#I don't even have anything against the song itself I haven't listened to any of it enough to care

[rotisseries]

I'm so tired of that girl on tiktok saying her song sounds like it belongs in an 80s slasher film it literally doesn't it literally fucking doesn't it literally fucking does not it literally does not fucking sound like it could ever be in an 80s slasher film it doesn't sound like it could be an 80s song AT ALL much less one from a slasher film it sounds like very modern synthwave which is a 2010s 80s nostalgia music genre it does not actually sound 80s at all it sounds like you've never been near an 80s song in your life quite frankly but oh you saw an aesthetic board on pinterest and you know the stranger things soundtrack has synths!! go die

[xalygatorx]

A Case of the Slumps | Alastor x Depressed!GN!Reader

Summary: It seems you've brought your brain chemistry down to Hell with you. Figures.

Warnings/Tags: Hurt/Comfort, depression and related symptoms/thoughts (obvi), cinnamon roll Charlie, Angel gives you a Xanax but you don't take it, platonic Alastor with a hint of possible unspoken romantic feelings, unexplained cause of death, present tense for some reason, reader is gender neutral

A/N: Crosspost of a recent oneshot from my AO3 because I figured if I'm in a slump, someone else probably is too. x

Sometimes it was a thought. Sometimes it was the time of year or the weather, when Hell's crimson sky was kept dark for long periods of time by an uptick of brimstone in the atmosphere or the lingering storm clouds after an acidic downpour. Sometimes it was a memory. A song. A smell.

Sometimes it was seemingly nothing at all.

Just like when you were alive, your now-dead brain hasn't lost its particular quality of liking to work against itself. It's impossible to say whether it's a continued chemical imbalance—that'd be likely right? If demons can do drugs, then clearly there's still something to brain chemistry in Hell—or if death took a snapshot of your self and your mind as they were in life.

It doesn't really matter what it is either because it still affects you just the same. And because you haven't had a depressive episode yet post-mortem, you haven't done any of the legwork you had to do in life on your own to figure out what's "wrong" with you, who might hear you and listen, and what medication(s) works.

So when it does hit, it hits like a tidal wave no one else can see. The wave itself, anyway—everyone can see you drowning.

That first slump isn't kind enough to hit in the morning when you can sleep in—or rather stare with dead eyes at the wall, bundled under your duvet and blankets as you put off the day passing by around you. No, that first slump hits in the middle of one of Charlie's exercises, one that you were enthusiastic about participating in just an hour ago. What happened?

You know. This feeling is an old friend you'd hoped to never meet again.

Charlie doesn't though, not right away. After you excuse yourself by means of referencing a stomachache you only kind of have—and only from the emptiness pooling in your gut and humming in your chest—she catches up to you in the hallway.

"Hey!" she chirps, leaning around to look at you when you stop but don't turn around. If anything, you curl further into yourself. She doesn't notice though—the only ones who would notice your change are the ones who know to look for it. Charlie, bless her heart, doesn't have that earthly world experience yet. "Do you want us to wait up for you or…?"

"Oh, uh, no," you stammer out, yearning for a big hoodie to comfortably drown in or a cup of tea, the idea of which sounds lovely but you don't even like tea. Everything that would normally feel like a treat sounds stressful or unappetizing, leaving you uncertain about what exactly you're meant to be doing. That's when the lethargy hits hardest. "I don't feel well, so I'm just gonna rest for a while."

Charlie's brow scrunches. You can tell she's about to argue that you'll never get into Heaven if you don't stick to the exercises and something akin to a sudden flash of anger roils in your chest, kicking the dead gray weight of apathy in the teeth. Because how dare she question your commitment, your hopes, your dreams, because you're walking away this one time?

But if this is like life, if this can happen again now, how many more times will it happen? Is it over for you?

Something clicks behind her eyes though as she watches your face. You don't know this, of course, but she's seen the same look on Vaggie's face before. Primarily right after they found each other—Vaggie also fell into a pit of her own pain and trauma, a victim of her new normal until the new normal became preferable.

And, on those days, Vaggie didn't always want to be with Charlie. At some point, Charlie had to learn that it often had nothing to do with her when that happened, too. It helped her understand her father better, too, in the end. She'd needed to reach out to him, but she'd had to let Vaggie come to her when she was ready. Both were valid approaches for different people.

She decides to trust that you'll make it clear to her what you need when you're ready.

"Okay," she says and her kind voice spears your anger with guilt, killing it instantly. You were always good at that, weren't you? Pushing away the people who care. "You have my number. You have everyone's number—well, everyone with a phone anyway. Just let us know if you need something. Anything. Okay?"

You clench your teeth to hold back the burn of tears working its way up your throat. "Okay. Thanks, Charlie," you say and it comes out as sincerely as you mean it, which is good. At least something's gone right today.

"Would you like a hug?" Charlie offers, starting to hold out her arms and then hesitating when she wonders if that could feel like she was pressuring you.

You think about it and decide it's worth a try. "Sure," you say and you step into her arms. She runs even hotter than the other sinners you've met, being Hellborn. It's like cozying up just a couple inches too close to a fireplace, but it doesn't burn. She just feels like the hearth in the place that's swiftly become your home.

She doesn't let go before you're ready, but the second she feels you shift to step back, she lets her arms drop. She gives you a little wave before scampering back down the hall to resume the exercise in the lobby, leaving you to resume your trek to the elevator.

Once you're in the elevator and you've tapped the button for your floor, you fall back against the wall of the lift and run your hands down your face, sighing into your palms.

What you wouldn't give for an on-paper, calculable test that you could fill out and hand to a doctor or psychologist or someone who could tell you with complete certainty what's wrong with your brain and how to fix or endure it. Not only so you could feel better, but so you wouldn't be such a burden to your new friends, your found family. What good were you like this?

(The reality is that the group downstairs is mildly concerned, but otherwise just fine. Charlie can manage the exercise through sheer optimism alone and she has enough bandwidth to do that and be available to you as your friend whenever you need something.

A couple of the others noticed your deflated exit, perhaps because they've once been through similar episodes, and are either just hoping you feel better or trying to come up with some nice gesture to make whenever they see you next. Everything you're worried about or sure you've messed up is a product of your dopamine-deficient brain.)

You pass Angel in the hall on your way to your room as he's heading out for work and he, of course, knows that look. He just hasn't seen it on you before. He offers you a many-armed hug and what he tells you is a Xanax, telling you to text him if you need anything or just want to talk and he'll check on you whenever he's freed from the studio next.

You appreciate his offers and agree to all of it, except the unwrapped, unlabeled pill, which you get rid of once you're in your room. You trust Angel, but you're too paranoid about making whatever you're feeling worse. You barely knew how to deal with it in life, what's it going to be like in Hell?

A stretched-out old hoodie is procured from your closet and you tug it on, smoothing your hair back down as you amble toward the bed. You burrow under the blankets and try to sleep, but of course it doesn't come. You're not tired, after all. You're not even sad. There's just nothing where there's meant to be something, anything in your chest.

Hours pass and, even though you're not helping yourself by lying curled on your side and staring at the wall, you're listless. You can't talk yourself into getting up or getting something to eat. It's even hard to convince yourself to look at your phone, maybe because you've heard it buzz a few times with texts likely asking how you're doing. You don't want to answer them until it's a good answer. Until you can say you're doing better. Anything else is a disappointment, surely, for all involved.

Someone's knuckles rapping against your door makes you jolt, but you sink back into that unsteady feeling of mentally treading water instead of answering. They'll go away if they think you're sleeping. It's probably Charlie anyway, maybe checking on you ahead of dinner. Was it really almost dinnertime?

That was enough to motivate you to extract one arm from beneath the duvet, extend your hand to your phone, and tap the screen to wake it up. It was after dinner. Time was a construct and someone was still at the door, knocking more sharply now.

You bundle your arm back under the bedding, keeping your back to the door. Charlie wasn't that hard of a knocker, so maybe she'd sent Vaggie up to check on you? Husk tended to pound on doors with the side of his fist (and not come near any potentially weepy situation with a ten-foot pole), so it probably wasn't him. It might be Angel, you supposed. Short studio session, if so. Perhaps Pen, but the source of the noise was too high up to be Niffty. She'd barge on in anyway…

"My dear, I can hear you moving around in there, you know," the Radio Demon's voice informs you through the door and your heart nearly stops a second time.

Not Alastor, you sigh inwardly, covering your face in your hands again and trying not to groan lest he hear that, too.

It wasn't that you disliked Alastor. In fact, that wasn't the case at all. You'd been a bit scared of him at first, sure, when you'd initially crossed the threshold of the Hazbin Hotel and who could blame you? He was an imposing figure, someone you'd heard of within days of falling into Hell despite his seven-year sabbatical from the Pentagram.

He was also a prominent public figure from his radio show. That was how you'd first tried to get to know him a little better—you'd started tuning into his broadcasts, getting better at predicting the shrill screams of the souls he tore apart just before they blared through your speakers. You still missed them on occasion and would violently jolt upward from wherever you were sitting or lying while listening, floundering for the volume dial and usually finding it well after you needed it.

Alastor had spotted you do exactly that once during a prerecorded broadcast and, after he'd run the gambit of jokes he could make at your expense, the barrier that had existed between you two since your arrival started to come down. And while the jarring screams hadn't stopped, your radio's volume would inexplicably drop on its own ahead of them from then on. You couldn't come up with any explanation for this that didn't include Alastor's influence, but what may have been a kindness on the Radio Demon's part was directly rivaled by his then-new penchant for bursting out of the speakers in a swirl of shadow to scare you, himself, and ask you for feedback on the day's stories.

Those interruptions had become short bouts of small talk in the hall, a couple of cooperative efforts to cook the crew a delicious dinner, him holding doors for you whenever you happened to be traversing the hotel in the same direction… Little things. Lots of little things that had ended up with you considering him a friend, but who knew how he felt. He probably just thought you were amusing. What made it even worse was that you were beginning to suspect the extra pitter-patter of your heart whenever he showed up was no longer adrenaline anticipating him scaring you, but butterflies.

You poor thing. You weren't sure you could've picked a more surefire way to make a fool of yourself.

"I'm not decent," you finally say in an attempt to deter him, wincing a little at the hoarse quality of your voice. You'd only cried a little during your time in your room that day, but you'd cried hard. Partially in an effort to exorcise some of the bad feelings you were harboring, but it hadn't helped much.

"Well! Under all those blankets, I wouldn't even know, now would I!"

You squeak as you startle so much from hearing his staticky voice right behind your head that you end up in a heap on the floor between the wall and your bed.

By the time you untangle yourself from the duvet and pop your head out of the heap, he's maneuvered himself to the edge of the mattress and is peering over it while lying on his barely existent stomach. A thin, but amused smile curls his lips as his legs idly kick behind him like he's a high school girl at a sleepover.

"Was that necessary?" you ask, any amount of riling up he'd done with his sudden entrance falling away from you as your slump saps it of its vigor in one go.

Alastor's brows rise into his fringe, clearly a little caught off-guard. You can understand why—you usually either laugh or, if he gets you badly enough, clutch your chest and scold him for nearly causing your second death via a heart attack.

He tilts his head at you as his eyes narrow and you can't tell if he's confused or zeroing in on his prey. Honestly, in your current condition, you can't get yourself to care. Maybe he'll put you out of your misery for your cheek.

"Mm, I deemed it so," Alastor says, his luminous red eyes blinking down at you as he leans forward ever-so slightly. He's clearly on edge and you digest this as a display of annoyance, but he's concerned (and doesn't like that he's concerned). He's never seen you like this. "Are you ill, cher? It's quite unlike you to miss dinner."

"In a matter of speaking," you allow as you stand up, brush yourself off, and gather up your duvet into a large wad in your arms. You maneuver it back onto the bed and into a sort of nest you can return to, careful not to jostle or accidentally touch Alastor as he remains partially prone across the foot of the bed and watches you work. Mindful of how little he likely knows about mental health, given his time period, you explain in a few words, "My brain is sick."

He blinks, not sure what to make of what you've said. "Your…brain?" he repeats uncertainly. "How so?" Alastor also deems himself "sick in the head," but he's fairly certain that his brand of insanity isn't what you're referring to in yourself.

You nestle into the duvet, missing how his eyes soften a touch at how small you look right now. You take a deep breath and let it huff out as you force yourself to look at him. If he just wants to torment you a bit, this will expedite him getting it out of his system so you can go back to your staring contest with the wall. If he's not just here to make fun of you…well, then that would be surprising.

"I have depression," you finally admit and you wonder when the last time was that you said those words out loud. Even in life, it was a rare moment when you'd be met with someone who was worth explaining yourself to—most people either didn't understand because they'd never been through it themselves or because they didn't want to understand. Over time, you'd just given up trying to be honest about your struggles because being demeaned or invalidated for them just made you feel worse.

"A what now?" Alastor asks, cocking one brow as he turns to lie on his side with his head propped against one hand. His fluffy ears twitch a little but stay upright, alert, and turned in your direction.

"It's a mood, uh…ailment," you explain, thinking he might not know what a "disorder" is either. You're not familiar enough with what terms people would've used to refer to mental health in his time, so you're overcareful with the words you choose. "My brain chemistry wasn't right in life—my body didn't produce enough of the chemicals that make us feel happy, so I'd get into really bad slumps. Exhausted, sad, sometimes just numb slumps. Apparently that came down here with me, too."

"So…you're in a 'slump'?" he repeats slowly, testing the word you'd used on his tongue.

In moments like this, you find him unbearably cute—from his twitchy ears made restless by the rate of his thoughts to his wide, considering eyes as he tries to absorb what you're telling him. He's a very good listener when he's not in the middle of a bit.

"Yes," you tell him and he relaxes slightly at the confirmation. "I feel dead inside, honestly. Which is funny to say now that I'm actually dead, but it's just… I just don't feel much of anything. Or I do and it just feels empty and hollow. That's kind of worse than feeling sad."

He hums and offers, "A smile is our greatest weapon, dear. We've discussed this."

"Not against this, it's not," you sigh, just waiting now for him to get frustrated or bored with you. "I'm not trying to be difficult, Al, I swear. It's just… I can't fake what I'm feeling. I've tried! I wish I could mask half as well as you can, but it's hard. It takes energy I just don't have in times like this."

Alastor evaluates you with a glance and asks, "Then what is your weapon of choice against these…slumps?"

You tug against the seam of the duvet wrapped around you, all nervous fidgeting. "I never really figured anything out," you admit and it feels like a failure. It feels like because you can't offer him a solution to your problem, your problem must not be a problem. You remember so many exasperated faces looking back at you at times you'd admit the very same. He just looks at you though, clearly thinking. "Sometimes just waiting for it to pass was the answer. I was on medication for it at one point, but it never helped very much. I know I need to eat, but I just feel a bit nauseous when I think about food."

"Then food should be on the docket, certainly, but perhaps not just yet," he muses, sitting up as he continues to regard you. "What else?"

You throw your hands up helplessly. "I'm not sure. I'm sorry," you say. "Maybe I need to go hug Charlie again or something, that didn't fix anything earlier, but it didn't hurt."

Alastor scoffs. "Is my comfort not up to your standards, dear?" he needles you, his tone confident even as his smile wavers slightly.

You blink and shake your head even as you scramble to try and understand what he's implying. "Of course not," you quickly say. "I just… You don't have to do that kind of stuff, you know? I know it's uncomfortable for you and I'd never want to make you uncomfortable."

