#I really tried to encapsulate everything I could from memory

[femmefaggot]

genuinely very very happy about maya still Do Not get me wrong. I simply wish... the world was better and less cruel. and that I was not complicit in that cruelty. and that honorspren in shadesmar werent such hypocrites.

[madaqueue]

Lost Cherry

pairing: yuta okkotsu x f!reader

themes/content: dark content. yandere/stalking. non-curse modern college au. language, smut. scent kink (?), alcohol consumption, drugging (no nsfw during), oral (f receiving), semi-public sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.8k

a/n: "i love this guy and whatever undiagnosed anxiety disorder he has" is my fav yuta quote i've ever heard and honestly...me too (and yeah this is based off the tom ford perfume what about it)

Yuta noticed everything about you. How could he not, when the essence of perfection, an angel reincarnate, was here before him?

He truly saw you, his dark eyes boring into your soul as he soaked in your every move, every reaction, every thought.

When you met him your freshman year of college you thought he was sweet, albeit a little strange, his intense gaze putting you slightly on edge for a reason you couldn’t quite pin down. But nevertheless he was always the perfect gentleman, holding every door for you, driving you to class when it rained, bringing you your favorite foods when you were sick. He did it without question, as though caring about you came second nature to him, like it was his one true state of being.

The two of you continued growing closer over the years, sleeping on each other���s couches when study nights ran long, going to concerts of a band you loved together, cooking your favorite foods. It was almost uncanny how similar you two were, sharing the same taste in everything, Yuta’s smile never faltering as you gawked at him in disbelief when he recognized the obscure reference you made or when he happened to guess your coffee order. “I guess it’s just fate,” he’d grin as you laughed in awe.

But it’s not fate, he thinks. Fate would never be so careless as to risk letting you slip from his grasp; no, it was him. Time and time again he outsmarted the universe, foiling its plans to separate you. He knows you because he sees you, understands you, in a way no one else ever will (he’ll make sure of that). It wasn’t hard, really - he was always naturally observant, calculated, patient. All he needed to get close to you was a few chance meetings, accidental run-ins, where he could show you just how much he cares about you. And you, being as sweet and kind as you are, fell right into his open arms.

He loves you because he sees you.

He sees the way your lips curl into a smile as you sip your drink from across a crowded bar, a slight frown forming across your features as some pathetic excuse for a man tries to speak to you, making an idiotic joke you politely laugh at; he sees how you fidget with your hands, pulling at the chipping nail polish during class, a tell-tale sign you weren’t understanding the material (and an opportunity for him to explain it to you later while you studied); he sees the way you move when you’re alone, when you think no one’s watching, when you finally let your guard down and ease into the truest form of yourself.

It’s almost like you wanted him to see you, presenting yourself to him like a book with the pages peeled open and the cover ripped off, making it impossible for him to look away. It was only natural for his eyes to wander the words of your soul, mastering the lines and sentences of what makes you you.

So it’s no surprise when he gifts you a perfume that perfectly encapsulates your energy, your essence. After months of searching he finally found one that met his standards, living up to his mental representation of who you are. He knows you’ll love it, and you do - you begin wearing it everyday, the sweet scent of your skin filling his senses whenever you step into a room. The warm, amber notes become equivalent to you, a signal of your presence, a smile gracing his lips every time it wafts by him.

The one thing he doesn’t tell you is that he bought a second bottle, just for him, his best kept secret, the cherished liquid that evokes vivid memories of your laugh, your eyes, your skin, your voice, your everything when he smells it.

It’s harmless, really, when he sprays it on his pillow to help him fall asleep, calmness immediately washing over him as he pictures you there, holding him. He could practically feel the warmth of your body in his empty room, imagining how your soft hands would trace his body.

And when he wakes up, the scent of you still lingering, a smile graces his face as he nuzzles into the cool pillow.

It’s not his fault when he grows dependent on it, spraying the liquid into the air as he screws his eyes shut, picturing you. The way you’d kiss him, how smooth your skin would be, how soft your lips are, how your hands would feel wrapped around his cock, how warm and tight your cunt would feel around him. As he slides his fist around his length, he can’t help but moan your name, the idea of you filling his mind.

You.

One word, all-consuming. You occupy his thoughts, cloud his mind in bliss, every waking second. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

So when he sees you at a house party, wrapping your arms around his neck as you go in for a hug, why the fuck do you smell different?

“New perfume?” he asks, trying to hide how visibly taken aback he is as he pulls away from you.

Nodding, you take a sip of the drink in your hand. “Mhm,” you hum over the music. “Friend got it f’me. Y’like it?” you slur slightly, swaying in his grasp.

