming to understand how it affected her. The movie was one thing. The fact it kept happening was more suspicious as more merchandise came out.

She blames Bugs for keeping silent as they stopped really appearing in merchandise together. Aside for a few small things.

She blames Bugs for not asking her if she was ‘okay’ when they forbade her from performing on stage anymore with the cast. 

She blames Bugs for, when Mil-looney-um came out ( knowing she’s been there so long -- knowing that he knew New Years is her favorite time of the year - knowing her career and stuff is slowly declining ), not seeming to care that she was left alone as everyone else had fun to celebrate. While he kissed another girl, being intimate with her, and while him and none of the others even seemed to notice or care that she wasn’t invited.

She blames Bugs because, even if the studio was forcing him, he still could have said or done something. Or at least eased her fears.

She blames Bugs for, when Crazy Castle came out again ( usually her video game ), he fully opened his arms to the newer girl taking her place. Even starring in another video game with her. And not seeming to notice that Honey’s video game career was dead.

She blames Bugs for staying silent and not caring that they forced Honey to change her appearance so she was a ‘grey’ version of Lola.

She blames Bugs for that interview where, asked if he had a girlfriend ( despite being married ), he didn’t mention her. She blames Bugs for not caring that books and the studio called her his ‘ex-girlfriend / travel companion ‘ despite being his wife.

She blames Bugs because, as the studio endlessly mocked her / fans turned their backs on her / she was left alone, he remained silent and turned his back while seeming to only support and talk about the newer girl. She blames him because he could have divorced her if he liked the newer girl so much. But he remained silent. He kept giving her hope and, all the while, kept his back to her. Even if he didn’t realize it, even if he didn’t mean it, he made her feel ugly compared to Lola.

It’s bad enough the studio called her ugly, forced her to look like Lola, but to have Bugs knowingly fawn over her and leave Honey feeling worthless and ugly and upset? Having Bugs somehow be clueless over the fact that, in a few short years, the newer girl got more attention and love than she ever did?  That made him despicable to her. Even if he didn’t know, or mean it, it hurt her badly.

Bugs use to always fawn over her looks. Well, not ‘fawn’, more like view her as beautiful in a mature way. he’d draw her, he’d paint her, he’d take photos of her. He was always invested in what she did!!She’d perform on stage and he’d be there excitedly with a carrot bouquet, she’d sing and he’s play the piano with a big grin, he was always loving her musical talents and expressed his love for her via the arts.

As the time passed: Honey stopped singing, she no longer performed, she grew silent. The theme park no longer wanted her, there was no hope she’d ever be in comics or animations, she began to just burn out. Exhausted.  And he never seemed to notice. No more carrot bouquets, no more listening to her sing, he was at the studio constantly. He never seemed to notice her career was failing, never said anything about the rude or degrading comments, and when he was asked about a ‘female’ he’d always mention Lola first and not her.

Not only was she felt forgotten by the studio, her fans, but she felt like Bugs forgot her as well. She felt ugly, worthless,  untalented, all because of him. And while she blames the studio also she’s not gonna act like it’s all their fault. Bugs could have said more or been a bit more empathetic ( or more aware -- but she feels he’d have to be DENSE to not notice ). But, no, he wasn’t. And Honey was left to feel brokenhearted as she suffered alone until she finally snapped and ran away. And to this day her self-esteem is so low that, even though she sings and does stuff, she never feels good enough and always feels like she’ll be second / unloved. She has a fear of commitment and falling in love simply because she knows that, at any moment, she’ll be replaced by someone ‘newer’ to them.

[bluepenguinstories]

Intention Headaches Chapter Five

Author's Note: All rhymes are unintentional. Anyone making a reference to Mark Twain will be shot on sight.

For Annie, Who Got a Leg Up in the Arms Race

I

Down the chute, a rabbit's hole of catatonic cold steel, a metallic, far-reaching tunnel in which she took a fall, far below. She didn't quite make her landing, not the pageantry coaches would hope from a human prized possession.

She awoke beside a raggedy man, scattered on the floor in a cell unused for ages, all she could see with her weary eyes was a pile of bones, his bones. She moaned because her left leg, no longer functional. Fractured and fragmented, the segments, joints, now disjointed. Beside her, the man, his bones near him, spoke:

“What is your name?” He was a head and a torso, though torso with bones beside the casing of an upper body. Same for the legs, but she tried to pay no mind to the old bones.