He chuckles and a mischievous smirk overtakes his features as he leans in and pulls you toward him via the duvet, taking an indulgent look at the blush reddening your face before he tightens the blanket cocoon around you and adds his arms to the equation after. You get the hint not to take your arms out and touch him and you're not even sure you could if you wanted to. You're frozen in place, comically close to a deer in headlights, and you can feel the heat inflaming your cheeks.

It's nice to feel something for the moment.

"Um… Alastor?" you ask, stopped from looking up at him when his pointed chin settles against the crown of your head. "You… Why?"

"Why, what?" he asks, but it's just to put off answering and you have some inkling that this might be the case despite his casual tone.

"Why are you doing this?" you ask, embarrassed by how vulnerable you sound to yourself.

"I can't have you sat here in one of your 'slumps' by yourself, darling," he mused, one of his hands absently tracing over your back.

It takes a lot for you to not lean into the touch, but you're terrified of scaring him off. You're also terrified of overthinking this though, especially as he settles in around you, his larger body usually used to intimidate and tower over others making you feel oddly safe. Then again, even in his most antagonistic moments with you, have you ever felt in danger?

"Why not?" you ask softly.

"You ask a surprising number of questions over something so simple as this," Alastor notes and his words cause a puff of warm breath to stir your hair. You shiver a little and he chuckles.

"But it's not simple for you," you murmur, letting yourself relax a bit as he impatiently tugs you closer to fit you against his chest. He's certainly not as gentle as Charlie, but you imagine he's far less practiced in this sort of thing than she is. It hits you harder because you know he's trying. And perhaps because you—silly, silly you—have a tragic little crush on the Radio Demon. "And… Well, I appreciate it. That's all."

Alastor hums and admits, "It's simpler than expected. And not unwelcome." You feel his chin shift against your crown, like he might be looking down at you, as he asks, "Is it helpful? Or is dear Charlotte's attention still preferable?"

You have to bite your lips a little to keep from smirking—that sort of tone can only indicate that he's jealous. Once again, you find him unbearably cute and it'll likely one day lead to your second untimely demise once he realizes how you feel.

"Yes, it's helpful. And preferable," you confess and you can almost feel his chest puff with pride. "This is really nice. Thank you."

"You're most welcome, dear," he says, glancing down and watching you cave to fatigue and fall asleep as he feels your weight settle further into his chest.

Alastor chuckles and gives you time to fully settle into a more restful state before he shifts your body around and situates you on your bed. He'd first considered staying, but figures having something for you to eat at the ready when you wake is a better use of his time. At least that's the reason he gives himself to go.

The truth is he can't remember the last time he honest to goodness comforted someone. There's a tickle in the back of his brain, a voice asking if he's losing his edge. Asking if you'll see him now as less than he is, which (in his mind) is a sadistic, cannibalistic overlord and nothing more.

He can't deny though that he's savoring the lingering warmth from your body on his coat. And, as much as he doesn't understand these "slumps" or the depression you referenced, he didn't like seeing you look so sad.

And he supposes if he must occasionally soften his sharp edges a bit to help keep his favorite guest present and smiling, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

[azullumi]

wanderer — love in strings and songs ☆彡

summary — just you and him, together, as he rambles about the things that he loves.

pairing — wanderer/gender-neutral reader

tags — fluff, established relationship, modern au; oneshot

word count — 700+

note — sleepy anon's ask from earlier had me just doing this. literally no thoughts, brain empty, just wanderer

"And no, I am not exaggerating when I say that they are the modern reincarnation of Mozart himself so I don't understand how—Are you even listening to me?"

He pauses mid-sentence, looking at you with his eyebrow raised. Sitting on top of his lap, you straddle both sides of his thighs as you hold a pack of stickers on your hand, your other attempting to place yet another one on his forehead while you listen to his rambles. You hum, pressing it on his face, before responding, "Of course, I am."

Doubt crossed his face and it was evident that he didn't believe you, "What was I talking about then?"

"About how you think this artist that you like should have more recognition than the ones that are mainstream nowadays?" You respond, your hand searching yet for another sticker but the pack was already empty and there was nothing left to put on his face. Bummer, but looking at him, at the images that decorated his pale complexion, you think that was already enough.

"Well, at least you are paying attention somewhat. Do you agree with what I'm saying though?" He gazes deep into your eyes, emotions of tranquility swirling in his own like a calm wave on a shore, as he wraps his arms around your waist, linking both of his fingers, which leads you to being locked in his embrace.

"Hmm… I can't say anything on that especially when I haven't listened to any of them but if you say that they're better than this one, then sure, I agree," You just relax in his cradle, leaning your body against him as you rest your chin on top of his shoulder, and he, too, does the same. He lies his head on the dip where your neck meets your shoulder, his breath warm and ticklish against your skin.

He just hums in approval upon hearing what you said as if your answer was sufficient enough to his ears.

"You should give them a listen. They create such amazing music, I'm sure you will love them," He murmurs, loud enough for you to hear as he pulls you, pressing you much closer to him, inhaling and being intoxicated in your scent. You only gave him a hum and a silent nod as an answer, closing your eyes and indulging yourself in the intimate feeling of being so close to him.

This moment was romantic itself, save for the fact that he has hello kitty stickers stuck on his face—and he wishes he could take it off, however, he's way too comfortable in this embrace; you fit yourself perfectly in his hold and he doesn't want to move nor break away from you.

"When is your next performance?"

"Next week, are you going to watch?"

"Can I?" You answer, parting yourself away from him to take a look on his face, adorned with pink cartoon characters to which you decided to take off before he gives you a look of disappointment once he sees what you did to him.

"Why are you even asking that when the answer is so obvious?"

"I just wanted to hear you say it."

"Say what?"

Taking off the last sticker on his face, you smile at him, mischievously, before responding.

"Say that you want me to come."

"Stop playing around," You ignored the way he grimaces.

"Say it or else, I really won't watch," You threaten, knowing for the fact that you'll still go and watch him perform anyways even if he'll never say it. You just wish to tease him, to see the light shade of pink tinges his face as he hides the way he shys himself closer to you, a curse escaping his lips.

"...Fine—" He stills, silent and you wait until he speaks, expectation and enthusiasm etched on the expression of your lips and cheek. "—Will you watch me next week?"

"Why?"

"Because—fuck—I want to see you there."

And your smile then curls into a wide grin and he could say that your expression was as bright as the sun with how it beams, "Where's the magic word? Please?"

"..."

"Okay, okay, chill. I was just messing around," You pressed a kiss on his forehead as a form of apology for teasing him too much and you couldn't miss out the way his wrinkled visage soothes.

Silence didn't even last for a second when you spoke once again:

"Do you think you could let me do your makeup sometimes?"

"If you don't mess up, go ahead."

At this point, he just lets you do as you please.

— navigation | masterlist

[invece-sto-sdraiato]

so, hi. I was just thinking about joker out lyrics in general, and I thought, lemme see which songs were easy to learn and just what my first opinions about each song were (warning: this is long)

Umazane misli:

Gola - I fell in love once I heard the first interlude (before 'neki se dogaja dej me zmer utrip') and I guess it took me around three to four listens to get the hang of the lyrics. This song gives me butterflies in my stomach 🥰

Umazane misli - HA. do I even need to say anything here? It's been almost two years since I first heard this song. I learnt the lyrics on the. first. listen. This is huge considering that, at the time I was still getting used to the fact that ex-yugoslavian languages have major differences between them. These lyrics will be etched in my brain forever.

Vem da greš - oh this used to be a skip for me in the early days of jo brainrot. then boom! clicked on the acoustic version and realised how awesome this song really is. I always thought this song just screams 'pop rock'. it has one of my favorite lyrics ever : "kupim karto do vesolja če zemlja pregori" and jan really did something here with interlude (I am kissing you tenderly on the forehead mr. peteh)

Proti toku - I know people have noticed this, but the starting guitar riff is very similar to the one in Sweet Child O' Mine. Already a green flag. Wasn't really a huge fave of mine but I'm appreciating it a lot since Stožice. Going against social norms? Awesome meaning, awesome lyrics. I still haven't got the hang of the lyrics though (for some reason I just can't grasp it 😅)

Dopamin - Ah yes. This song always sounded a bit different from their sound, with all the synths, you know? But it is a certified dance song (stožice has proved that) and I am so fucking obsessed with kris' backing vocals here like everytime he goes, "razum izgubil je svoj glas" I just agdjspsneksldnsl and also the chorus is so satisfying to hear with bojan's angelic voice. I will stand by the statement that the stožice version surpasses the studio one by a mile.

Barve oceana - woohoo! This song is just so so fun and I've never been able to sit in one place whenever I listen to this. Lyrics are obviously a m a z i n g. and bojan's explanation just made it loads better! Extremely catchy, so obviously that I memorized the lyrics within two listens. Can't forget the stožice version with kris' "aaahhh" at the back.

Metulji - I purposefully avoid listening to this song (sometimes) cause the first time I did, it took me like ten minutes to come back to reality. I'm pretty sure I'll cry if I listen to it even now. And the VIOLIN?!! pls it's so beautiful. "Pleševa zadnji ples, da spet zadihava"??? I am dead on the floor. True masterpiece and I'll always be proud of our five little guys for creating this.

A sem ti povedal - oh god. This song was made to murder all of us. The minute I heard the starting guitar part, I was convinced I was not going to survive those three minutes. First, the lyrics. They are so beautiful, so poetic, so intense, so profound. Sometimes I feel weird singing along just cause of the sheer meaning this song holds and how I'll probably never experience these feelings. Also the last part? when I first listened to it, I didn't just die, I ascended to another plane of existence. Also have to mention kris' backing vocals once again. Especially the "šepetaj mi koliko me hočeš" You know what? Why don't you just kill me instead? And. the. video. They really decided the song wasn't enough and proceeded to pull on our heartstrings with THOSE visuals. Obsessed with the whole idea of jure in the water. I think I know like 80% of the lyrics but I always fumble somewhere.

Bele sanje - similar to most of their songs, the prelude itself was enough for me to hyperfixate on this song. I had like a whole bele sanje phase in april where I didn't listen to any other song. the way bojan sings, "njen utrip se redko umiri"? god. also this song was when I realised I was actually into this whole indie rock vibe of theirs (bele sanje was the third joker out song I listened to) and the whole concept of the badass female protagonist? Love it.

Omamljeno telo - oh omamljeno telo my love 🥰🥰🥰. bojans singing style was evidently different here, but there was a rawness to it that intrigued me. and guitars are the major reason why I love this song! obviously this interlude is one of my favorites from joker out songs. just 100% pure talent. My fave lyric is, " a vetra se ne da ujet tako lahko, nekdo pa je utrgal mojo vrtnico" the lyrics were extremely easy for some reason and I find myself singing along to it completely sometimes.

Well I knew it was going to be long, but I didn't expect this lmaooo. Pls share your opinions! I would love to know your favorite lyrics and what was your favorite part of each song too!

(I'll do demoni later 🥲)

[darkpoisonouslove]

Do you have any advices against writer's block?🙃

Hi, anon. I'm sorry you're going through this. It sucks but it's important to remember that it's not the end of the world (even if it feels like it).

I just want to say that you should make sure it's actually writer's block and not burnout. If you're generally tired and you don't feel like doing anything, you should rest. Also, I'm assuming you mean that you're blocked with the writing itself, not with the ideas so that's the kind of advice I'm going to give.

First of all, cut the last few paragraphs you've written and paste them in a different document. Try continuing the story without them and in a (slightly) different direction from before. Usually, you don't hit the wall immediately, you write a few more sentences before you block and then it's hard to figure out where the problem is.

Try the Comic Sans font. Personally, I haven't used it but a lot of people claim that using it annihilates writer's block. What have you got to lose? If it works, it works. If not, it won't do any harm.

Change something in the scene - weather, setting, moment of the day, add a character or remove one. It doesn't matter. The point is to find a new angle to look at the scene and try to make your way through it that way. Brains tend to go in circles when they can't make it past an obstacle. You have to get yours out of that rut and the best way is to switch things around.

Get yourself a voice recorder or a speech-to-text tool (if you can find a good one that actually works) and TELL your story instead of writing it. You can transcribe it later or fix it. Just try to see if you can get it flowing this way. You can even pretend that you're telling it to someone like it's a bedtime story.

Take a few dolls or stuffed animals (whatever you have) and play out the scene with them. It will help you visualize what's happening and let you direct the flow of the scene better. And you can't take it too seriously while you're voicing your plushies' internal monologue, can you? That should help your brain reset its expectations and make it less demanding towards itself.

Talk to a friend about it. If you have a particular problem with the story, tell a friend. Either they'll help you or you will help yourself. The fact is that when you're telling your story to someone who doesn't have it in their head, you need to present all the details in a logical way that they can follow. That often helps you find something that you're missing when you're just turning it around in your own head. And even if you don't have a specific problem, telling a friend can get you both hyped about your story and help break through that writer's block.

Get excited about your story. Either reread some of what you've already written or imagine the future scenes that you want to write. Maybe even skip ahead and try to work on them. If there's something you're excited about writing, do that! If you're not excited about the story, try making a playlist for it. Listening to songs that remind you of the characters or plot can really get you in the right headspace for the story. If that doesn't work, make a moodboard. Find images on the internet that remind you of the story and try to arrange them together in a way that appeals to you. While you're looking, you might get a feel for the setting or for the symbolism of the story, anything that could help you write.

Reread old writing/comments you've received on your writing (or remember those if they were given to you in a verbal conversation). Focus on the things you and/or others like about your writing. Remind yourself why you love it. Writing can become so tedious or even downright painful - like pulling out teeth. It's okay if you feel that way about it but if that's the case, then it's likely that that becomes a barrier that your brain has to overcome first before it can even attempt to focus on the actual writing. Prepare yourself snacks or a favorite drink. Make it fun.

In that vein, try to write something else just for fun. It doesn't have to be anything that goes in an actual story or whatever. Take your favorite characters (whether from your own stories or from a show you like (I'm not clear on whether you're writing original fiction or fanfiction and I don't want to presume)) and throw them in an entertaining, low-stakes situation. Have them just hang out and write them bantering. Or have them in an action sequence if that's what you want to do. The point is to not put pressure on yourself to write this. Just jot down what comes to mind. Go wild with it. Doesn't matter what the quality is or if it makes sense, just that you have a good time writing it.

If none of these work, try just... disengaging completely from the writing. Watch that movie or TV show that you've been meaning to for a while, read a book, play a video game. If you have some craft that you're into (like crocheting or knitting), do some of that. Go out with friends or to the gym or to the theater (and I mean theater with live performances). The point is to stop thinking about writing and focus your energies elsewhere so your brain can recharge and find new inspiration. Sometimes the best thing you can do is to focus on a completely different thing and let your subconscious work out the problem.

Some stories need a little (or a lot of) time to marinate before you can write them. I've had stories that are impossible to write for months on end and then one day... it's suddenly all crystal clear. Sometimes the problem isn't solvable right now. You're just not at a place where you can write it. If you're sure that you care about this story and you won't abandon it, then just have a little patience and a little trust that it will work out in the end. In my experience stories (both our own and media made by others) come when we most need them. Maybe it's just not the right time yet. Don't despair and try to find something else to work on whether it would be writing or another hobby altogether.

You can also check out @/ao3commentoftheday for more advice in case I've missed something (or you need a different kind of advice).

Good luck!