“I-it’s nice,” he stutters, his fingers beginning to dig into your arms.

How could you?

Glancing down, he notices the nearly empty cup you cling to, mind racing as he formulates a plan. “Want me to get you another drink?” he asks, steadying his thoughts and tilting his head innocently, hiding the rage he feels behind his dark irises.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, lip gloss glowing under the LEDs, as your eyes lazily make their way up to his. Reaching out a hand you ruffle his hair, placing a sticky kiss to his cheek. “You’re s’sweet Yuta,” you murmur against his skin, holding your glass out for him to take.

This would be sweet, if it wasn’t for the vile, traitorous perfume that suddenly overwhelms his senses. It’s too floral, too dry, too not you.

“Be right back,” he purrs, placing a kiss to the top of your head before stepping away, afraid that if he stayed any longer he would do something he regrets.

Besides, he can’t pass up this opportunity: he gets to show you he can take care of you, how much he adores you, and get rid of the chance that anyone thinks they know you like he does.

When he returns, you don’t even notice the weird taste in your drink; why would you? You trust him, like you should. When your body starts to feel too heavy, legs struggling to keep you up, you lean on him, like you should. When your head begins pounding and you just want to lay down, you let him take you home, like you should.

In the comfort of your apartment, one all too familiar to him, he helps you change into pajamas before bundling you up under the blankets of your bed. You look so sweet, so innocent, as your head rests against the pillow, eyelashes fluttering as you ease into sleep.

Your mind is cloudy as you rest, body still pulsing with each beat of your heart, suddenly sensing his weight shifting from where he sits at the end of your bed. “Yuta?” you whisper weakly.

He could melt just hearing you call his name, your voice like honey. “Yes?” he responds, turning his head over his shoulder to face you.

“Stay,” you murmur, reaching a hand out to him.

God, he could die happy right here. He could afford a few hours of sleeping next to you, right? It’s not like there’s any urgency now, he’s already lined everything up, now he just has to knock it down.

“Okay,” he breathes, getting under the covers next to you.

The warmth of your body envelops him as you lazily wrap your arms around his torso, uncoordinated motions to keep him, your one source of stability, close to you. Your thoughts are fuzzy as you fade into Yuta’s softness, letting him overtake your mind. Shifting his weight he leans into you, head resting on yours as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you against him, the scent of your shampoo lingering on your hair, a familiar one, a kind one.

He waits until your breathing slows, soft snores leaving your throat as you rest peacefully against him. Gingerly untangling his body from yours he rises, making his way to your bathroom. Sitting atop your counter is the target of his task: the sacrilegious bottle of perfume. It takes so little for him to knock it off the ledge, glass shattering as it hits the tile, the strong smell suddenly overwhelming the confined space, making his stomach turn as he pictures you in it. Never again.

He softly pads back to your bed, careful not to wake you as he rejoins your shared warmth under the comforter. Overwhelmingly pleased, his heart races as a contented grin spreads across his face.

When you question him about it the next morning, it’s easy to brush off.

“Yuta?” you question sleepily after you return from the bathroom, “Do you know what happened to my perfume?”

Normally the frown across your face would haunt him, tugging at his heartstrings to see you unhappy, but now it takes everything in him to not show his excitement. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “maybe you knocked it over last night?”

“Mmm, probably,” you hum, settling back in next to him as your head rests on his chest, hoping you don’t notice how his heart races at the contact, your mind still too foggy to realize you never even told him that the bottle broke. “Thanks for taking care of me last night. Sorry I got so drunk, I don’t know what happened.”

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” he reassures, his arms reaching around you, “I like taking care of you.”

“Thanks, Yu,” you murmur, nuzzling your head further into the softness of his t-shirt.

It’s so easy, he thinks. Everything with you is just that, easy: it’s easy to make you trust him, easy to look after you, easy to love you.

So when he sees you a few days later, eating lunch outside between classes, it’s easy for him to go over and sit next to you, the grass tickling his shins as he crosses his legs.

“Hi, Yuta,” you smile, your cheeks slightly rosy in the sun as you lean your head onto his shoulder.

Before he can respond, a familiar scent hits his nose, the one that is so, undeniably, you. “You smell good,” he blurts out, unable to contain his excitement.

A giggle escapes your lips at the sudden compliment, the sound soft and sweet. “Thanks,” you laugh, “it’s the perfume you got me, so I’m glad you still like it.”

“O-of course I do,” he stammers, “I picked it because it’s perfect for you.”

Looking up at him, you don’t miss the slight redness covering his face as his adoration for you begins to slip through the cracks of his resolve. All you can do is continue giggling, the most angelic sound in the world echoing in his mind, as he melts before you. “You’re too sweet, y’know that?” you ask.