“Annie,” was her reply. “Animal crackers in my soup, hee-hee, hoo-hoo,” a laugh and a howl and a toot from the man, adorned, a raggedy hat. “Are you an orphan, too?” Annie shook her head. An orphan, not yet was what her head said without realizing that at a certain age, the death of a parent is a natural case of inevitability and not a case of orphanage.

Howls as well from the pain she was in. Trouble, bare, lonesome. Movements a torture.

“Annie, are you okay?” He asked her. And no, she would say. It was her leg. He would say: What a sorry state, Annie and her leg and this old bag of bones.

It was her turn to ask who it was she shared a cell with in a long abandoned encampment for imprisonment, now a relic or a reminder of how even new technologies reach old age.

“Why, I'm the gaoler.” Yes, outside. Guards and guardians. Relics. The whole lot of them. Crime is a relic, so is the punishment.

She found her footing, also in pain was her foot; a sprain, her ankle yet she inched her way to the top until she stood on her two legs (one broken) and faced the man in rags to ask but one thing:

“Are you with the church?”

His eyes lit a signal flare, lithium or mercury, Annie didn't see what the difference would be. Annie, you are hurt, soothing words spoken by a face, tall and pious. You need healing.

He picked himself up as well a literal and figurative gesture. Severed hand picked up the arm bone, the leg bone connected to the hip bone and the torso, oh the torso. No, never matter, never mind the basics. Just a fully formed figure, flesh and bone.

Man stood tall, hand bony and skeletal reaching back to his back and digging within, pulling out a spine – a torso now slumped over, slouched without. Able and moving with wire. Meanwhile, arm holding the spine, spine now a whip, a weapon which in his words, could be used for healing. As he put it, “the church heals by killing.” So she knew, it all wrong. Annie bolted, more of a limp, pain all along the way. Annie searched for some sort of safety, a skeletal protection.

II

Somewhere, much further below Annie and the saintly man, came a tortoise and a porcupine, arrived by elevator ride. Having taken hostage guards, runners of relics, at gunpoint. Porcupine and Tortoise, engaged in a mission to seek a map buried within the walls, engaged in conversation.

“I think Sylvie and I are on the rocks” whined Porcupine, holding the ice.

Tortoise was nary a speaker, instead a man whose purpose was to carry baggage. Mule-man, mealy-mouthed, some may call him. Porcupine paid no mind.

“So get this: she asked, 'are you having an affair?' and my response was, 'if you mean if I have love for another woman, the truth is that in my heart is every woman.' She didn't seem to like that answer.”

“Uh-huh.” Was a tortoise-shell reply. Tortoise knew that the lack of reply was a bad reply, so set down supplies and got down on one knee to meet the Porcupine's callous feet.

“No need to lick my boots,” Porcupine surmised. “I just need a good listener. We make a great team.”

Kindred Plath spirits marched, hostage in hand Tortoise with bag on back. Porcupine with the piercings. Large room, empty space, came into view. Each of them stopped, including the guards. One guard warned of the warden. Another, the pet. On the far side of the room, an old dog's carcass.

Porcupine warned to the guard that anything less than silence and it was lights out. Fluorescent room, despite outside, pure blackness. Inside solar power from an artificial sun, somewhere in the center of it all. Somewhere never to be visited.

Tortoise must have wondered what the map was for and the purpose for the mission, but that wonder faded. All a Tortoise needed was to get a mission done because any deed given was a deed needed indeed.

Porcupine and Tortoise in synchronization kicked the two guards and barked not minding the carcass of the dog on the far end. Instead, making a demand: “If you don't tell us the location of the map” but instead of detailing the threat, the animal friends noticed the door they came in, now barred shut by a steel grating, and in front of that a wreath of blue flame, a denial of exit.

III

Annie found refuge in the remains of an old storage closet, with cracked glass yet soundproof walls. So lucky if it were bulletproof, yet out of luck if not boneproof. Not to dwell on the damage dealt, instead to assess the current situation, Annie insisted.

Outside the functional but damaged walls, all through the halls erupted cracks and hisses, the rattling of a spine dancing across the floor and making its damages known to all through the empty halls. Annie heard:

“Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?” Laughter from the man who couldn't quite keep it all together, and just as well, continuation. “Will you tell us that you're okay, Annie?”