[bookwyrminspiration]

Greetings! Disjointed thoughts again: 1) There's going to be keeper graphic novel? That's so cool! 2) Your "nonsie" nicknames are really cute, and remind me of the "anonymous animal" thing on google docs ;) 3) I haven't listened to many of those musicals, so I'll give them a listen (hopefully)! I like a bunch of musicals but my comfort musical is Be More Chill. Also, I'd love to hear about your movie thoughts! I hope you're enjoying your day! - Amethyst

OKAY! Skipping over all that to get right to the movie thing because I simply must speak of it. The movies I was referring to were RRR and Baahubali 1 and 2 (3 isn't out yet). Each one is like 3 hours long ish but they're SO good. Such delightful cinema. They're incredibly dramatic (at least by my standards, which are unfortunately american), and some parts are incredibly unrealistic but takes itself so seriously and it's so entertaining. Not in like, this is a shitty movie that embraces that like velocipastor, but like it's a really well funded and produced movie that knows sometimes realism is a detriment to enjoyment so it throws it out.

It's been a while since i watched Baahubali so I couldn't really tell you the plot (I know I had a lot of fun with it though), but I can tell you RRR is about Indian revolution against british colonies. That. is such an understatement. It's also about these two men who are best friends but also enemies (but don't know they're enemies) overcoming that difference to unite and fuck over england. I don't want to spoil anything but it's SO good and has so much more going on than I can cover. Absolutely worth the 3 hours. There's also a full dance scene in there. And it's also nominated for an oscar for the dance scene song :)

If you don't have 6 hours to watch the baahubali's (skimmed the plot to refresh my memory, I think it's about a sibling rivalry for a kingdom but one of the two didn't know they were an heir, but is also insanely powerful and Good and Things), please find 3 hours to watch RRR you will not regret it it's so so good. I have been to the cinema once in the past three years and it was for this movie and I'd do it again.

Alright back to the rest of this ask. 1) yeah!! very exciting! this doesn't really do anything for me personally because I. am not really into graphic novels or visual media (I can't really picture things in my head), but it does give me something else keeper to add to my collection! 2) thank you! it's kinda become second nature at this point as just a thing that I do, but every so often I remember "huh, I deliberately chose to come up and use that". I didn't want to use the typical "nonnie/nonny" i'd seen, so I switched it up a little and now it's just part of my blog. And also part of some other people's blogs I think, sometimes I see other people say it.

3) Oh i've listened to Be More Chill! I haven't in a while, I must admit, but I listened to the typical new age musicals--Be More Chill, Dear Evan Hanson, Hamilton, Heathers. Oh! Speaking of Heathers, my favorite song from that musical is "I Say No", which isn't even on the main track; it's an addition to the world tour or something along those lines. But when I learned that I was so excited, like woah! There's this bomb song that just isn't on the main track??? WHY isn't it everywhere it's so good!

and thank you, I'm having a pretty good day! played some games (only today learned about the charms in omori), embroidered (ish) a little bunny on my shorts, didn't have to do any homework, stimmed to some songs, etc. Might bake something (apple muffins), unknown yet. I hope you're doing well and having a good whatever time it is where you are!

[nyantry]

She could sense the ebb and flow of Nico's emotions, between talking and spilling, and then walling up and sheltering. It was familiar, but also different. Nico's vulnerability at this age was something she had to be careful with. She didn't want to cause harm, and she didn't want to push him away. It was hard, though, having to hide so much information to protect him.

She crossed her heart solemnly promising not to laugh at Nico's song, wordless, hoping to reassure him.

While he played, she listened quietly, paying attention to the lyrics. Even at this age, his music was captivating. She felt in colors, remembering moments of Nico's crafted visions and the planetarium and stars and the hill. This Nico had not lived that yet. This Nico didn't know.

She caught the sad longing tones in the lyrics and the wishful way he sang. That desire of his for death was familiar, too. She had it. In a way, the two of them were the same.

After the song was finished, she was silent, looking at her hands for a moment. She gathered her thoughts, kicked off her shoes, and crossed her legs indian-style.

"It's beautiful. Sad... but beautiful." Her voice was soft, approaching a whisper. It demanded Nico's attention in the most disarmed way, not threatening, not forceful, not violent. With Nico, the whispers and the quiet softness were much more powerful than yelling. It was another way in which Nico was similar to her. She would shut out any violence, any loudness. Gentle approaches, though, were the most well received. She could truly listen then.

"I haven't stretched my wings out to fly in a long time. Doesn't feel like it's worth it," she admitted to him. And then, though seemingly unrelated, "Your song is blue, it's gorgeous, like ultramarine, made of lapis lazuli, and it's also silver and white like sea foam. You could fly in it, it's that kind of color. I think I haven't felt like that in a long time. Haven't felt much of anything other than sad and pissed off."

She took the regular cigarette and smoked from it.

"I'm sorry I'm constantly coming and going. I wish I could just stay and never have to leave. Freeze time or something, I don't know. You deserve better. You also deserve better than 'at least'. If I could stay, really stay, I'd kiss you. I don't wanna just leave you hanging though, and as much as I don't like her, I'm not about to step on Billie's toes either."

There was so much she wanted to say. Maybe she was warming up to the idea of sharing, despite reason screaming against it, despite the possibility of screwing up time itself. Maybe she didn't even care if time got screwed up. She couldn't lie to Nico and withholding information was starting to feel like lying, too. It was stirring up the sorrow from self-exile, and the guilt, and she could hide neither.

"Eh. You might." He said in some attempt to keep it light about her possibly laughing at him.

Try her? He looked over at his guitar considering as she went on.

She described things as complicated but still offered no real explanation into her life. He really liked this girl. There was this part of his head that got amped up and excited when she showed up, but it moments like that he felt pushed away. Considering everything she'd seen and was privy to in his life no one else was it could be pretty frustrating. The vagueness had a way of leaving him with no real way to offer help or advice. It made him feel a little useless and rejected even as he was getting the mixed signals of the promise to hit him up if she moved closer. It wasn't anything unfamiliar either. Considering how many foster kids came through that house he'd met a lot of walled up people.

He let it go though. He let it go because like the kids he'd met over and over he knew better than to push. He liked to push people's buttons too. But even at this age Nico somehow understood if he pushed here, it might not turn out in his favor. It wasn't a big thought process. He just felt the resistance and didn't push back.

He plucked at the e string while the guitar still laid flat on the bed. "I don't know. I've just been me."

He moved his shoulders up and down and rolled them still sore from his last wings out. He had a feeling she might understand the motion. "Eh... It's still not easy. I'm messy. It hurts a lot. Bille got upset the first time she saw. She thought the pseudos were beating on me. She was ready to retaliate. I had to tell her I did it to myself at first... it was just a... stupid. I mean at least she cares." Then he started to realize how easy it was to open up to her again. It always started to just fall out of his mouth. It felt disheartening after realizing how vague she just was with him.

He slowed down. He cut himself off from storytelling and picked up his guitar instead. "I don't know. School sucks. I hate it there."

It felt true without dumping everything on her. "I hate talking."

Lie.

He hated talking he felt exposed.

She said try her though. Try her. It was hard for Nico to back down from a challenge at that age. He was a little upset at her for being vague and his fingers kept playing over the neck.

"Fuck it. If I play you this and you laugh, I'm never trusting you again."

He'd get up and pick up a holder for his harp to prop up on his neck. Then he pinched the right key harmonica in it. He kept looking up at her. He never played these for people. These were the bedroom wall songs.

"It's about a dream I had." He wrung out his hands. He was really stalling on this one. He hadn't quite gained all that just do it energy Nico had when he was older.

Then he'd play. It started out, "I was a little boy-" He'd play the slowest most sullen song with a light whimsical feel, quite dreamy. The surrealness of his how he experienced the dream was conveyed in the music. He was right too. It wasn't like his other music. It wasn't written with his friends from Charity Case, Billie, or his teen angst that usually fought through. It was also a song he'd never play for Billie. She'd make fun of him for praying in the first place, not that he could admit that out loud to her anyway.

The emo boy rocking out to Nirvana was in there writing songs of his beautiful death after a life lived well. He was having such a hard time in life and sometimes it didn't come out in screaming metal mad about it. It came out like God spoke to him in his dreams telling him everything was going to be okay. Luka was the only one now that would ever now that.

That much feeling probably shouldn't be held in one teenage boy. But it was there and he wrote it after yet another night of getting in trouble for his clothes going missing because he didn't want the fosters to find his bloody shirts and worry. He'd rather get in trouble for disrespecting their money and what he's been given as they always lecture. He was starting to memorize their words. He was always guilty of crimes he didn't mean to commit.

Everything felt too quiet when he finished. All he could do to not fidget was reach for the weed.

[midnight-cosmonaut]

chaotic academia things that don't promote unhealthy habits

or,, things I do on a regular basis

• knowing all about different types of coffee; undertones and flavors, light and dark, how to brew them to achieve the perfect taste

• listening to music more often than not, knowing specific songs for specific moments that make you feel like you're in a great movie scene

• binging tv shows and movie series on your days off

• getting up and writing when you get that one scene in your head for your work in progress and knowing you'll forget it if you just go to bed; answering that call

• CONSUMING 5 BOOKS A WEEK LIKE A KID AGAIN

• reading all literature; good, bad, controversial, light, dark, not your genre, your favorite childhood book, etc.,,,

• gifted kid burnout....

• you either are illiterate or read moby dick in sixth grade as a joke and unironically enjoyed it

• venting on a suspiciously specific and niche discord at 4:00 am

• putting on your fanciest clothes at night when no one is awake and playing Tchaikovsky and dancing with simple ballet moves that you learned off youtube because you can't really do ballet but it's a dream of yours

• playing meme songs on a classical instrument

• you're probably on twitter idk

• mismatched socks, or those weird yoda socks your mom got you for christmas

• going on bike rides around your neighborhood when it's quiet

• getting your sweaters off of ebay

• laying in the first snow of the year, making snow angels

• planning your own murder, planning other people's murders, planning your lego murders or your sim murders or your stuffed animal murders, planning all the murders

• having a stuffed animal :)

• naming all the inanimate objects in your room, bonus points if they're literary references to your favorite books

• being really proud of that one essay you wrote in middle school that you got an A on and your teacher asked to use as an example and really you haven't written anything that good since; maybe it was your magnum opus

• hyperfixiating on any little thing. neutral, could be good or bad, borderline an obsession

• searching up corsets even though you're never going to buy one (just me? okay)

• learning the scientific names of birds

• making an impulsive buy and never using the item even though you thought you would

• reading all the books one author has written. multiple times over. an acheivement in itself

• making a fort and watching your comfort movie in it

• candles

• pirates

• starting to decorate your room purely based off of one aesthetic, realizing it's not for you, then adapting that aesthetic and making your room your own. books lined up against walls, a hello kitty plushy in the corner, a pink floyd poster on the wall, 3 pairs of vans in your closet, every single book published by wheelock's latin, it might not be dark academic but you sure call it that

• notes!! in!!! books!!!!!

• pressing flowers in your dictionary, forgetting about them, opening it up four months later and being pleasently surprised

• not smoking at all unless you know the risks idk

• naming your dog after oscar wilde but no one in your family knows (ah, also me)

• being able to stand at your bookshelf for hours and explain what each book means to you, because they all mean something, but you haven't found someone yet who will listen, so you stand alone and voice your thoughts to an empty room

• forgetting to water your plants

• rearranging your bookshelf every week

• using your academy access to articles to fuel your latest random obsession

• don't lie, you've only read one shakespeare play but you talk about him like he's your favorite author in the world and maybe he is and that's okay (er... also me)

• finding that one author that's a little bit unheard of or forgotten and them becoming your favorite author and you don't know who to share your excitement with

allowing yourself more freedom than a traditional aesthetic permits. making it your own personal version, romanticizing your life and striving for more. accepting the messy parts of you and trying to change the darkness

[cherrycheridarling]

happier | t.h.

tom holland x singer!reader

warnings: swearing and sad. fluff if you squint

summary: you wish tom the best with his new relationship in your new song. {listen to happier by olivia rodrigo (if you want)}

wc: 3.6k

'We broke up a month ago,'

"I've been thinking," your heart sunk at his words, "I'm always working." he grabbed both of your hands.

You locked your gaze in his. Sat in the living room of his shared flat. Inches apart yet you could already feel the separation between the two of you growing.

He avoided your eye contact, "I-I can't be in a relationship unless I can give one hundred percent of myself to the other person. A-and I know I haven't been doing that to you, which is c-completely unfair." he wiped away a tear from your cheek that you didn't know had fell, "You've been so, so good to me. I'm sorry I wasn't better, but I can't keep putting you through this." his voice was barely audible.

You finally tore your eyes away from his face. His tear soaked face. Choosing to stare at a spot over his shoulder instead. You took three deep breaths. In and out. Something about his words made you confused, but your pain overpowered it.

"Please say something. Anything." he whispered against your knuckles. Holding your hands to his lips.

You gently removed your hands from his grip, "Thank you for being mature and honest with me." you started with a sniffle, "Thank you for all of our memories and for showing me what love is," you cupped his face, "Thank you for everything, loser." your light laugh lacked any humour, but it still brought a slight smile to his face.

He held your hand that was resting on his jaw, "I love you more than life itself, darling." he kissed your palm and you felt your heart shatter. "Never hesitate to call, dummy."

You nodded with a sad smile. "I love you, too." You stood up and made your way out of the door. A year and a half down the drain within ten minutes.

'Your friends are mine, you know I know you moved on. Found someone new.'

"Do you guys wanna do something on Saturday? I don't have work. Maybe karaoke?" you asked the group without looking up from your phone.

Harrison made a confused noise, "Did you forget? We have Nadia's birthday par—" you heard a loud smack, "—Ow! What? Oh, shit."

You looked up to see Zendaya, Jacob, Harry, Sam and Tuwaine all glaring at Harrison.

"Absolute div." Tuwaine muttered.

You furrowed your eyebrows, "Who's Nadia?" you looked at all of them as they avoided eye contact. "Daya?"

She let out a long sigh before clearing her throat, "Um, Nadia is- Well she's kind of- you know, um—"

"—Tom's new girlfriend." Sam finished for her.

Your mouth formed an 'o' shape as you processed the information. His new girlfriend. It'd been a month and four days since he ended your relationship. And he had a new girlfriend.

It took him a month to move on. A month to be able to give a hundred percent of himself to someone.

You couldn't tell if you were more angry or sad. Maybe a mixture of both. Angry that your friends were hiding information from you, but at the same time you understood their intentions. Sad and upset because the boy who told you he wasn't ready to give a hundred percent of himself was already with someone new.

You slowly nodded, "Oh, okay. Well, I hope you guys have fun." you gave a tight lipped smile before looking back at your phone.

Everyone glanced at each other worriedly before allowing their gazes to fall on you again.

"How do you feel?" Jacob asked cautiously.

You locked your phone and set it on your lap, "I'm fine." you faked a smile, "I think I'm gonna head home, though. It's getting late and I have an early studio session. Bye." you quickly grabbed your purse and left with a small wave.

"Y/N! Wait—" the slamming of the front door cut Tuwaine off.

It was three p.m. and you weren't supposed to be in the studio until noon.

'One more girl who brings out the better in you,'

"Y/N/N. You need to talk about it sooner or later." Zendaya reminded you as she sat at the end of your bed with Harrison beside her.

You removed the covers from your face, revealing your tear stained cheeks, "Does she make him happy?"

There was silence from your two friends before they hesitantly nodded. Both weren't completely sure, but they assumed she did.

"Does she bring out the best version of him? Does she stroke his hair while they cuddle? Does she cook with him? Does she walk Tessa with him?"