Popping one of the cherries you brought for lunch into your mouth, a comfortable silence falls between you as Yuta continues staring at you in awe - how could you be so perfect? He has to stop himself from nearly drooling as he watches your tongue work the pit from the flesh of the fruit, the way your lips move absolutely tantalizing. He has to have you.

Sensing his gaze, you turn to face him. “Want one?” you ask politely, holding the bag out to him.

As you shift the richness of your perfume again wafts towards him in the breeze, tearing down any remaining walls of shame or embarrassment left encasing his feelings for you. Suddenly he leans forward, one hand going to the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours.

The kiss is messy, needy, as his tongue slides into your mouth. His body presses against yours, desperate for more of you, as you fall into the grass. His hands are everywhere, finally able to feel the one thing he’s been thinking about for years, as they roam your body.

Pulling away slightly, you breathlessly try to get his attention with a call of his name, but he doesn’t stop, only shifting his weight to kiss down your neck. Everything about you overwhelms his senses as he sucks against your skin, leaving a trail of bruises behind. His.

Your back arches off the ground as he moves lower, lips trailing kisses down your abdomen over your clothes as his palms grasp at your tits, your stomach, your ass, any part of you he can find, his touch hot. When he begins undoing the button to your shorts, a wave of panic overtakes you as you process what he wants.

“Y-Yuta,” you stutter, your hand reaching down to tilt his chin up, forcing him to face you. As he does, your face flushes at just how feral he looks, his pupils blown wide and lips parted as he pants expectantly.

“Please,” he whispers, “need to taste you,” his eyes moving back between your legs as he continues removing your shorts.

“B-but-” you begin, worried about the chance of being seen if someone were to walk past the small field you sat in, your gaze moving across the open space.

“There’s no one here,” he explains without looking up, sensing your nervousness. “I’ll make you feel s’good, I promise.”

Glancing around, you confirm the absence of any other students or professors, biting your lower lip nervously as you acquiesce.

Frankly, Yuta didn’t care if there was anyone around - once he started, he couldn’t stop.

He tugs your pants off, pausing only momentarily to admire the wet spot in your panties before pulling the flimsy material out of the way, his mouth attaching to your cunt. He moans as his tongue meets your folds, so much better than he could’ve imagined. The sound vibrating against your skin elicits a sharp gasp from you, your hands instinctively reaching down to his hair.

“Yuta,” you whine as his tongue glides up you.

God, he loves the way you say his name; he needs to hear it again.

His palms trace down your body to hold onto your thighs tightly, nearly leaving more bruises against your skin as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. Swirling around your clit he whines as your hips move up, desperate for more friction, his heart swelling at the idea that you need him just as badly as he needs you.

After years of loving you he knows just what to do, exactly how to move to make you feel good, his compendium of your body finally paying off. Slipping his tongue into you, another whimper escapes his throat as you moan his name. Bringing one hand down he roughly circles your clit with his thumb, using the exact pattern he’s seen you do more times than he could count, one he knows is guaranteed to bring you closer and closer and closer.

As your grip on his hair tightens, he knows it’s working.

His mind is flooded with you, your smell, your taste, your sounds, your everything. He loves it, he wants to crawl inside you and live in your heart forever, just like you’ve done with his. He wants to make a home in the corner of your mind, getting to see the most private and intimate thoughts you have that not even he could be privy to.

The only thing tethering him to reality is your soft voice calling his name, the most soothing rhythm in the world as your body begins to shake, heat building as you approach your release.

“Yuta,” you whimper, “m’close.”

Warmth spreads across his body, knowing he’s the one making you feel good, taking care of you, loving you, like nobody else ever could. His motions pick up, messily grinding his tongue against your cunt as you pull him into you. Everywhere he presses feels like flames, heat pricking over every inch of your body.

His name leaves your lips like a prayer as you come undone on his tongue, a series of whines reverberating against you from Yuta as he continues messily lapping you up, desperate for anything more you’re willing to give him.

When he finally pulls his face away from between your legs he’s immediately back on top of you, his lips pressing into yours with the same feral desire. His breath is hot against yours as you taste yourself on him, the entire thing overwhelming your mind as your body comes down from its high.

Pausing for only a moment, his eyes flutter open as he looks down at you, a gentle sheen of sweat across your features, grass surrounding your hair, cheeks a soft pink. Everything about you so, absolutely, undeniably perfect.

“Mine,” he whispers to himself, so quietly you nearly don’t catch it, before his lips are on yours again.