She would not tell him a single word. Instead, she muttered about her mother, seeing the status on the hologram monitor above her arm the unfortunate news about her leg. “Mother is not going to like this,” she muttered.

“Damn right, I'm not!” Sexton's leader appeared as the image on a screen, floating above her right arm. No static, crystal clear, as if listening to a waterfall, a stream, or a pebble drop in a creek. “I made you into the perfect daughter and you go and damage your leg? Now how are you supposed to use it?” On the screen, she could see her mother shaking her head in disapproval and frustration.

“Sorry, it was a miscalculation.” Indeed, within her left leg, the hydraulics were jammed. None of the shells within her lower left leg could be fired were the leg to be detached. She shook her head and tossed the leg aside, hoping to a higher being that the one with the church had not heard.

“You just discarded your leg, you ungrateful child!” Her words were steam, heat, unbalanced kinetic energy. “You were always my favorite, you know?” Annie felt the shake, the reminders of the marks. “I touched you up so good, you know.” “I never wanted you to!” Shots fired from the daughter. “Better than with my husband, even.” Mother shook her head with a carcinogen smile. “Should have only been your husband!” “The utter disrespect!” Mother, shocked. “You were always the best, he was defective.”

She shut off the transmission. Just a reminder of who she was; her leg, replaced countless times. So she would make do with one while she carried out the mission. From a young age, tenderness an abrasion. Her leg, felt to the tip-top until it became replaced with a weapon.

“Annie, you are hurt. You need healing,” came the words of a figure who used hurt for healing. Murder for comfort. So Annie emerged, clung to the walls with her left arm hobbled and meeting the one who wished to heal her. How for so long she had longed to seek refuge in the church yet now she would keep to the long adage of sending bullets.

Left arm, reaching for the goal; little dislocation of right arm a little detachment, a little wince of pain, but a click, all it took for the transformation. Elbow folded, a little place to rest her left hand on. She pressed the top of her right arm, now an arm and the beep was heard, signaled that the artillery was ready.

Return to pageant, crack of a whip, the grin on an unbalanced man. Dancing from one side of the wall to the next, rapid-fire magazines shot from the fingers of her right arm in her left hand. No landing on the other end of the wall, a slip to the floor, one leg not enough and not a bullet landed, the whip having danced and deflected.

Raggedy-man bare, not quite holding standing. Annie, on the floor knew as the pitch-black jacket, tattered hat, old bones approached she may meet her end. So with the rest of her magazines, she aimed for the spine in particular, and in response to the call, a crack and an explosion as the whip, or spine, shattered. Church man, upper half

He smiled, still animated. Head not supported, skull rolling away. “It is time to transfer these old bones to new ownership” such saintly words, sprinkled with sparse oxygen, low rasp. She watched as old bones separated from skin and gasped as all, save for a spine, floated off into the distance, animated by a blue flame and carried themselves away, somewhere far.

IV

Flesh rotted, falling off, charitable invertebrate joining in the fall. Towering were bones, much larger than a man's, let alone a pooch or what ever may have been left. Still, a ribcage, supporting what ever there was to support. Human skull? Poking through carpentry of the decayed flesh. Whatever didn't work would be made to work and the result was at least twenty feet, a carcass only acting as a tanned hide, a little fur on the back of a beautiful and rotting beast, blue flame surrounding.

“What is that thing?” Tortoise. Unknowing. “Warden's dog!” Outcry, a simple guard. “Guard dog on duty,” Shook head of nettled cacti.

Cactus/Porcupine and Mule/Tortoise threw prison guards to the wolves warden's pet. Stone incisors, human teeth, or canines lurched down and took the two in the jaws in a single chomp. Screams and howls alike as blood dripped down and sprayed about. Mule unloaded cargo, brought out shotgun. Porcupine made do with signature pistols. Three animals about to make adversarial dance.

Around, a pounce. Frolic through flame, two kindred Plaths unload excess; Tortoise loads and unloads shell after shell, firing away at the fire and the flame, erupting, heat contained to a single room, no fire caught, all floors and walls, fireproof to a fault. Contrary is the flesh, easy enough to catch. Careful of the heat, the stench, and the teeth.

More shells unloaded by Tortoise. Needles shot from a haystack of bullets by Porcupine. Spiky plant reached an agreement, head turned toward Tortoise, look of approval, thumb-up.