Harrison sighed, "Y/N/N, we—"

"—Because that's what I did. I brought out the best side of him. I stroked his hair while we cuddled. I cooked with him. I walked Tessa with him. I did it all. Every single thing." your voice broke towards the end as you let the sobs rack through your body.

Harrison and Zendaya went to either side of you and held you. They just held you. Because even they didn't know what to do.

'And I thought my heart was detached from all the sunlight of our past,'

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Zendaya asked as you walked towards Tom's front door.

You nodded and smoothed down your sundress, "Yeah. We ended on good terms. It's been two months or so. We're friends. Plus, I miss hanging out with all of us." you assured her.

She sighed before knocking on the door, "Alright."

A few moments later the door swung open revealing Tom. Dressed in black jeans and a white button-up. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Curls dangling over his forehead. A sweet smile on his lips.

You felt your stomach lurch. Air leaving your lungs involuntarily. Heart rate quickening. You could smell his cologne and every single memory with him clouded your mind.

"Hey! It's great to see you guys—"

"—Sorry. I-I think I left something in the car. One second." you rushed out the words before turning on your heel.

Zendaya let out a long sigh, "Fuck."

Tom frowned, "Did I do something wrong?"

'But she's so sweet, she's so pretty. Does she mean you forgot about me?'

"Y/N!" an unfamiliar voice called out to you from somewhere in the boys' backyard.

It was Harrison's annual barbecue get together. Nearly three months since your break up with Tom.

You turned towards the source of the noise and found a girl walking towards you. Brunette. Tight black dress with black heels. Body and face of a model.

"I've been dying to meet you! I'm such a huge fan. I basically live off of your music." she giggled as she hugged you.

You smiled, "Aw! Thank you! That means so much to me. You look amazing, by the way."

She laughed, "Thank you! But you're absolutely gorgeous! Sorry, I completely forgot to introduce myself. I'm Nadia, Tom's girlfriend."

Of fucking course.

You raised your eyebrows, but managed to keep a smile on your face, "Oh! I've heard so much about you! Well, Tom's one lucky guy," you chuckled, "I'd love to chat some more, but I need to use the washroom. Excuse me. It was a pleasure meeting you." you gave her a hoaxed smile before quickly walking away.

You were two feet away from the washroom when Zendaya grabbed your arm, "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

Your breaths were coming out in short puffs, "I just met Nadia?"

Her eyes widened before she dragged you towards Tuwaine's room, "Okay. Let's sit down."

'Oh, I hope you're happy, but not like how you were with me. I'm selfish, I know. I can't let you go,'

"You should move in here." Tom mumbled against your shirt.

You let out a small laugh, "You already have four roommates, love. One more might turn this into a barn."

He lifted his head off of your chest, "I'm serious. Driving from Manchester to Kingston all the time is such a hassle for you. We have recording studios here and it would make me the happiest man in the world if I could wake up to your gorgeousness everyday." he planted kisses on your forehead, nose and lips.

You chuckled at his boyish grin, "It's only a three hour drive and I'm sure the boys don't want me imposing on your time with them."

He quickly shook his head, "I already talked to them about it and they want you here, too."

You raised your eyebrows, "Well, if you're sure it'll make you the happiest man in the world, I'll think about it."

"You already make me the happiest man in the world, but I needed something to convince you." he rested his head on your chest again as you laughed.

'So find someone great, but don't find no one better. I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.'

"Are we ordering pizza?" Harrison yawned from beside you on the couch.

"Sushi?" you grinned hopefully.

Tuwaine shook his head, "We had sushi last night."

"Tom and I are making dinner for you guys!" Nadia reminded you from the kitchen.

Her arms wrapped around Tom's waist as he stirred whatever was in the pan he had on the stove.

You really hated their open floor layout at that moment since there wasn't a wall to block them from your view.

"Oh, yeah. What're you making?" Sam asked.

"Salmon with rice and steamed veggies." Tom answered without looking up from the pan.

Everyone made noises of realization as you turned to Harry, "Aliens or a tiger. Which do you think you could beat in a fight?" he asked.

You laughed before replying, "Hmm, depends. Are the aliens small or—"

"Tommy!" you heard a girly giggle and turned to see Tom with Nadia over his shoulder as they laughed and ran around the kitchen.

You quickly diverted your gaze to the coffee table. Forgetting about Harry's absurd question. All eyes were on you.

"What?" you asked when you finally looked up at your friends.

"Are you okay?" Harrison frowned from beside you before resting his head on your shoulder.

You let out a dry, quiet laugh, "Of course. As long as he's happy."

The looks of pity you received were almost as painful as the scene you witnessed moments ago.

'And do you tell her she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen? An eternal love bullshit you know you'll never mean,'

"Premiere day!" Zendaya walked into your shared hotel room with a bright smile, Nadia following behind her.

You faked a smile as you applied another coat of mascara, "You girls look gorgeous."

Zendaya was in a red and black sequin gown. Hair down and heels on. Nadia was dressed in a maroon silk dress with a slit on the side. Black heels dawning her feet. Both had makeup and accessories on matching their attire.

You were in an emerald green gown with a slit running down your left leg. Silver heels and silver jewellery to match.

"So do you!" Nadia exclaimed as she sat on Zendaya's bed.

"Are the boys coming soo—" Zendaya got cut off by three loud knocks on the door.

"I'll get it!" Nadia jumped up and opened the door.

Tom was stood before her in a maroon suit. Matching her dress. Black dress shoes. Matching her heels. Glasses on and a bright smile.

You watched as Tom ran his eyes down Nadia's outfit, "Well, aren't you just the most beautiful girl in the world?" he planted a kiss on her lips as you witnessed with envy.

"Aw, Tommy. I love you."

"I love you more, darling." he grinned before looking behind her.

Heart wrenching pain struck you again.

You watched as his mouth fell open by the slightest bit. Eyes growing wider.

He quickly snapped out of his daze, placing a pearly white smile on, "You two look absolutely stunning."

You acknowledged his compliment with a curt nod.

Zendaya let out a laugh, "Yup. About to out do you at your own premiere."

'Remember when I believed you meant it when you said it first to me?'

"Green or white?" you held up both dresses against your body.

Tom looked up from his phone, "Both of them will look amazing on you, love."

You sighed, "I appreciate the compliment, but I am meeting Sebastian Stan tonight. Now is not the time for indecisiveness. One of them will make me look bad and I need to know which one."

The Infinity War premiere was in two hours and your anxiety was growing by the minute.

"C'mere." he motioned you towards him with a 'come hither' gesture as he sat on the edge of the hotel bed. You made your way towards him. Standing in between his legs as he wrapped his arms around your waist, "You are the most beautiful girl in the world. Absolutely gorgeous. You could make the ugliest dress look like something from a fairytale."

Your smile grew as he kissed your stomach, "Thank you, mi amor." you bent down and placed a peck on his forehead, leaning your head against his, you whispered, "Now, green or white?"

He chuckled and pecked your lips, "White."

You smiled before making your way to put on the white dress, "I love you."

"I love you more, darling."

'And now I'm picking her apart. Like cutting her down will make you miss my wretched heart. But she's beautiful, she looks kind. She probably gives you butterflies.'

"I don't like her." you murmured.

Zendaya chuckled, "Nadia? You barely know the girl."

You nodded, "And I don't like her. I don't like her giggles and her nickname for him. I don't like her hair."

You knew you were looking for things to dislike, but there weren't any. She was a fan of your music, she complimented you all the time. She was genuinely a great person.

She sighed, "No, you don't like the fact that she's dating Tom. If she wasn't, you wouldn't be saying any of this."

You rolled your eyes and glared at her, "Can you let me be angry?"

She laid herself down on your mattress, "Nope. If you wanna be angry, be angry at Tom. Nadia hasn't done anything to you. You're better than this."

"God, I hate your optimistic side sometimes." you threw a pillow at her.

She laughed, "One of us needs to be the optimist."

You sighed, "Do you think he misses me?"

"Yes." she replied without hesitation.

You sat up and furrowed your eyebrows, "What makes you say that?"

She let out a long breath, "You need to talk to him about that."

'I hope you're happy. I wish you all the best, really. Say you love her, baby. Just not like you loved me. And think of me fondly when your hands are on her. I hope you're happy, but don't be happier.'

"And you're dead." you dropped the controller on your lap as you defeated Harrison in Super Smash Bros again.

He huffed like a child, "Unfair. I taught you how to play, how'd you get better than me?"

"Actually, I taught her how to play. And I am ten times better than you." Tuwaine corrected him.

Harrison scoffed, "Whatever. Sweaty nerds, the both of you."

Nadia spoke up from Tom's lap, "Can I try?"

You nodded, "Who do you wanna go against?"

She chuckled, "I think I'll verse Harrison. Seeing as how Y/N just kicked your ass, I wanna at least have a chance."

Her comment made you laugh as you handed her the controller and watched them pick their characters. You watched as Tom set his phone down and focused on the screen where his girlfriend chose Pichu.

"Choose Kirby." Tom told her.

She furrowed her eyebrows, "Why? Pichu is so cute."

"Y/N always plays as Kirby and she always wins. With that stupid power absorbing ability." he chuckled as his eyes landed on you.

You felt your heart skip a beat at the small detail he remembered before you played it off with a light laugh, "Not my fault you thought Luigi could beat Kirby everytime we played."

'Ooo-ooo, ooo-ooo, ooo-ooo,'

You pressed on the keys of the piano in the boys' home. Singing your heart out. You still had your spare key and Harrison told you no one was home.

You were waiting for them to return from golfing so you could have your Sunday night dinners. It's been nearly four months since your breakup with Tom. Your album was due to be released on May twenty-first and you were letting the still evident pain fuel your lyrics.

"I hope you're happy, just not like how you were with me. I'm selfish, I know. I can't let you go. So find someone great, but don't find no one better. I hope you're happy, but don't be happier." you faded out the piano and pressed stop on the recording on your phone.

Writing down small notes about the song and things to tweak, your thoughts were quickly interrupted.

"I'm not."

Your head snapped up. Tom was leaning against the doorframe behind you. Tears escaping his eyes.

"T-Tom. I'm sorry. Haz told me the house was empty and I just started playing and- Wait. What did you say?" realization dawned on you.

He stepped closer and sat beside you on the piano bench, "I'm not happier. Hell, I'm not even happy." he gave a pathetic attempt at a laugh, staring straight at the black and white keys.

Your mind was trying to catch up with everything happening, trying to register his words, the state he was in. Grey sweats, black tee. Messy hair and red eyes.

"Why?"

He released a heavy sigh, "There's so many things you could be asking 'why' about. Why did I break up with you? Why am I with Nadia? Why am I not happy? Why the hell am I crying? Which one is it, Y/L/N?"

You blinked a few times, "All of them."

He sniffled and rubbed his face, "I felt like I was holding you back." he started, catching a glimpse of your confused expression, he continued, "You hadn't released any music in over year. There were so many articles saying that I was the reason that the biggest pop star in the world was quitting music. I didn't want to be the reason for that."

"You weren't and you aren't." you assured him.

He shrugged, "I just felt like you would do a lot better without me. And you are. Look at you, your fifth album is coming out next month." he nudged you with his shoulder, "I'm proud of you," he smiled.

"T-thank you."

He nodded, "Anyways, why am I with Nadia? Um, a few days after we broke up, I went to a friend's place to distract myself, as one does. She was there. She was a distraction. I never meant for it to get this far. You know, she actually asked me to be her boyfriend." he chuckled dryly to himself as you listened intently. "I guess, I thought it'd be easier to move on if I had something else to pour my love into?"

You nodded slowly, "Okay, I somewhat get that. So you really do love her?"

He quickly shook his head, "No, no, I don't. I mean, I can't. No one can truly love two people at once. And I think that answers the question of why I'm not happy." he paused and faced you completely, "I'm crying because hearing that song and hearing how evident your pain in it is, that will make anyone cry. I'm crying because I miss you and I miss us. I-I miss what we had and what we were. I miss your kisses and your stupid jokes that only you laugh at. I miss going on walks with you and Tess. I just miss you."

There was a long period of silence after his confession. You were trying to process all the information he was giving. He was cursing himself for being so straightforward. The longer it went without a response from you, the more anxious he got. He grabbed your hands, holding them to his lips.

"Please say something. Anything."

Déjà vu.

You swallowed, "You want honesty?" he nodded, "Okay, I was so mad at you. I-I was infuriated. Y-you told me you weren't ready to give a hundred percent of yourself and that you couldn't be in a relationship until you could give all of yourself to that person. Then a month later, you're with her. Making me feel like you just couldn't give yourself to me." you paused and shook your head, "You could've told me the truth. You should've told me the truth. We could've talked about it. We could've avoided months of awkward run ins and no communication." he nodded, still holding your hands in his, "I'm not gonna lie and say I don't miss you because I do, I miss you more than anything, but we shouldn't be doing this or saying these things while you're with her." you removed your hands from his.

He spent a moment looking down at his fingers. Releasing short breaths. "I don't want to be with her."

"But you are. And I don't want you to break up with her for me. Because that's not how things work, Tom. But you shouldn't stay with her either. Especially if this is how you're feeling. That's just unfair to her." you shook your head and felt your mind clear.

He nodded and met your gaze, "This is the end of us, huh?"

You shook your head, "I don't think there will ever be an end to us." you laughed dryly.

He agreed with a smile, "For forever and a day, remember?"

You nodded, "For forever and a day."

[cowboymantis]

Let's talk about Kazuto Arase

Yakuza / Yakuza Kiwami , Yakuza 3 side content spoilers. Later on Yakuza LaD too, but I'll give a warning before that especially since a lot of people haven't played that yet.

So I have a lot of thoughts about Yakuza on my mind and just want to scream into the void about it somewhere to write 'em all down somewhere! I'm starting with... Arase.

Yeah, I know, a mostly very hated character (personality and battle-wise) that has so little screen time on top of it all too, is the first thing I'll be talking about.

Hear me out, I actually really love this character and only really started to appreciate him after I went for the Yakuza 3 platinum trophy... I've replayed this game so many times, I didn't mind it when I played through it first but seeing all the hate it has gotten, I went to replay it just in case and with that replayed it again and again because I just somehow loved it so much-

And you know, one part of Yakuza 3, also completion related so there was no way I could've missed it, were the Hitman missions. In general, after playing through all the main games I started to come back to a lot of characters I didn't like or minded the first time playing that are now some of my favourites (other examples are Tamashiro or Lau Ka Long, hell even Katsuragi)!

To come back to Arase, let's start with, well, the start: Yakuza / Yakuza Kiwami.

Introduced already in the very first Yakuza game, Arase is just there for a brief moment in the game, yet has a heavy impact on the game's story and Kiryu. It starts with Arase's oath brother Shinji being shot by Arases subordinate, Mochizuki, at least it looks like it. Shinji came here to rescue Reina, whose corpse then gets dragged on the roof of the Dragon Palace by Arase, Sergeant of the Nishikiyama Family. Now that's a pretty... heavy and sadistic first image for a character introduction, and honestly, his strong personality like that seemed also to be the reason he wasn't exactly loved by other members of the Family.

His battle theme in the first Yakuza game is called "Turning Point" which also puts more emphasis on how important this scene is, Kiryu breaking down, his scream when he sees Reina's body... It's really a turning point in the story.

In Kiwami, his new theme "Virtical Point" is also used as the intro song (or at least, the intro song "Vertical Point" is similar and shortened). Which also once again shows the importance of this piece.