[retromotherfuckers]

Violet Eyes, Red

Pairing:

rhysand x reader (pretty sure it's gender neutral - there might be a "she" i missed while referring to you from the original draft bc second person pov is not how i write)

Summary:

you and your mate reunite after feyre defeats amarantha and this is the fallout of what the bitch did to him.

Warnings:

aftermath of SA - i can't really tell if it's graphic which tells me it is, loose description of a panic attack, PTSD, please let me know if I missed anything. guys, please, if these topics are triggering for you, don't read this fic. i am not responsible for your media consumption, but i also don't want to throw you headfirst into your trauma.

Word Count:

2,140

A/N:

literally broke my own damn heart with this one. rhys' trauma is so ignored and that needed to be rectified. rhys might be my second favorite bat boy, but he's still a lil baby who needs to be protected

The human girl had beaten her - the woman of his nightmares - once and for all. At the first moment he could, Rhysand winnowed. After fifty years, he knew there was only one place he could go. After all, it was the last Sunday of the month, and that Sunday was the day he and his mate reserved just for themselves. The High Lord and Lady would not conduct any business on that day.

You'd spend most of your day on the balcony. You'd serenade him with the piano. You'd fly around Velaris - creating patterns in the air. You'd cradle each other in your arms. He'd sketch out a new drawing - trying and failing, in his opinion, to encapsulate your true beauty.

One day, he broke that promise, that vow you had made, and went to what he thought was a simple trade meeting. That morning was the last day he saw you, and he still couldn't live with himself.

Those memories alone kept him breathing at times. When Amarantha stole his bed, his body, his hope.

Then the human girl showed up, and he tried to help her. Wanted to give her what she needed to beat the beast he didn't think he'd ever escape. But he had lost the will to pray for it. To the cauldron, to the Mother Above. Despite his pessimism, she persevered. The girl had won. And then he was free.

He was on the balcony before he could even think about it. After a quick glance around, he realized it was empty. At first, he felt a pulse of disappointment, but with the realization of how long it'd been, he breathed deeply. How could he expect you to keep up the tradition? Fifty years of solitude on those Sundays would have made him mad if your roles were reversed.

At the thought, he allowed himself to feel the mating bond. It had gone cold the moment he winnowed away all those years ago, but now it was as beautiful as he remembered. The pull of another person at the end of a tether, forever binding them in the purest forms of fate.

But he heard your thoughts, and he almost broke down in sobs at the sound of your voice in his head. Please come home, my love. I don't know how to do this anymore. Please. The last word, you were begging. Your inner voice, the one he had to get used to living without, was broken. Pleading for him to return - despite everything you'd probably heard.

And with that, he took action, winnowing to every room in the house so he would find you as soon as possible. He knew you were close; your scent wasn't stale. It was fresh, clinging to every piece of furniture you owned together.

It was the last room he checked, his office, where he found you. You sat in his desk chair; the leather more worn than he remembered. But the sight of you stopped him from rushing to you. Nursing a bottle of wine, you slouched on your elbows, hands in your hair, as more thoughts streamed through the bond.

I'm losing myself, Rhys. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I can't let myself believe you won't come back because that- that will ruin me. What she's doing to you, what she's making you do. I don't even know a fraction of it, but I can't stop it. I- I can't protect you. And I hate myself for it. 

He was watching you as you sent the words down the bond, the bond that had been desolate for half a century. You run your hands down your face, not looking up from your wine, the third of many you planned to drown in.

Just get through it. Please just- just survive. Do what you have to do to come home. I'll be here. I love you. My mate.

You'd only allowed yourself to talk to him once a month. Initially, you would try to send him something every day. Thoughts, images, songs you'd learned, prayers for him. You never heard anything back, and it slowly started eating away at you. It shattered your hope every time you didn't get a response.

You'd heard the rumors, Amarantha's whore, he'd been called. Every time you heard it, it ate away at you more and more. As if he would choose that - choose to warm the bed of another when you were waiting for him at home. You knew him better than that, and you winced at the thought. He wouldn't choose it, but would she force him? Was she that much of a monster? 

You had to shake that thought away for the thousandth time that night, downing the rest of the glass. As you reach for the bottle, nearly empty at that point, a hand wraps around your wrist. The touch is gentle but firm - stopping you from drinking more, but not rough enough to hurt. Instead of startling at it, the wine slows your instincts. You can only stare. The tattoos on the dorsal side interweave into vines under the sleeve. Vines you know, vines that you've held, vines that have and will continue to have free rein of your body.

Faster than you thought you were capable of, your eyes flew to its owner's eyes. Violet. The most ravishing violet. Violet you'd feared you were forgetting.

With a new urgency, you pulled yourself to your feet, your hands flying up to his face without thinking. One on his cheek, the other on his neck, pushing, pulling, grabbing, unsure if it was your mind playing tricks on you.