“What makes you so resilient?” Piercing question. Swipes and bites avoided, more shots fired. “I just want a place to stay,” slow response. “Nice!” More movement, no progress. “I draw my strength from respecting women!”

Heat. Dead heat. Enough activity to know that this was all a roundabout. Circles and circles spinning and spinning, clockwise and counter or otherwise somewhere, all doing the same set of actions, with only thing seeming certain was an eventual end to it all. Breaths drawn Some swipes from skeletal paws, landing on the sides of the two, flesh torn with claw marks of pure marrow. No end, or right around the corner, the face of Annie, who always did get her gun.

V

Dead leg had been picked up somewhere along the way. She had both arms. Her will to go on was stronger than the ability to walk on one leg

So when she ventured down to find a way out of the mess and the smoke trails that led to commotion, she met the two meter tall dog, or however high the creature could have been had anyone brave enough cared for measurements.

Beast, animated by whatever sorcery had no sense of others' scent, had to judge by movement. But with all the commotion from stray parts of a rival gang, the dog was ripe for picking off any way Annie saw fit. Anyway, Annie saw fit to throw her leg the dog's way. All to give a dog a bone.

Leg in the air, just don't care enough about details, yet be remiss to mention how Leg was shot from miniature clips blazing away from four (maybe five) fingers across every inch of the creature's hide and unhidden away, the empty carcass. Once the illusion is pulled an explosion is made, distilled extinguished, drawing inward, or an implosion; flames, no more. Yet endless clouds of smoke and dust to which Annie drew orgasmic.

Inhale, beautiful breaths drawn in her nostrils agreed, flared up, but only a second. One second more, and she thought how nice it was that aside from a sly dog and a member of the church assassinated that a rival gang lost two of its greats. But as the smoke dissipates, her eyes red as the heart in overdrive. While charcoal, they remained as a reminder to serve that she couldn't achieve such a full sense of satisfaction.

“At least my mission was accomplished” were her words, a note to self. No specific tone, just a reminder. For the remainder of this reminder, she made a wonder of what it could mean from here on out. Whether to exist as a daughter, or as someone who finds her targets and discards the rest.

Porcupine and Tortoise coughed, then shared a good laugh from noticing supplies and shards gone, time elapsed and lapsed for no other reason than that being just what time does. Whatever miracle the two happened to stumble upon the two looked and saw the legend, a Sexton.

“Annie, got your gun?” Porcupine, although awry was a friend to all who could be attributed to female in any way, shape, form, relation, distance, or definition. “Always,” Annie, cold from the flare, unable to relish such dramatic feats without a flair, for the dramatic happenings which plagued the mechanic prison would haunt her (if but a lesser degree than her mother).

Porcupine turned to Tortoise: we should go. Tortoise to Porcupine: No. Porcupine: Map was her leg. Gone now. Tortoise: That makes no sense. Could have stolen long ago. Porcupine: Yet not now. Tortoise: But our mission, failed. Porcupine: For the best. Plaths, too, must know failure. Tortoise: What of our place? Heads shaken. Two already knew, place to stay. Tenure. However, hits must be taken. Less food, less supplies. Less entertainment.

Lies here relics of a prison. Lies, Porcupine told. Map lies in the center. Map was a jewel, hidden inside. No leg, Porcupine knew this. What is known is that contents could not be kept. Not content to keep them. Already seen, and so many piercings – human had to wonder what the homeowner's association wanted during that mission.

Why Annie, although success was given, a truth. Also, assassinated holy relic, person of power, literal and figurative. Meanwhile, Syd saw it once before: schematics of the city. Homeowner's association already knew all this. Hints of a self-sabotage from the higher ups. Suspicion from one who had loved the system up until some things stopped adding up.

VI

Three, humans from different forms of pain and pleasure, seekers for extending life through tasks sent whenever, on a tight or loose schedule. Three, laughing. Or angry. Confused. Understanding of the life they lead. However, how to get out...

Inching out and following hallways through rooms. Foes, friends, no just humans took flight with a crawl, baby steps. Loss yet continuation of life on its way. Ever forward, until one exclaims:

“Hey look! There's stairs!”

All this time, could have taken the stairs out. So down each flight until met with a door and the buzzer beside buzzes until a ring and a ding, and with a click, slides open dead night or freedom.