Of course, he's not the most important character in the story, but it's still interesting to see how much there is around him other than his rather short appearance.

Then, his fighting style. Yeah, most hate this too and also the fact that starting from there, other bosses also sometimes use his moveset or a similar one. Like, take Jiro or Jo Amon or Andre Richardson... Basically just the usual dual wielding guns while being an athlete on crack - layout. It is actually not that bad, it's even less bad when you've got the right equipment but I have to admit I didn't really have that much good equipment when I first played all the games and basically just rushed through them because I just couldn't stop!

Arase's goal here of course was also to beat Kiryu but well, just like every other character ever, he couldn't do it and got beat instead.

And that's the end of that... The end of his part in the story and also the end of his part in the Nishikiyama Family, because he got disowned right after his failure.

Which is so... hmm... It makes me think. Many others have tried to take Kiryu down, too. And I mean, Arase was normally a very successful assassin, right? Yet this one failed attempt, at which everyone else too failed, got him disowned? Seems to me like they didn't like him and gave him an impossible task to have a reason to throw him out, huh?

And with that wonderful transition, let's get into his appearance in Yakuza 3.

You get introduced to the concept of the Honest Living Association, in short the HLA pretty much after Kashiwagis death. An association, founded by Kashiwagi to help Yakuza / former Yakuza who weren't meant for this life or just wanted out but just couldn't do in it on their own. For some, all they knew was the criminal life, so having a thing like this is especially helpful. Although, I'm kinda sad this was never a thing anymore after Yakuza 3. The whole concept of it was very cool.

Kiryu gets asked by Ibuki to help the HLA because there is an organisation of hitmen, also known as The Reapers (or The Avengers on PS3) whose goal was a different one than the HLA's, it was to kill Yakuza. The Reapers consisted of former criminals, mainly Yakuza, who were wronged by their superiours and expelled, disowned, you name it. Basically what happened to Arase.

Apprehending those hitmen is a totally optional part of the game and I have to admit, I didn't finish it my first time playing. Which is such a shame because it goes by so fast too when you play it after finishing the game! And the individual stories are all so interesting too, I've really enjoyed this side content and also replayed those missions already. You don't really expect someone like Arase to be behind all of it when it turns out to be him who is the founder and the leader of it all. I was already taken aback by Shinzaki being the lieutenant, or part of it at all. I often stopped by to listen to his guitar playing and talked to him, often asking myself is there's anything else up with him.

And once this one hitman contract came in and guitar playing was mentioned, I was just thinking "It can't be him...?", god, this whole side storyline just was so good. And here people come and say Yakuza 3 was a bad game.

The whole build-up to then reveal Arase was just so cool, honestly. It made me start to look more into his character after this confrontation. The fight was really cool too, just having to fight Shinzaki so many times wasn't really necessary, but Arase seems to like to fight alongside others, so fair enough.

And his theme "End Point" is also just so good. It's more similar to Turning Point than Virtical Point was. The name is also again fitting, since this is the end for The Reapers and Arases power.

It is made clear here that Arase has a strong hatred against the Yakuza and especially holds a strong grudge against Kiryu. He sees Kiryu as the reason he got wronged and had to leave the Yakuza behind, while also seeming to be very aware of the fact that the others there probably didn't like him at all.

He's so angry at him, he holds this whole speech and talks about revenge while Kiryu tries to talk some sense into him, eventually Ibuki also joins and tries to reason with Arase too. Telling him how that's what Kashiwagi wanted, even for Arase to find a new, honest life.

Arase is too strongly lead on by his grudges, so even though it seems like he might be thinking about turning his life around, he decided to not let them help him. Then he goes on about how he will definetly return to take revenge on Kiryu... Well. That's the end of that.

It becomes clear that Arases stubborn way of thinking is kind of childish. Not taking responsibility for any of his actions, thinking that his vile personality and actions are in fact the reason he got disowned. Failing to beat Kiryu was just the final puzzle piece to have a solid reason to throw him out. He's clearly unstable, doesn't think twice before shooting someone, he could turn on anyone and wouldn't be sorry for it. Just, he doesn't seem to really think about what he does.

I guess he probably thinks he's strong enough, he doesn't need to be careful. Also fitting for that is his fighting style in Dead Souls, how when he gets low on HP, he pretty much fends for himself, disregarding orders and just charging head first with full strength.

His Dead Souls appearance is also interesting. Okay, we all know, this game isn't canon, it's a spin-off and just doesn't fit in to the story. But it is interesting how he teams up with Kiryu for a bit and then leaves again. The game itself takes place after the events of Yakuza 4, meaning at this point RGG did remember that hey, they have a rival that swore to beat Kiryu one day. But after that... radio silence.

Really, this is such a shame. Just alone from his short appearances I can talk so much about Arase because he really is an interesting character with so much more potential! The only thing that's good about it is that he didn't die, making him technically one of the longest surviving characters in Yakuza which really is a great achievement.

Okay, we don't exactly know that he's still alive, but assuming due to there not being a mention of him being dead, he's probably alive. He might be, might not. Schrödinger's Arase.

One other thing I thought about is Jo Amon. I mean, his outfit and fight style is also similar to Arase, but that's not what I'm mainly thinking about. So the name Amon is for the greatest assassins, right? And they have a strong hatred against Kiryu at the beginning too.

So, putting those things together, Arase being a former assassin in the Nishikiyama Family, then the leader of a dangerous hitman organisation... Then, to fight Jo Amon in Yakuza 3 you also need to do all the hitman missions other than the substories and the IF7 fights. And to start the search for Amon, you also need to go to Ibuki again, where you got all the other hitman missions.

Yeah, it's a bit far fetched, but ... not too far fetched to think that maybe Arase and at least Jo Amon could know each other. I'd say, they could team up in a future game but. Well... Yeah.

Now some more things I thought about, I'll put a warning here though.

Yakuza LaD spoilers ahead!

Soooo, in this game we've gotten a couple of characters "back" ... Some more real than others... Thinking about Joon Gi's body double.

But one character that survived is Kashiwagi! Now the bartender of a bar named Survive. What a fitting name. After surviving such a heavy attack and believed dead by, well, everyone, it was the best approach to keep a low profile, start a new life. Also, he doesn't seem to be fit for any fighting after the incident.

So Kashiwagi is still there. And, now I just thought about, what if there was a possible redemption arc for Arase? Kiryu is believed dead now too, alone the fact that it seems that Kiryu never met Kashiwagi while being in the same area is kinda sad. I like to imagine they met each other...

I think it could go either way, Arase somehow got information on Kiryu being in Ijincho. He is a professional after all. Plus, by now Kiryu is also, well, not really working with... but. You know, not fighting with the Amon Clan anymore, even having Shin Amon to help determine Ichibans strength with the (True) Final Millennium Tower.

And, now, maybe there can be some other comnecting inside the Amon Clan and some info got out to Arase, ah, hell, I don't know, it's all so far fetched but I just like to have those possible headcanons of Arase somehow coming back!

Another possibility could also be Arase thinking Kiryu has died, just per chance being in the area and just going to the Survive bar? He'd probably be way more open about the thought of redemption and with Kashiwagi probably being pretty good at talking former Yakuza into that, given how the whole HLA was his doing.

Just... Thinking about possible things.

Yakuza LaD spoilers end here!

Well. That's that.

At the end of the day, the chances of Arase returning are pretty much 0, other characters you never thought of reappearing sometimes appear in one way or another, so it can be possible, but probably won't.

But one thing is clear, looking more into this character made me really appreciate him more. I guess that's the fact with a lot of characters, not just in Yakuza, but in general.

The characters in Yakuza are just so well written and even though it has some very weird and silly plot points and plot twists, I just love this game so much and looking more into it and replaying it is just so much fun.

I even started to like the minigames in Yakuza 3, even though I got very hopeless at the last pool opponent and the goddamn Mahjong completion, ugh. But at the end of the day it's all just really fun once you get the hang of it. It hasn't aged too well when you play it after the other Yakuza games, but replaying it on all the difficulties and then casually, then trying to beat it as fast as I can just made me love the game more and more every time.

So, uh... I don't know if it's a blessing or curse for me to often really like the characters that either everyone hates or have almost to screen time. Because well... there's such a lack of content and appreciation but hey that's what I'm writing this for!

I hope maybe someone starts to appreciate Arase more after this - if anyone even reads further after learning that I love this character. :D' I swear I tried to write it with as little bias as possible. I do know he's a morally very very grey character but after all, it's a video game character. (...There's no way I'll ever like characters like Yoneda...Ogita...Or Kume though... ugh)

Well anyway, with that, I go!

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ I'M GONNA PROTECT YOU ❜

with Angel Reyes, and reader as Che ‘Taza’ Romero' daughter.

Request: Oooh Could it be where you are a younger sibling to one of the guys or a daughter to either the older three? And you and Angel are somewhat good friends? Well one day you are alone at your house and you hear a noise outside and it freaks you out so you grab your gun and call your brother/dad and they are busy at the moment but they send Angel to check it out and he comes and turns out it's someone trying to break in. Anyway the guy runs away and it ends in some Smut? Then your relative comes!

BY @firebenderwolf

Warnings: brief violence described, I think.

Word count: about 1.8k

Aurora says: I wrote it listening a cover of ‘La Llorona’, by Natalia Doco, so I recommend you to listen this song while you read it. This writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @angels-reyes

Masterlist.

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The barks coming from the open field, next to the barns, suddenly wakes you up. Your dogs never barks in the middle of the night. You don't give them much importance, lying back on bed again, until they start to howl. Getting up and sticking your head closer to the window, you find some big figures cutting part of the wire fence with a pair of shears. Grabbing your phone, you call your father while leading your feet to his room, to grab the gun under his pillow. A nine millimeters semi automatic, enough to chase them away. Taking off the safety and raising your arms to the high of your eyes, you hang up the call. Probably, Taza will be at Vicki's house getting drunk with Bishop and Tranq, so you type Angel's number by heart. Going downstairs, your eyes looking straight forward, trying to make the least noise possible while you hear the howls and barks getting louder.

“Angel, there's two guys trying to come into my house, and my dad doesn't answer”.

“I'm going, mami. Hide and don' fuckin' move”.

The adrenaline was running through your body, and until you listened to his voice, you didn't notice that you were actually terrified. Gulping, you just hope that they don't hurt your animals. Keeping your phone muttered in a pocket, you hold the gun with both hands. The logic act would be calling the cops, but that is not an option for someone like you, nor your father. Crossing the huge and open living room, you decide to hide yourself into a wardrobe behind a folding screen that your great-grandfather made with his own hands.

Your heart races jumping inside your chest when you are able to hear their voices. Mexicans with a terrible american accent. Sticking your left ear to the door, you try to glimpse if you know them. And it is possible. Biting your bottom lip really nervous, you begin to text your father telling him what's happening, until your body shakes violently when a lot of small glasses fall to the floor after a heavy racket. The thieves are now entering into your house. And actually, they're not going to find anything. Your father is too intelligent to keep his money and valuables belongings inside there. But you're actually terrified because, yes, you know how to fire a gun; but you have never done it to defend yourself. And the only thing you can do right now is to wait. Your father is also coming with the older part of the crew after reading your text messages.

The barks outside don't cease, but your dogs are locked taking care of the animals, and you prefer it. You don't want them to get hurt. And the different noises of more glasses crashing, and different pieces of furniture falling to the floor are turning you anxious. The tears filling up your eyes and your shaky breathing don't help to stay calmed. Resting your back against the wall, with the gun raised to the door, you think that you are ready to fire it as soon as someone opens it.

Gulping a bunch of saliva, when you stop to hear them whispering curses in spanish after some minutes, the heavy steps upstairs call your attention; as the continues buzz of an engine getting closer to the ranch, speeding up in the moment it crosses the main fence. In complete silence, you step out from the wardrobe, with your trembling fingers securing the weapon between them. Checking that there's no one around you, your feet run to the main door to open it. Angel is already there. Without taking off the helmet, the man passes you away with his own gun lifted up in front of his dark eyes. Following him to the stairs, each other take up a side of the wall, waiting for them to go downstairs. The first one appears asking the other to leave, after not finding anything, but before he can warn his sidekick, Angel is already pointing at him, making him a sign to stay silent.

“Mario, where are you?” You hear from the top.

Taking off the gun from the thief's hands, you leave it over the table. But making a false move, the mexican manages to punch Angel, starting to wrestle with him.

“RUN, ANTONIO! MAYA—MAYANS ARE HERE!”

Your mind goes blank by the shock of seeing him fighting, and the weapon sliding itself over the floor, in the meantime the other man runs away jumping through a window and using the bindweeds around the house as stairs. Watching how the other tries to beat the oldest Reyes, you point at them with trembling hands.

“Leave him, pend—”.

Because of the nerves running through your veins, your forefinger presses the trigger shooting the thief by his back. A painful grunt floods the living room. Angel pushes him away, while the mexican writhes between tears and growls. Grabbing the gun from your hands, to not fire anyone else, your friend places an arm over your shoulders to turn you, giving your back to the thief. At the moment he tries to fight again, almost standing up, Angel shoots him again. Twice. Straight to the chest. Clinged to his body, you can't help but break into cries, hiding your face in his neck.

“Look at me… Look at me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He mumbles, leaving away the weapon, so he can cup your cheek in his hands.

You just nod swallowing, feeling his lips pressed on your forehead, before stretching an arm to the wall to turn on the lights.

“Com'ere, baby”. He says, urging you to slightly jump into him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your tears wet the franel shirt he's wearing inconsolably, leading his steps to the kitchen, away from the dead body staining the floor with the blood gushing out of it. Helping you to sit over the island in the middle of the place, Angel hurries up to bring you a glass of water, not knowing how to calm you down more than with leaving some caresses in your hair. You try to swallow but your throat is hermetically closed, coughing some times, while the salty tears keep flowing onto your lips.

“Did I… Did I ki—killed him?”

“No, no, no”. He says, putting the ringed fingers by both sides of your face, affected deeply by the look of horror in your orbs. “I did it, okay? You hear me? I did it”.

You know him from seven years ago, having a special connection from the beginning. You have been through a lot of shit together, but you never expected something like that happening. Putting the glass away from your trembling fingers, Angel holds you against his body, tightly hugging you, trying to make you feel somewhat better while the crew come to the ranch.

“Please… Stop crying… It's okay”. He mutters with a broken voice, not used to feel you so terrified. “I'm here, baby… I'm gonna protect you”.

“I'm sor—sorry, Angel”.

“Don' be silly. You don' have to be sorry 'bout nothing”. He chuckles softly, leaving a kiss on your right cheek. “Am your superhero, remember?”

The Reyes finally breathes when he hears you laughing with a low, low tone.

“I would never let anyone hurt you”. Sticking his forehead on yours, he closes his eyes for a second, feeling how your fingers get intertwined in his shirt.

You just nod, trying to catch back your breath, almost drinking his. The strokes by his thumbs over your skin helps to maintain a calmed pulse, beating your heart with a low pace; only focused on his touches. Your mind plays a dirt trick on you, making you lean forward some inches until his lips are being pressed by yours. But Angel isn't surprised, and doesn't have any intention to pull himself away, strengthening his fingers on your neck. Your mouths look like two pieces from a puzzle, destined to fit perfectly. Settling himself between your legs to be closer, your hands travel to the back of his head, as your lips start to move softly, tasting every single inch of his. Sliding his tongue inside your mouth to find yours, you can't help but feel a mix of feelings about it. Now you are confused about the fact that you don't know if you're doing it because of the horror lived, or because you really wanted to do it since long ago.