In your desperate touch, you missed the way he flinched.

His hands. Mother Above, his beautiful hands were on your neck too, placed at the sides. When your mind would play you for a fool, it would never let you touch him, let alone allow him to reach you. But there he was, and you could feel him. You tugged at the bond, finally noticing it was warm and delicate and sweet and serene and everything you wished you knew how to describe. 

He breathed your name, barely a whisper. "I'm home, my darling. I'm home."

"You're here." The words barely escaped you, and you couldn't stop the tears. He didn't hesitate a moment, pulling you in for a frustratingly rare and fierce embrace. You clung to each other for dear life, tighter and tighter and tighter, like he'd disappear if you let him go. Frankly, you weren't convinced he wouldn't. "You're really here."

You stood like that for a while, holding each other, when he ultimately pulled away first. "Rh-Rhys, don't go-"

"I'm not," he promised, his voice raw, kissing your forehead. He took in every inch of your face. "I just wanted to look at you. My mate."

Since Rhys had been freed by the human girl, nothing had been normal. Not that you expected it to be, but you didn't anticipate just how awful a recovery for him would be. He couldn't share your bed, and you didn't mean that in a sexual manner. He couldn't sleep with anyone else in his room - if he had even been sleeping at all. He could barely stand to be touched. You knew he wanted to be able to let you, but every time you seemed to blink, he would flinch.

You had suspicions about what went on under the mountain, but you had no idea it would be so evil.

He stood before a cabinet, staring blankly into it, lost in a memory - a memory he'd been refusing to share. You understood why, but something in you told you that you needed to see. Not just for curiosity's sake but to know how to help him. Even if it was past your pay grade.

"Rhys," You called quietly for the second time. You didn't want to touch him, shock him back to reality. The fear of that setting him off more held you back. With a harsh and sudden breath, he fearfully glanced at you and around the room, forgetting where he was for a moment. "You're at home, Rhys. You came home."

"I'm sorry," He rasped, ignoring your words. His hands pulled at his hair, and you were nervous he'd start ripping it out. He backed away from you, so far away he was caught by the wall. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Your own formed at the sight of his tears, but you couldn't conjure up what he'd have to apologize for. "It's okay, honey, you're safe. It's okay."

"I didn't- I didn't want it. I swear on my life, I didn't want to."

You shook your head, not understanding. But you knew asking what he was apologizing for was the wrong thing to do. You could see it, the shame, the regret, the blame. "I know you didn't."

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in his hands, and sank to the floor. He kept murmuring apologies, pleading for your forgiveness. "I betrayed you, you have to- you have to leave me."

His words shocked you, and now you were the one that flinched. "Rhysand, look at me." He visibly shrunk at the command, pulling his hands away from his face. "As far as I'm concerned, anything that happened...there...is the furthest thing from your fault. I know there are things you can't tell me, and that's okay. I'll be here when you're ready-"

"I can't!" He bellowed. "You'll never forgive-"

"Show me the memory." You demanded, your voice quiet but assertive. But you wouldn't push too hard if he was adamant about keeping you out. You knew. You knew. Based on the way he had been acting, what had happened. But you also knew he needed to show you. So someone, fucking someone, would tell him it was out of his control. He couldn't govern everything, even if he was the High Lord of the Night Court. The words hurt as they left your lips. "Because I can promise you that I will."

You weren't a daemati, but you could see him battling with himself. Debating, if showing you what really happened, would bury him deeper under the surface or pull him back up for air.

Eventually, he released a rare sob and a barely audible "Okay."

He showed you the first time, how he just laid there like a statue as her hands took everything for herself. Then, the fifth time, when she started demanding he respond, pretend he wanted it. Then, the eleventh time, when his body started reacting. Then, by the next time, he had stopped keeping count.

He showed you, whether he meant to or not, how he prayed for it to end, prayed for someone to rescue him.

How he had been praying for you.

With the confirmation of your theory, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying and failing to hold back the tears. The angry tears, wishing you could've been the one to rip her throat out. Tears that enraged you because that was not Tamlin's kill. Furious tears because that wasn't even your kill. Devastating tears because your mate not only had to play a character for so long, but he had to endure being called her whore. Like he had any fucking say. 

Overwhelming tears because your mate was in pain and there was shit all you could do about it.

"Can I touch you?" The question shocks him, but he nods without thinking, confused at the request. You slowly lift your hands to his cheeks, brushing away his tears with your thumbs. "There is nothing for me to forgive you for. I know you didn't want to do any of it."