Running out of air, Angel continues kissing your cheek up to your temple with short and gentle gestures, clinging his arms around your body. You have never felt so serene, even if there's a dead body in the middle of your living room and the buzz of some engines are getting louder. He is warm, and seems like he smells better than never, resting your face on his chest with closed eyes. Angel's heart beat is like a hypnotic melody that could make you fall asleep just like that, as if you two were completely alone and you haven't been about to kill a man, for the first time, some minutes ago.

“BAB—HOLY SHIT! BABY! BABY, WHERE ARE YOU?”

As soon as Angel pulls away himself from you, your legs jump down to the floor, running to the place where your father's voice comes from. Your body collides with his surrounding him, breaking in crying again when you feel him finally holding you. Bishop, Tranq and Riz are also there, examining the man lying on the floor with no breath of life in him.

“¿Estás bien? ¿Estás herida, mi amor?” (Are you okay? Are you hurt?) Taza is desperate, looking at you with reddened eyes as you nod in silence. “What happened?”

“There were two men. This… son of a bitch's name is Mario. The other ran away by a window. Antonio, I think he said”. Angel explains under the gaze from his brothers. “Man… they knew where they were getting into”.

“Why?” Bishop asks.

“They knew we are Mayans”. Angel shakes his head slightly, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. “And they were mexicans”.

“I think I know him”. Tranq is squatted close to the dead body, narrowing his eyes as he studies his face. “Vatos or Coyotes, I am not sure, Bishop”.

“Figure it out and put in on the table”. Taza demands with the rage consuming him, hugging you tightly under his arms.

“Let's go”. Bishop moves his head to the main door, making the others know that they must go. “Angel, calls the guys. Take care of the trash”.

“Come here, mi vida”. Your father whispers carrying you into his arms upstairs, not wanting you to continue there. “We're going to take some clothes and leave to the club, okay?”

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[kamosweasley]

Not that damn song again (George Weasley x Reader)

Description : It's Christmas time so a cute fluffy fic about it sounds right. And I'm a simp for George (and Christmas songs), I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Words count : 2.5K

Author note's : lyrics from All I want for Christmas by Mariah Carey are in italics.

Tag list : @memekingofwwiii

It's terribly cliché but you can't lie, you love Christmas. There is no better time of year, with snow, hot chocolate, big sweaters, cinnamon cookies and decorations everywhere, how not to love it ? You don't understand people who prefer summer with its sweltering heat and sunburn and all those damn mosquitoes. But unfortunately for you, your boyfriend is a man of the second category whereas you are a woman of the first category. Which makes some things a bit complicated, like you grumbling when he wants to pull you out in the July sun or like him not being able to stand the Christmas carols that you play over and over again from the first of November.

“Not that damn song again …” he mumbles, hiding his face in his hands. “Darling I love you, but if you play this song one more time ...”

“Come on Georgie, it’s Christmas time ! Listening to Christmas songs is essential to my mental health right now. It's either that or stuff myself with cinnamon cookies with the delicious icing and not fit into my favorite sweaters anymore. You really don't like it ?”, coming to give him a back hug with puppy eyes. He never resists you with those eyes, he loves to see them disappear to give way to a big smile.

“I'm sorry my love, but at the end of the fiftieth listening of your playlist I started to hate Santa Claus and the sound of the bells.”

You're both sitting on his bed, he's finishing his potion homework but he's not getting very far with you in the same room listening to the same songs for over a month. He hates it because he loves you with all his heart, but he's starting to wish he could go deaf so he can't stand those melodies which haunt him even in his sleep. He would love it as much as you do, but the more the days go by, the more he understands this will never be the case. And he doesn't want to put limits on how you enjoy this time, he knows how much it means to you.

You put your hands under his sweater to warm your hands, the contact of your cold skin on his abdo makes him startle as you let out a giggle.

“Sorry, my hands are cold and I know that your mother's sweaters keep me warm so I took advantage of it …”

“I know darling, it's absolutely not to satisfy your wandering hands.” he says as he turns his head to kiss you, “I'm going to ask my mother to knit you some mittens, since it's very warm.”

“Good idea, I'm freezing to death right now.” George begins to turn around with a grin on his face, ready to warm you up in his own way but you haven’t noticed his purpose, “I'm going to go make hot chocolate in the kitchen, do you want some too ? I can bring you a cup, I make the best hot chocolate you've ever tasted. No offense to your mom who must make really good ones too, but mine is better.”

You often take him by surprise, changing the subject or not noticing how the situation is turning out and he always found it charming. You make him think of Luna a little bit, on another level but just as clueless as her sometimes. Your boyfriend smiles at you, returning to his potion homework. “Anything to please you darling.”

“You'll see, it's fabulous! I have a secret ingredient, if you're nice I might tell you what it is.” you put on one of his sweaters that you take from his suitcase before you wink at him and leave the room. He should take advantage of the silence of your absence to finish his damn homework in a hurry but he can't concentrate. Potion is boring and he really loves it when you wear one of his sweaters, it's way too big for you and that's what makes you so adorable. And you will come to spend a few days at the Burrow, meet his parents as his girlfriend and receive your own sweater knitted by Molly. He hopes that you will continue to steal from him even if you have your own.

“Here it is ! Taste it and tell me.” you say while putting the cup in his hand. You already know what he’ll say of course, everybody loves your hot chocolate, there is no reason for your boyfriend not to do the same. He thanks you before taking a sip of the hot drink, ready for a chocolate too sweet with some spice in it. And it is, but he has to admit that it is particularly good. He nods his head before he smiles at you. “You're right, it's the best I've ever tasted.” He puts his cup on the bedside table and returns to his parchment.

“So why don't you keep drinking it ? It doesn't look like the best hot chocolate you've ever tasted.” You're sure George didn't lie to you, but you still hoped he would act on his words. When he tells you it's the best hot chocolate he's ever had in his hands, you wish he wouldn't let go of the cup until he's finished it. Maybe you have a misplaced ego but this chocolate is your personal pride and you want your boyfriend to treat it well.

He runs a hand through his hair, not even taking his eyes off his homework. “I've never been a big fan of hot chocolate or Christmas cookies and certainly not of all those bell-filled songs. I’m sorry darling but I never liked any of this.” You melt before his eyes, he is sincerely sorry he doesn't like what makes you so happy and you think it's too cute.

"I'm just not a Christmas person. It's good because we saw family and have presents but still don't get what you found in this period.” You come and join him on the bed, sitting in a suit in front of him. “It’s simple. Let it snow, Jingle Bell Rock, All I Want For Christmas, it’s all about a magical time.” In his eyes you can tell that he doesn't understand at all what you're talking about, which is amazing when you consider how much time he spent listening to all those songs. “We are wizards. Our whole life is magical, I'm not sure I understand you on that point.” You grab a roll of parchment and hold it as if it were a microphone, looking at him with a glim in your eyes.

The best thing you can do to help him understand is to show him. You’re not a good singer, at least George never complains about it, perhaps because he tries very hard to keep his mind upright since he doesn’t like your playlist. It's unlikely you'll be able to change his mind, but a little a capella karaoke should put a smile on his face.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need. I don’t care about the present, underneath the Christmas tree.” While keeping your fake microphone close to your mouth, you point at your boyfriend with the same expression as Mariah Carey in the clip. “I just want you for my own, more than you could ever know ! Make my wish come true, all I want for Christmas is you !”

As it is impossible to sing Mariah Carey without playing the diva, you give it your all and when you see George's smile, you do it well. It must be your acting more than the words of love that make him smile like that, it's like he's trying to restrain himself from laughing.

“'Cause I just want you here tonight, holding on to me so tight.” On all fours you come and sit between his legs, facing him. He puts his cold hands on your hips passing them under the elastic of your jogging, a smirk on his lips. You shiver from the sudden cold on your skin but don't stop singing, your face getting closer and closer to his. “What more can I do ? Baby, all I want for Christmas is you ! You, baby.”

He's right in front of you. Your noses are touching, your eyes are immersed in each other and you melt like snow in the sun at the intensity of this moment. Damn you love him.

The hunger in his eyes devours you before his lips reach yours. A passionate, fiery, kiss that will get you high. Your head empties itself of all words and thoughts, your hands naturally place themselves in his hair and behind your closed eyes you imagine his smile, his eyes shining with mischief, his hand holding yours and all those little things that make you fall for him. Over and over again.

Gasping for air, the kiss is stopped. You're almost dizzy, head spinning with butterflies messing around in the belly. Liking George Weasley drives you crazy, there's no telling, you've never felt that way about anyone else. Before him you'd never been that high, you'd never had a simple kiss that made you tremble, you'd never dreamed of spending the rest of your life with someone. George Weasley is the kind of man you should treasure, marry and have as a father to your children. For the simple reason that he will be wonderful in all these roles, with him everyday life will never be boring, he will always have the words to make you laugh or smile. He will give love like no one else to his children, an exemplary father who will take care of his children as if they were the greatest wonders in this world.

You have no doubt about it, your boyfriend will offer a wonderful life to the woman he chooses. That's why you're not going to let him go. Your lover.

You suddenly open your eyes as you feel yourself tilted to the side with George, he's still holding you against him and you land softly on the comforter and pillows. You're lying against each other and George slips one of his legs between yours so that they get tangled up. “Now we’re good darling.” He kisses your forehead and plays with a strand of your hair, it's so peaceful. “I haven't finished the song.” You feel his mouth smiling against your forehead. “Who cares ? Certainly not me, I heard what I needed to hear. I think I understand now.”

“Do you ?”

“Yes, but I still hate Christmas songs.”

You lean on your forearm to look down on him, looking pouty. “C’mon ! You’re overreacting, this song is brand new. It's only been out for a month, you can't already hate it.” He grabs you by the shoulders and applies pressure to force you to lie down, not softened by your pouty air. “You listen to it all the time and if not, you sing it. Believe me, one month is enough to get sick of it.”

After being a diva a few minutes before, you're having fun being a diva again because after all, you can't talk about Mariah like that. And you can't help but defend the honor of your favorite Christmas songs. With a burning gaze, fists on your hips and a somewhat condescending tone, you fight back. “It’s Mariah Carey so it will be a massive hit, I’m sure of it. And at least, I’m sure you will think of me every time you’ll hear this song for the rest of your life.” Smiling at you, he adopts the same facial expression and flutters his eyes saying to you in a sweet voice: “The only way I'm going to hear this song again is from you. It's a Muggle song, no one is going to know it among wizards.”

Rolling on yourself to be flat on your stomach, half on George given the proximity that the bed offers you, you give him a charming wink as you rest your chin on your hands.

“That’s what I’m saying. At the end of each year you will hear this song many, many, many times and you will think of that moment when I sang it to you in your dorm at Hogwarts. You will see the scene again as you hear me singing it from the other side of our house. Because we're going to spend our whole lives together.” Since you're already half on top of him, he has no problem placing you on top of him, kissing both your cheeks and your forehead as you go by, making you giggle. “You’re a genius. You really thought of everything.”

You mess his hair before wedging your head in his neck, breathing in his scent. You smile against his throat and you know him well enough to know that it makes him smile back. “How could I want to live without you ? You know how to make yourself indispensable Georgie, it's almost annoying.” You love it when he runs his hand through your hair, it's the most relaxing thing ever. His other hand traces back and forth in your back, making you a little sleepy. This man knows how to deal with you. “Because you thought you were the only one who thought of everything? I would never let you go.”

If you could stop time and stay like this forever, you would do it without hesitation. You're comfortable in a bed, just the two of you, your hearts are beating at the same rhythm and you're in love. Then it smells like hot chocolate and you've managed to make him smile to a Christmas song. You never want to forget this moment. “Fine by me Georgie.”

You can't resist the temptation to hum Last Christmas, but George's caresses make you fall asleep little by little. You stop before the end of the song and in a few minutes you fall asleep on him. He kisses the top of your head, finding you absolutely adorable. You always manage to fall asleep quickly when you are being tickled, which makes him very tender and amuses him a lot. He often teases you about it, it always annoys you and he finds it even cuter.

Feeling your body rise slightly to the rhythm of your breathing, he starts humming the end of Last Christmas. He takes advantage of you being asleep, so you won't be able to talk to him about it someday. Continuing to run his hand through your hair and humming Christmas music, he smiles as he looks up at the ceiling. You are with him, alone and calm, in perfect harmony and he always liked to feel the beat of your heart when you cuddle. It's that kind of perfect moment. And he wishes it would never end.

[impaladolan]

Capture - Grayson Dolan [3/-]

summary: everything has started to whirlwind around Y/N as she realizes what predicament she’s in, but is consoled by her captor.. her nameless captor..

warnings: smut & slight fluff :/

a/n: hey, this is part THREE of this little series! if you haven’t, check out part one and two before reading this, or you might be a little confused :) enjoy!

"Don't you make one fucking sound.."

To his hoarse words, your teeth instantly clamped shut around your bottom lip and you closed your eyes in anticipation. You expected to be ruthlessly grabbed and shoved into by his cock, but the slowness of your panties being pulled down your legs and the ever so soft touches of his long fingers against your inner thighs brought you a surprise. And suddenly, the world began spinning around you the moment you felt his thick, and warm tongue glide against your soaked folds. The pit of your stomach shuttered in the overwhelming pressure he had against your extremely sensitive nub, something you have been day-dreaming about ever since you first saw him.

He was slow— almost passionate with the way he moved his pleasureful tongue around your pussy, slurping your arousal like it was a glass of ice water on a hot day. Your hips slowly rolled against his mouth, unintentionally, and your head fell back against the soft mattress beneath you. Your hot breaths filled the absence of sound, as well as his lapping and frustrated groans from underneath you. It seemed purely magical when he creeped one of his thumbs to your bundle of nerves, swiftly rubbing it in small circles. It made your breath become caught within your throat and had your own fingers running through his heavenly soft hair. The way his gruff groans and grunts vibrated through your core and up your spine made it excruciatingly difficult to keep your sounds to yourself.

You had had it when his only free hand crept up through your gown and wrapped itself around your breast, caressing the tenderness and softness. When your hips began to buck a bit more violently and the small, quick intakes of breaths that had queued your soon dispatching, he stopped.

He lifted his head from you and licked his lips, flashing a grin your way. "Such a pretty girl, already fucked out and you've barely been touched." He chuckles as he turns back to his little pile of clothes on the floor, snatching them and leaving the room in a hurry.

You were infuriated.

So much so, that you led your own little hand down there and began to rub at yourself, trying to finish off whatever he had started before he could notice anything. You just circled your clit quickly until your high came, and went, before slipping into your comforting bedding, yet again regretting your day's decisions and falling into a deep and useless slumber.

-

When you first wake, you quickly notice the weakness between your legs, like it was missing something, but soon after you feel the stretching of your esophagus. And then you're hit with the reoccurrence of the night before. Again, you had let this unknown man take full control of you and liked it.

How disgusting were you? To enjoy something superbly disturbing? What would your mother think?

You shook your head to your own thoughts, sitting up against the pillows and reaching for the newly placed water bottle on the nightstand. You unscrewed the cap and chugged the liquid until there was no more to be gained from it. It at least soothes the aching you felt in your throat, but nothing could stunt the aching and needing pains that your pussy was currently throbbing with.

You didn't feel an ounce of drowsiness at the beginning of the day, like you had the days prior. You felt fully regenerated and well awake. Maybe now you'd be in touch with your morals and mature senses. It has become terribly boring in this room, staring at the walls and ceiling for what seems like hours doesn't help the fact. You would've gotten up and explored your confinement space, but you were terrified he'd make an appearance the moment you step on the ground.

You actually haven't seen him at all today.

You didn't really have a source of time, but by the way the sun was sat in the sky, you had gone a whole entire day without a thing to eat or drink, which angered you. He should at least have enough courtesy to provide meals for your famished self if he's gonna keep you hidden in this place for so long. But then again, you were forcefully kidnapped from a bench only days ago, and could be kept in much worst conditions than you are now. With that simple thought, a tear had formed, watering and blurring your eyesight. Without any consent from your own self, tear after tear began to trail down your frozen cheeks, staining them a darker red. You didn’t even realize you were crying until an explosion of hiccups began to sound from your mouth and send you into a sobbing mess. Your throat began to burn as well as your eyes and your stomach began to lurch within its self, while your head became pained with all the activity that’s happening. You grab one of the pillows laying behind you and squeeze it against you roughly, trying to soothe the discomfort and agony of your new coming realizations. The flow of your tears and whimpers only strengthened, like your body was combusting with the amount of held back frustration you had. The streams of tears began to pool at the bottom of your chin and roll down your neck in thick waves.

You weren’t too sure why you were crying, but it made you feel a little better.

Your sobbing hadn���t come to a stop when the door soundlessly opened and closed. You didn’t even hear him enter, let alone sit beside you. When his large and warm arms wrapped around your small, shuttering frame, you helplessly fell into them. You let go of the pillow and snuck your arms around his muscular torso, squeezing him tighter than you did the pillow as you uncontrollably cry in the crook of his neck. “Why? Why’d you trap me here?” You hardly whispered, but his heart sank deep in his chest the moment you acknowledged him.

He didn’t have an answer. He just swayed the two of you back and forth, easing you into a peaceful sleep that you truly didn’t want, or need. You weren’t awakened when he had easily lifted you up, and carried you away from your enclosed space, leading the two of you down the hallway until he was at the threshold of his own door. He didn’t need to think twice before quietly opening it and settling you on his much more comfortable bed, leaving the lights off and classical music on in the background. He understood your saddened questioning, but he just couldn’t do anything about it quite yet..

-

You awoke for what seemed like the fiftieth time in a place you didn’t recognize. Instead of the boring grey walls and the one gold-trimmed painting, you were surrounded by pristine white walls with a few different posters of musicians you didn’t really know, except Tame Impala. Your heart almost skipped a beat as your eyes scanned the poster that had tour dates and the songs from the 2015 Currents album.

What a coincidence?

You drew your eyes away from it and settled them on the man sitting in the chair in the corner. Again, your heart leaped out of your chest from slight terror. You hadn’t noticed him before, but he seemed harmlessly asleep. Though his presence slightly angered you, he really did look peaceful and almost cute, snoozing away in the little recliner. A smart person would’ve ran to the door and exited the house as quick as possible and make it to freedom, but your head really wasn’t in the right place for the moment. You just sat there, silently interrogating the nameless man snoring in the corner.

He hasn’t been anything but nice to you, except for the lack of food and water. You faintly remember him saying something about knowing you, but everything’s truly a fog and you can’t tell whether anything is a dream or real life, since you’ve been sleeping entirely too much. Hell, you can’t even recall how you were placed in this room, or why.

But you liked it a lot better than the original room you were in. It’s not freezing cold in this bedroom, it’s comfortably warm and soothing with some sort of autumn smelling candle. Even the few little Halloween decorations around the room, which are slightly early, made this place feel a lot more homely than it should. Because honestly, you shouldn’t be “enjoying” being kidnapped/stolen by some nameless hot guy.

Speaking of, what the hell is his name?

Suddenly, the so-called nameless man begins to shift in his seat, his eyes slowly opening and widening as they adjust to the small light surrounding him. The only light within the room was the window, which displayed the day’s dark overcast from the soon-coming rain. Once he’s familiar with his own room, his eyes land on yours, a sheepish smile covering his lips compared to your stern one. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He firstly says before stretching his arms above his head and letting in a deep yawn.

“Cut the shit, sweetheart. I want to know why I’m here and when I’m allowed to leave, now.” You mock with a darkened voice, just to get your serious point across. He exhaled a large breath and stands to his feet, shuffling over to his dresser, probably finding a shirt since he feels the need to be shirtless all the time..

“Listen, I want details. I’m tired of fucking waking up and falling asleep in a strangers home. So if you could politely drop me off at my own house within the next hour, I won’t press charges. Fair and simple.” You almost plead as he takes his time looking through the drawers of his dresser. His silence and slowness was beginning to get in your nerves. It’s a large pet peeve of yours when you aren’t directly answered.

“Love to, but can’t.” He just simply answers with that, throwing a white shirt over his head and fitting it upon the rest of his body. You internally groan to his statement, shifting your eyes to the doorknob that looked very much enticing. Your head began forming a plan b, if bribing him doesn’t go too well.

“Please..?” You surprised yourself with the stupidly seductive voice you used, something you do to get what you want with men, and it most generally works. “Maybe.” He shrugs, carelessly. He seemed so disinterested and distracted to care about any of the words you were uttering. He strides over to his connecting bathroom, slightly closing the door to piss and brush his teeth.

I guess we’re going straight to plan b, huh?

You hobble out of bed and quietly walk towards the door, successfully letting yourself out without notice. Holy shit. You sprint down the somewhat familiar hallway, around a corner and through the kitchen and what seems to be a living room, until you see a front door looking exit. You immediately scram towards it and unlock the handle and the two deadbolts, successfully pulling it open and letting the outside air smack you right in the face.

Freedom at last.

You run outside, not even caring to close the door, and sprint straight towards the tall fence, the eerie tree-covered surroundings offsetting you slightly. Nevertheless, you ran as fast as possible to the nearest fence sticking your foot in one of the holes to begin your climb. “Hey, get back here!” His low, demanding voice rang through your ears, but you didn’t stop there. You kept climbing, as fast as possible, nearing the top of the fence. You didn’t have the heart to look back and see where he was, you just kept climbing to what would hopefully be safety. The moment you make it to the top to swing your other leg over the fence—

You feel a hand attach to your bare foot..

(masterlist)

[aolmer]

This is a short story about a person who is in a mental struggle with betrayal of friendship. It is up for how you want to interpret it. It is meant to express complex emotions that I think many people have but never claim or admit. I hope that by reading this it makes you think. I apologize for the weird format spacing but I'm not retyping all that on my phone and for whatever reason it won't let me put the paragraphs where they should be I did try. This is my first post and first short story I have ever wrote. Ok let's give it a go!!!

The Story's Tale

How funny it is, yet so heartbreaking to know. I wish I knew the whole story in advance. I did so very well, I tried, but I ignored it. My perception had blinded me; lost, I was wholly withdrawn and vulnerable, forever ignorant to its separate plot and focused solely on me.

My story tells a new but old, familiar tale. My own accord, it's always been just about me. I'm living each day by dawn and dusk, somehow always failing to see the plot in it all. I think you see it all so clearly - and you always have, silently blending in the shadows - but everything is just a blur to me. The vision of a perfect ending that I've longed for, my reflection in the mirror has since turned black.

Is this why you are so familiar to me? How did I not see it? Why was I so

foolish over who you are? How could I ever be anything that would show you something different? You saw it all along, so why did my novel bring you to read past chapter 1? You followed others when you knew the truth and saw the light; I could offer you nothing, yet you still remained by my side. I guess our curiosity will never end and we always have to know, but knowledge is half the battle when you can't answer things about yourself. Did you find your answer in the footprints of another’s steps? You had to know, silently standing in the distance, watching my mistakes unfold as I fell. You were the perfect ending, but you doubted it too long to truly see it.

Finding that sense of self-worth is a battle we all fight every day. You knew where it all went wrong, but at least now you can hum that old hymn your grandpa would sing every morning – the one that assured you that you were home, safe, and loved. A great feeling to experience once again, one you had

felt was gone forever. It's a good feeling to finally be where you belong; it brings a real smile to my face, the type I haven't had in a long while. A smile that I don't have to fake. This is why I call you the perfect ending. You were the answer I never found, as I never asked the right questions to end up where you are now. I can always tell a story - and some I'm more familiar with than my own - but like most, these tales still have a few pages missing. I know the book itself is at its most crucial part, just reaching its peak for that big moment, yet I still somehow miss it all.

Nevertheless, this moment of anger between us invariably buries itself into my peripatetic subconsciousness as an involuntary vicissitude that we carve our days around – which, in turn, unwillingly standardizes our lives as if we were meant to anticipate this occurrence and oblige. You saw it coming all along. Your vision couldn't be any clearer and I was too far away for my story to be heard the way it was meant.

My story tells itself with my time and pain, possessing me and portraying itself as a living entity, out on its own, ready to play the role of my life. Knowing all of my passions, all of my ambitions, and all of my wisdom, just to be used against me and viciously taken in haste, with no remorse or place for reconcile.

Still, the void in my heart, the purest form of malice cutting through flesh and straight to bone. I reach to take it all back with the very scourge of the story I never told. The things I've buried far too deeply that even it could never grasp. The words and agony were bitter and cursed, stabbing the heart like a thousand daggers with a twist, ensuring my pain was felt.

I will never know if I succeeded; I had retreated from the battle with myself and saw that I had lost myself for such a long time. I'm now so far beyond the years of sorrow and the attenuation of my soul. I've drowned myself in tears of contrition and reconciled myself to a sleepless reverie that means, even now on the

very still and tranquil new moon nights that tell this story so well, I lie awake.

All I wanted was for someone to care. I blamed anyone but myself for my mistakes. No mind so perfect could be this flawed. Now, somehow, I'm expected to know the stories I've never had the chance to hear coming from the people standing before me today, claiming they were told from long before. I could finally see the truth in you clearly, your value as a person; I see that I bid far too low. Why couldn't I see that I could have been a better friend and listened to you? You were the only one that never led me wrong, yet I still made it about me. I displayed a role of a teacher to a student, when in fact it was I who was being taught. I never meant for it to be that way and my intentions were pure of heart - in my head. It all felt right, but even when you think you’ve got it all figured out, life will put you in your place and show you just how wrong you are.

The years pass by and I see many people come and go. This repeating

cycle of memories, old and new, is the last honest, profound thought I had before losing myself within the empty strands of time itself.

I am so lost in my dreams as time moves forward. This very moment takes its shape as if that cycle never began. The cycle you created to help me get where I need to be, but I was too lost in my own creation and failing to put faith in anything but me. I have no reason to complain now at being completely alone; I had pushed them away, one by one. You were always there and I was selfish, so I thank you now too late, my dearest friend.

We stand now eye to eye, inhale to exhale, trading the same old stories we thought we knew so well - when, in fact, we never knew any of them at all. I should have listened closer. It was never about me. I wanted to be different and I was sure in thought, as if it was calculated precisely. I should have followed when you called, but instead I tried to lead, blinded by my

arrogance. With a last look upon each other, our eyes stared deeply into the very core of our souls.

The stories are way too real and yet so vastly different between us. We see that our blessings, once so virtuous, are now concealed in jagged and shattered glass, consumed with detest. The anticipation of a joyous ending has long departed, hence I blindly wrote my name into the ending with every letter nearly perfect, as if it were an oil painting. The story’s end had now laid its path before me. The one I should have taken was the one you showed me, so now this path I walk alone.

Our vastly different tales in this cycle shared the very same fate - yet different from another’s eyes, as if it was only my blood that shed. We both took our departing breath and this became a story in itself, as we all fear facing death. The blink of an eye; the only thing we ever acknowledged as real in our lives lasted only a matter of minutes. I had missed my only chance. It was then, at

last, that our stories finally read the same. Peacefully, we drifted into an endless sea of thought, with nowhere to be and our minds laid to rest. Even that perfect ending truly wasn't as you thought it would be. A place we always end up as every road we take leads to the same place. A place where the words never mattered in the stories and our tales were left untold. These stories can't be put into words – we can’t tell the tale we don’t know how to read and explain.

The scream of a thousand words is all that we hear and as we speak, our utterance is breathless, drowned out in the sound of it all. It is pointless to speak at all, as those words were never said with your wasted breath. You were silent long before, just playing with the words you had left unsaid. Perhaps those words would have made a difference now. You always knew when it served to speak, a skill I should now learn. That’s why everyone listens when you do - of course, everyone but me. It pains me and

sorry can't be said, so it just becomes another word added to the thousand-word scream I hear every day in my head. I had missed it all and you showed me where to go, but the words you chose to speak left me to drown alone.

The novel slowly closes as it flips through the last few pages, left blank; as I drift into an eternal slumber, where I don't have to stay awake. Now is the moment I've sought so long, drifting apart from within as the epilogue gives closure. We know, at last, that the book was read.

It's such a shame I was too late. The silence is now so loud it's deafening. I wish for a moment where the thousand words would scream, as this silence has stripped away the last part of what I knew as me. At last we could see it as one. The first time to open my eyes - and perhaps the last, but at least we can see it honestly, one time, for all that it is. We can hear the most beautiful song ever written as the sounds of the silence breaks and

dissipates, returning the thousand word screams we could hear in our head. You now have joined me as we fade away into a void of black.

From my perspective, at least once, we may both see the light in all its glory. That feeling, the release, the peaceful hymns we heard as children that woke us every day - that we hated so much. Now those songs lead our way as the black fades away. A wonderful life we have yet to create, as we all missed something this crucial along the way. It was far from our time, but can't you see that you need me as much as I need you? We have to see the same light, even when it's different, as no one can see very well in the dark.

Being alive is the only thing that I'll never understand, but it feels so good to be back home. I haven’t seen that smile from you, my friend, for forever and a day. Can we take a walk together, one last time, but you lead the way this time? It's not a surprise for me to see you shake your head to answer no. We begin to walk along side by side. I had almost missed it all again and can't ever seem to get

it right. Now I see that you continue to shake your head to answer no, still never saying words unless necessary. I fall silent as well and continue to walk by your side, thinking about the days that lie ahead and all the life I had left to live. It feels good to walk by my friend once again.

Where does this feeling come from? But maybe it’s only a moment we had forgotten. Is this why you are so famiiar to me? What led you to read past chapter one with me? I finally knew the answer to the questions where it all began - and when it occurred, I could finally see that it's not hard to understand. I had it right all along, but I never had the pen to write it down. I focused on the things that made life hard, then on these moments when I would be sure to have a pen to write it down. As I take this walk with my friend, the days are all familiar; the good and the bad create the same old stories our parents read before us. You had to compromise and learn as

well, taking the lead when your bell rang and speaking more so I never got left behind. It was never hard to understand, but we had both missed so much. You can't live life thinking that your story is something new - that was my biggest flaw. The drowning of my being shy at your helping hand.

Everyone's story is a chapter in a book, but even when that story is different, it still reads and ends the same way. Without sharing our stories, the book can never be read. The story to know is the easiest one to get and our life writes it down as we go, adding another chapter to its pages. Now we make the perfect beginning and end.

I walk now with my friend by my side, a moment to be cherished. It's good to know that, regardless of what happens, no one’s story is different - it all begins and ends the same. The best stories always come from those that are heard and those we create. It truly is a great day to hear your voice again, to hear our voices together at

last. We both know where the road leads now, so which direction shall we go? Like a river we flowed, letting our will guide where we went as we walked along the way, sharing all of the stories we had left unsaid from the beginning to the end of all our days. That familiar feeling, the wonderul feeling you get at the start of a new chaper. We have read this once before, my friend, and it’s a great day to start again. The same old stories we would always tell, but we never wrote in ink.