"But I-"

"Bodies respond to stimulation whether it's wanted or not. It's how we work." You explained slowly and carefully, keeping direct eye contact. "You forget, sweetheart. I can hear your thoughts when you show me a memory."

"I've-" His voice caught, putting his hands on your wrists, rubbing them up and down your arms until they got hot. "I've been so scared. That it's still happening. That all of this is going to go away, that she's not really gone, that I'm not really here, and this is just another tactic-"

You shake your head, finally pulling yourself together to say what you've wanted to say for weeks. "I swear on my life that I will never let anyone hurt you like that again. I will spend eternity protecting you from her and anyone like her. And if you forget that this is real, just ask me. I'll tell you."

His eyes darted between yours, furiously blinking. Violet eyes, red. Pleading craving begging praying.

"Is it?"

[eunseoksimp]

Wish you Roses ; Lee Sohee

Pairings: Ex boyfriend !Lee Sohee x Ex Girlfriend !Fem Reader

Genre: fluff

Description: in a tranquil garden filled with blooming roses, two former lovers, you and sohee, sit together for the first time since the peaceful breakup. surrounded by the fragrant air and golden light, there’s no bitterness, only a quiet understanding that love doesn’t always need to end with pain. instead, like the roses shedding their petals, you release each other with grace, celebrating what was while embracing what will be.

Warnings: none

i tried to encapsulate the beautiful meaning that comes from the song “i wish you roses” by kali uchis, please listen to it while reading if you can.

. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ. ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

the garden feels like a sanctuary today, an expanse of vibrant life with no clear beginning or end. 

the roses are in full bloom, their rich, velvety petals catching the sunlight and glowing with the most delicate shades of blush, crimson, and coral. they look like something out of a dream, like they were painted onto the earth just for this moment. 

every inhalation brings their scent into your lungs, a mix of sweet and earthy, tinged with the warmth of the sun, and it feels like inhaling the past – a thousand moments tied to the very air around you. every shared laugh, every quiet touch, it’s all here, wrapped in the breeze that moves lazily through the leaves, carrying with it the stories of what you and sohee once were.

there's something timeless about being in this garden with him, like the roses could always have been here, as eternal as the love you once shared. not in the way that love often gets written about, as something desperate to be held onto, but in the way that lingers even after you’ve let go. the memory of it sits, soft and peaceful, like a song that still hums long after the music has stopped playing.

you glance over at sohee, seated across from you on the blanket you both spread out earlier. he’s leaning back on his hands, his head tilted slightly toward the sun, eyes closed in that familiar expression of calm that you’ve always known him for. 

the golden light spills over his skin, giving him an ethereal glow. the way his dark hair curls at the edges in the humidity, the slight upturn of his lips, the relaxation in his body—it's all so effortlessly him. 

he doesn’t seem weighed down by anything, least of all by the fact that this is your first time seeing each other since the breakup. if anything, there’s a sense of relief between you, like the unspoken understanding that there’s no tension to wade through, no regrets to gnaw at.

he’s quiet, as he often is, but it’s not the heavy kind of silence. it’s light, like the breeze that teases the edges of your hair, or the way the leaves rustle gently, carrying whispers of something sacred, something that has been and is no longer.

“you know,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence, “i kind of miss hearing you hum when you make tea. it was always the same tune, but it’s been stuck in my head for weeks now.”

his voice is light, teasing, but the affection beneath it is unmistakable. it brings a small laugh bubbling up from your chest. you hadn’t realized you did that, but now that he mentions it, the memory of those mornings together – the soft clink of ceramic mugs, the warmth of tea steaming between your hands, and your absentminded humming – comes back with clarity. those small rituals, the kind that make up the fabric of love.

you turn your head to look at him, really look at him. the boy who used to be everything. there’s still something about him, something that makes your chest feel warm, but it’s different now. the love has shifted, settled into something calmer, something that doesn’t need to hold on so tightly. the kind of love that can let go without fear, without regret.

“you could’ve recorded it,” you joke back, “could’ve bottled it up and played it whenever you missed me.”

 you catch his eye and there’s a sparkle there, a quiet understanding that there’s no need for heaviness in moments like these. there’s too much warmth still between you for that.

he grins, a familiar lopsided grin that you used to tease him about. “nah, didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing i missed you.”

it’s a joke, and yet it’s not. because you both know that missing each other is natural. even though you’re sitting here, no longer bound by romantic promises, there’s still a missing. a missing of the day-to-day, of the comfort that comes with knowing someone’s presence so intimately. and yet, the missing doesn’t sting. it simply is.

you lean back on your hands, letting the soft blades of grass tickle your palms. the roses surrounding you sway gently in the breeze, their petals fluttering like soft wings. the air smells thick with life, the kind of smell that makes you feel like you’re part of something larger, something endlessly growing and changing. and just like the roses, you and sohee are part of that cycle, once blooming in the height of love, now letting go of the petals that no longer need to be held.