The End

@givethispromptatry

[roseyserpents]

Don't Hold Me

Summary: After Sweet Pea is cheated on, he doesn't believe he can be loved again. You try to convince him otherwise.

Word count: 1,787

Warnings: cheating, self-doubt

A/N: this is based off Don't Hold Me: by Dean Lewis (one of my fav songs) sorry if this is bad I just wanted to get something out because I haven't posted in a while

Posted: April 14, 2020 7:00 P.M. EDT

Have you ever wished you could rewind

Have you ever lived on borrowing time

Knowing your mistakes are chasing you down from behind

When he first found out, Sweet Pea didn't want to believe she could do it. He didn't believe the girl he'd said he'd loved and returned the words could hurt him so deeply and painfully. He'd rounded the corner of the street on his way to the Whyte Wyrm and down the alley he saw her pressed against a wall with her lips kissing someone else's the way they kissed his own. The breath was taken from his lungs at the sight as he tried to tell himself it was a trick of the shadows all the way back to his trailer. He replayed the scene over and over in his head as he finally realized that exact moment was the end of his relationship with who he thought was the love of his life.

He looked back into the relationship and looked for mistakes he made, holes in the fabric that were unnoticed. He tried to see when these mistakes caught up to him and led to her going to someone else that night. He wanted to go back, rewind and fix what he was certain had to have been broken to cause this. He wanted to gather up the pieces that'd been chipped off and somehow put them back together to fix what was beyond repair.

When she got home that night, Sweet Pea couldn't even bring himself to look her in the eye; to touch her that night or pay attention to the kiss she pressed to his cheek. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about how her lips had been on someone else's less than an hour before and she could go on and lie with him like she wasn't destroying him.

He tried to keep the relationship going on its last leg, unable to bring himself to call it off with her because despite it all he loved her; he loved her even when her love was a lie. He wanted so badly to repair them, but eventually he realized he was living on borrowed time with her. One day he told her he saw them that night. The break up was messy and painful with screaming and regrets ending with her picking up and walking out the door. After that, Sweet Pea wasn't Sweet Pea much. He didn't have a shine in his eyes as he'd used to, a smile rarely making its way on to his face. His heart felt broken and lost, to pained to pick itself back up again and repair the damage she'd done.

And then one Summer, you came into town. You were bright and sweet and kind and everything Sweet Pea was missing. You joined the Serpents and he saw you everyday, your contagious smile from across the room or the sound of your laughter at someone telling a joke. He noticed you and something in him seemed to pull towards you but he was still to hurt to try to talk to you.

You saw him, too. When you were welcomed into Riverdale, you saw the serpent with a distant look in his eyes and who looked away every time you caught his gaze. You tried to learn more about him from Fangs and Toni, but they wouldn't tell you what had caused his distancing and coldness towards everyone else. They told you it wasn't their story to tell, this only making you want to know him more.

"Hi, Sweet Pea, right?" You greeted after the urge to know more about the mysterious serpent grew stronger.

"You are?" He asked with an indifference in his voice, his gaze harsh as he looked down at you.

"Y/n. I thought you'd like to talk." You explain.

"And why's that?" He asks.

"Because I've noticed your not-so-discreet staring."

He gives you a look you can't quite figure out as if he's judging the options in front of him before his stance seems to relax.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

Over the course of that summer you grew closer and closer to Sweet Pea, your light seeming to fill some of the cracks in his heart. The two of you spent much of your free time together, the closest he'd been to anyone since her. He felt not just happier with you, but lighter as if a weight he'd been carrying around had been lifted off of him. He still couldn't bring himself to admit to the butterflies that flew through his stomach when he saw you, fearing if he did he'd make mistakes again and something would go wrong as it always seemed to.

"Hey Sweets?" You say. The two of you sit at the Quarry where the sun that is split by the branches dots your skin and the gentle water below.

"Yeah?" He wasn't quite paying attention, more of his focus on trying to skip rocks as they sink time after time.

"Have you ever thought of us being more than friends?"

He goes quiet and the rocks stop gliding across the surface of the Quarry, the only noise being that of moving leaves. You turn to look at him and find him seemingly lost in his own world, his eyes looking somewhere further than you could travel.

"Pea?" You ask, reaching out and placing your hand on his arm. He jumps up to his feet, something raw in his eyes as he seemed to remember where he was.

"I-I can't. Sorry."

Before you could say anything else he walked, almost ran away from you and your question. You didn't understand what had caused this bizarre reaction, trying to figure out which signs you read wrong and where. You thought he'd felt the same about you, the way he went out of his way to be near you or make plans with you.

"I just don't get it Toni," You sigh, sitting at the mostly empty bar with your pink-haired friend, "It just seems like everything was lined up but then he just left. He said he can't. What does that mean?"

"That sounds like something you should ask him." She says, raising her brow, "There's something holding him back from being in a relationship with anyone. He was hurt."

"This major event that you all keep talking about but won't tell me? You want me to ask him about that after I already screwed up?" You ask.

"Y/n, he'll tell you if he wants you to know." Toni explains. "You should go talk to him if you're really that set on knowing."

"I love you, but you're really frustrating sometimes." You sigh before walking out of the bar and heading towards Sunnyside Trailer park.

I know it's hard to replace

But the feelings that you had for me, will one day be erased

And you will learn to move on

Like footprints in the snow

Are lost when the winter's gone

"Pea?" You call out as you open the door to his trailer. You find him sitting on his couch with his head in his hands. He looked up and you could see tear tracks staining his cheeks, his eyes red and rubbed raw.

You sit down next to him and cautiously put your hand on his arm again, his body stiffening.

"You'll move on." He whispers. "You'll forget about ever having feelings for me at all. It'll be like a momentary emotion that fades. It always fades."

"What happened?" You ask softly, wanting to know what caused this much pain that still lasted a year later, that made him believe people couldn't love him. After a few more moments of silence he finally revealed to you the story of the girl he'd loved and lost to someone else. He told you how it shattered his view of the world and how he realized no matter what he made mistakes that would kill any relationship he'd be in.

"You are not unlovable, Sweets." You say, taking his hand in yours. "That wasn't your fault. She made the mistake of giving up the most amazing man anyone could have."

Oh you must let go of me

'Cause if you keep me you will lose it all

So darling don't please, please

Don't hold me 'cause I am falling back down

And I wouldn't wanna see you hit the ground

Well little darling you found my heart in the lost and found

But the scars they still follow me around

"You don't want to love me. Don't love me. If you do I'll just bring you down with me, and I don't want to see you fall. I'm broken and scarred. You're amazing and full of life and just everything I'm not." He says.

He speaks so harsh of himself you look to his face to find an expression that says he's joking but you find one of seriousness and self loathing. He truly believed he couldn't be loved because of this one girl who cheated on him.

"Listen to me," You say sternly, your hand coming up to hold his cheek and make him look at you. "I love you. I love every piece of you, even if some of those pieces might be broken or damaged. I know what she did was horrible and in no way did you deserve that, but none of it was your fault. She made those decisions and none of them were based off of what you did in your relationship."

"But I-"

"No buts. You are not unlovable and you are not just a person who only makes mistakes. You made me love you, Sweet Pea. I love all of this amazingly wonderful person in front of me."

It's quiet again, the two of you looking at each other and you trying to read his thoughts through his eyes. There's a million thoughts racing through his mind as he tries to believe what you said. Maybe it wasn't him, maybe he could be in a relationship with you.

Sweet Peas hand comes up and rests on top of yours on his cheek, his thumb running over the top of your hand. He moves to cup your cheek before pulling you closer and pressing a soft kiss to your lips that spread warmth through his chest and further strengthened his belief in your words. The two of you pull away, wrapped up in each other and lost in the still lasting feeling of the kiss.

"You can love me." He whispers.

"Oh yeah?" You reply, a smile dancing on your face.

"Yeah."

[jaex2]

Failing | Yoongi Imagine

I was listening to the song "I Wanna Know" by The Hunna and was instantly inspired to write this AU. It's such a bop, I encourage you all to listen!

Preview: You've been feeling neglected, and you're ready to give up. But, Yoongi doesn't give up easily.

Genre: Mafia/gang AU, some angst and fluff

Warnings: Nothing much, mentions of violence/drugs

****

You were fully aware things had not been going well the last 6 months. The gang had lost some valuable hideouts to rivals, a couple members defected, and some profit loss. When things aren't going the way Yoongi wanted them to, everyone around him paid the price. You couldn't remember how many people you've watched him verbally degrade and physically slap around.

You were lucky enough to have the prestigious position of being his girl, so he didn't do anything that drastic to you. It was more like...emotional warfare. He came to bed late, left early, and probably had only spoken two or three sentences to you recently. And they weren't exactly warm and fuzzy.

You didn't require much affection. You knew getting into this lifestyle you weren't going to get a boyfriend who brought you home roses and took you to nice restaurants. Those things didn't matter to you anyway. The only thing that did was him.

It was Friday evening at about 10pm when there was a light knock on your door.

"Come in?" You said hesitantly, confused who would be knocking on the door.

"Hey." Hoseok's voice rang out as he slid the door open.

"Oh, hey." You half smiled; it was really the best you had to give anyone these days.

"I hadn't seen you in a few days, I got nervous." He admitted sheepishly, standing in the door way.

"Yeah, I haven't wanted to be around anyone. Is Yoongi around?" You asked cautiously, though you knew the answer.

"He left around 7pm, saying he had to take care of something. Just took a couple guys and one of the cars." Hoseok shrugged, looking as defeated as you felt. He sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you.

"Don't take it personally. I haven't seen him for more than five minutes in the 6 months." You replied.

"Wow, really?" Hoseok looked shocked. "I always figured you were his weak spot."

"I used to be, but I don't know whats happening. He doesn't speak to me, hell he doesn't even look at me if he sees me around the compound." You spat, clearly feeling the emotions you'd been shoving down rising up.

"You've never called it a compound before." Hoseok pointed out. Fine, technically it was a mansion. But it was the main base for the gang, as well as where you resided with Yoongi.

"I can't call it home. He's what makes it home. And he's not really here." You said. "I can't take it anymore."

If you were a crier you'd probably be crying, but this life had hardened you.

"I think I'm going to leave." You finally said.

"That's crazy, Y/N." Hoseok retorted, practically choking on his saliva.

"Is it? Would he even notice?" You replied, looking at him.

"Of course he would. And how would you even get out with all the guards? And where would you go?" Hoseok looked slightly panicked.

"Pretend you didn't talk to me tonight. You can't be liable for knowing information about me if I'm successful." You stated, standing up. "Just go."

Hoseok stood up with you, and stared at you hard for a few moments. "Don't do this to him."

"He's fine." You crossed your arms tightly.

"We both know he wouldn't be...It's just a phase." He tried to defend his best friend and boss.

"6 months isn't a phase! I was patient. The first few months, I figured he'd snap out of it. But it's been half a year. How much of my life am I supposed to spend being ignored by the man I love?" You asked softly, avoiding Hoseok's gaze.

Without another word, he nodded slightly and left your room. He couldn't bare the idea of saying goodbye and he was hoping you would calm down and change your mind.

You felt a moment of bravery after finally getting your feelings off your chest. You grabbed a bag out of the closet and starting shoving clothes into it. You couldn't think clearly on what you needed. You looked around the room frantically, trying to figure out what to take. Your head was so foggy with sadness and fear that you couldn't collect yourself enough to form a plan.

The door crashing open caused you to jump and drop the bag, spinning to face the bedroom door.

"Y/N." Yoongi said flatly, looking down at the bag.

You swallowed hard and couldn't find words to spit out. What were you going to say? You were caught red handed.

His eyes never left the bag.

"What are you doing?" He asked, low and stern. Still not meeting your eyes.

You started to stutter out an answer but he cut you off.

"You...were going to leave me?" His eyes snapped up to meet yours. He tilted his head to the side, and waited for an answer, no emotions on his face.

"Yes." You answered, regaining your composure. You straightened your shoulders and stared him down confidently. Now wasn't the time to come off weak.

To your surprise, he chuckled lightly. You watched him carefully.

He grabbed the picture frame off the table next to the door and threw it, the sound of the glass shattering made you jump.

"Yoongi..." You warned, trailing off.

"It's been almost three years, and you're going to leave over a rough patch?!" He shouted, and you were sure the whole compound could hear him.

"A rough patch!?" You yelled back, your fiery spirit matching his. "It's been 6 months! How long did you expect me to deal with this shit?"

"Deal with what?! You live comfortably. You don't have to work. You have more money then most people ever see in their life." He explained, exasperated, fists balled up at his sides.

"Well, I don't care about any of those things! All I wanted was you to love me!" You screamed at him.

He span around and punched the wall behind him. You heard a crack, presumably his knuckles, but he didn't falter. He leaned his forehead against the wall and punched it one more time. When he retracted it you could see the blood dripping down his fingers.

"All of this...because you think I don't love you?" He whispered. He turned around and there were tears in his eyes. You had never seen Yoongi cry. You don't think anyone had.

You swallowed all the mean things you had to spit out the moment you saw tears dripping down his cheeks.

"Why do you think I've been so absent? It's because I was failing, Y/N. I was failing you and everyone that relies on me. How could I face you when everything I promised could've been lost? I put my head down and went to work to preserve our future. I'm sorry that that was uncomfortable for you, even though I was the one risking my life day in and day out so some day I would be able to look you in the eye again!" He shouted, stepping towards you, grabbing your face with his hands. "Those were all things out of love for you, whether you're strong enough to acknowledge it or not." He growled, his face inches from yours.

You breathed out, locking eyes with him. "You could've included me! I would've been there for you." You exclaimed, wrapping your hands around his wrists and pulling them off your cheeks.

"I had to do a lot of dangerous things. You think I was going to put you in harms way just so you could feel needed?" He spat. "That's immature thinking. I did what I did to protect you. And if you hate me for that, that's fine. At least I know I kept you safe." He sighed in defeat, his tear stained face making your breath catch in your throat.

Everything about you wanted to be angry and stand your ground...

You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

"Do you know what I'd have to do if I ever lost you?" He asked, stepping towards you once more, but keeping his hands to himself.

You hesitated before speaking. "...tell me."

He reached for your hand and took it in both hands.

"I'd have to destroy everything that reminded me of you. I'd burn this place down." He looked up at you, the connection you two had always had making itself known with a gravitational pull you couldn't resist. You took your free hand and grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him to you, crashing your lips together. He immediately responded, grabbing your face and deepening the kiss. Every emotion you felt in the last half of a year poured into the kiss. It was rough, needy, passionate. He pulled away and inhaled.

"Yoongi. You need to either live life with me by your side, or spend the rest of your life wondering where I am. I'm not asking you to drag me into every fight and drug deal. But you made me strong. You toughened me up. So embrace it, and let me be with you." You explained, hoping your words didn't fall on deaf ears.

He stared deeply in your eyes, before exhaling slowly.

"Fine." He agreed stubbornly. "You don't get to leave, then." He huffed, crossing his arms. You giggled, you knew you are the only one who ever saw him with his guard down.

He reached out a hand to you, and you obliged, giving him your hand. As soon as he did, he pulled you towards him and wrapped one arm around your waist, and the other hand resting on the back of your head.

"How did you know I was packing?" You asked into his chest.

"Hoseok is my best friend, not yours." His chest rumbled with a chuckle.

"Damn it."