"i guess we could talk about the breakup now," you say, half-smiling, half-serious. "since we’re being all nostalgic and everything.”

sohee tilts his head, raising an eyebrow.

"yeah? what’s there to talk about? it was a masterpiece in clean breaks. no drama, no tears. just two geniuses who decided they wanted different things."

you laugh at his casual summation, but there’s truth in it. you hadn’t fought, hadn’t yelled. you both simply realized that what you once wanted wasn’t what either of you needed anymore, and that was okay. in fact, it had been more than okay. there had been a mutual respect in knowing when to let go.

“right, two geniuses,” you play along, nudging him lightly with your foot. “i mean, who else can break up and still have picnics in rose gardens like nothing’s changed?”

sohee chuckles, rubbing his hand over his face as though trying to hide the fondness creeping into his expression. 

“not nothing,” he says, his voice softer now. “a lot’s changed. but i don’t think it’s bad. it’s just… different.”

he looks out over the roses, his gaze following the soft sway of the flowers, the way they tilt under the breeze, letting their petals catch the light. 

“i mean, you’re still you, and i’m still me. we’re just not us anymore.”

the words hang in the air between you, not heavy, but not insignificant either. they’re true. you aren’t the same ‘us’ anymore, but that doesn’t make what you were any less meaningful. in fact, it almost makes it more meaningful, knowing that you can sit here, in the quiet, and recognize what you had without clinging to it.

“i think we’re still ‘us,’” you say thoughtfully, looking at him. “just not the kind of ‘us’ that people expect. we’re more like… like friends who have too many inside jokes and who know each other too well to be strangers.”

sohee’s smile softens at that, his gaze meeting yours again. “yeah,” he says. “i like that. we’re the kind of ‘us’ who know how to let go and still be good.”

you feel a warmth in your chest at his words, not the burning heat of romantic love, but something softer, gentler. it’s the kind of love that’s quieter now, not something that demands or needs, but something that simply exists, like the roses. beautiful, even in their inevitable wilting.

the sun is shifting lower in the sky now, casting a warm, golden light across the garden. it feels like the earth itself is exhaling, settling into a soft glow, and you can feel that same sense of ease between you and sohee. there’s no rush, no urgency to move forward or hold onto the past. the moment stretches, and it’s enough.

sohee glances over at you, his eyes tracing the path of the sun as it dips closer to the horizon. 

“do you think it’ll always be like this?” he asks quietly. “you know, us sitting here, feeling this… this kind of peace?”

you consider the question, feeling the weight of it settle over you. it’s not an easy one to answer because life isn’t static. things change. people change. but that doesn’t mean the peace you feel now has to slip away.

“i don’t know,” you say honestly. “but i think it’ll be enough to remember that we had this. that we could sit here, after everything, and feel… okay. more than okay, really.”

sohee nods, his expression thoughtful. “yeah, i guess that’s all we can ask for, right? to end things with love, instead of pain.”

you feel a sudden rush of gratitude for him, for this moment, for the way you’ve been able to navigate this breakup with grace instead of anger. it feels like a rare gift, something precious and delicate, like the roses that surround you.

“i wish we’d been taught that more, you know?” you say, your voice soft. “that love doesn’t have to end in a storm. it can just… fade like this. peacefully.”

he smiles at that, a wistful kind of smile, and you can see the agreement in his eyes. 

“yeah. people always act like breaking up has to mean hating each other or falling apart. but this,” he gestures between the two of you, “this is so much better.”

and it is. it’s better because you haven’t lost each other in the process. you’ve simply transformed, like the way roses go from tight buds to full blooms and eventually, into something else entirely. the beauty is in the cycle, in knowing that each stage has its own meaning, its own purpose.

there’s a softness in his eyes, his fingers still twirling that petal. it’s the color of blush, delicate and almost translucent in the sun. it reminds you of the early days, when everything between you was new and untouched, when every glance felt like a spark, every touch an electric current. those moments come back now, but not with the sharpness they once had. now they’re like the roses surrounding you, in full bloom but knowing they will wither soon, and that’s okay.

“i’m glad we can do this,” sohee says, gesturing around at the garden, at the two of you sitting there together, even after all that’s passed. “be here, like this. it doesn’t feel… sad.”

it’s true. there’s no sadness hanging in the air, no bitterness or anger clinging to the words you speak. it’s peaceful, like the way flowers drop their petals when it’s time. they don’t cling to them, they just let them fall, knowing it’s part of the cycle. a natural end, but an end filled with grace.

“we were good for each other,” you say, and you mean it. “maybe not forever, but for a time. and that’s enough.”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. gratitude, maybe, or understanding. the kind of understanding that only comes when you’ve walked the same path together and reached the same conclusion. neither of you were meant to last in each other’s arms forever, but that doesn’t make what you had any less beautiful.

sohee stands then, stretching his arms above his head, the golden light spilling over him like a halo. he looks down at you with a grin, that easy, familiar grin that you once fell in love with. “come on, we should probably go before the mosquitoes start eating us alive.”

you laugh, pushing yourself up off the ground and dusting off your clothes. “yeah, yeah. lead the way, genius.”

he starts walking ahead, but pauses after a few steps, turning back to look at you. “hey,” he says, his tone softer now. 

“i just want you to know… i’m really glad we’re okay. really glad we did this right.”

you smile, feeling that warmth in your chest again, that soft glow of something beautiful coming to an end without breaking. 

“me too, sohee. me too.”

and with that, you both walk out of the garden, leaving behind the roses, the petals gently falling to the earth, carrying with them the memories of something that was once vibrant and full. you know that you’ll carry those memories with you, too, like the scent of roses lingering on the wind, long after the flowers themselves are gone.

there’s a strange beauty in endings, you realize. they’re not always sad, not always filled with the sharp edges of loss. sometimes, they’re gentle, like the way a rose lets go of its petals, trusting the wind to carry them where they’re meant to go.

it’s not the end of everything, just the end of this chapter, and that’s okay. you’ll carry the memories with you, the way the scent of roses clings to the air, long after the petals have fallen.

as the sky turns to dusk, you feel it again—that peace in letting go, that grace in releasing someone with love. and it’s more than enough.

[melancholysway]

ROTTMNT Rise!Leo x Reader: Camera Shy

He’s such a cutie omg

anonymous said: If it’s not asking much, but could you please do some Headcanons or a scenario with… honestly whichever version, I’m addicted to rottmnt lately but please do with whichever you think suits better, and whichever turtle you think it might suit this scenario better or idk me lols *tucks hair* -with a reader (x reader scenario, i Hope I’m making sense lmao- could be already in a relationship or crush stage) and reader seems rather off during movie night or game night, no one seems to notice I guess (besides crushing turtle) and that seems to make them even more reclusive. Gets bad to the point when someone tries to take a pic of them or someone asks for a picture off all of them together, they jump out and say they will take it, when crushing turtle asks them to be in the picture, reader says it’s alright or it doesn’t matter and take it anyway? From Not being in the picture (doesn’t like to take pics bc of how they look, they like the whole making memories concept but hate how they look in very picture, and today it’s been hard to deal with it) do you mind doing something more on a comforting scenario?

This is for one of my good online friends, i hope you like it! <3 ily queen omg

We all know rise!Leo is a camera whore

Like the man will really snatch the camera away & put it on himself he gives no type of fucks

Y’all can clown rise leo all you want, but he’s observant. He notices EVERYTHING. everyone around him, he knows

So he knows when there’s even a slight shift with you

He’s not an over analyzer, he just knows how to read the room well and feel the vibe

And if he doesn’t like said vibe prepare to hear his mf mouth

You have a crush on Leonardo. It happens fairly quick after meeting him and his brothers. The way you met them was…peculiar. Your friend April had lost Mayhem in her bathroom mirror, and as you came over unannounced to surprise her with takeout, you were greeted with four turtles coming through her mirror along with her…er…mystic cat. 

You think you’re living in a fantasy world at first

She doesn’t exist or these 4 life sized turtles

But when the one in blue with red scars speaks to you and says how he’s so good-looking that he left you speechless and caused you to faint, you come to the conclusion that it’s all real.

So it’s settled, you share the takeout with April and the turtles, and you get to meet Mayhem. It’s a win-win…-win. 3 wins!

As time goes on, you become comfortable around them, you gravitate toward Leonardo. He has an encapsulating personality that honestly, anybody could fall for. If you brush past the cocky comments and large ego, Leo’s perfect.

Crushing on Leo is no easy feat. He’s hyper yet lazy, unpredictable yet calculated, and his ego is the size of a fucking Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float

If you date Leo, he’ll always attempt to get you out of your comfort zone. It doesn’t matter how, he’ll do it.

Despite being close to Leonardo, you don’t tell him about your own personal insecurities. You avoid cameras and taking photos with friends, all of that. 

You’re able to keep that in for a long time. A while, actually. Leo has no idea, his brothers have no idea, nobody knows. 

Unbeknownst to you, Leonardo likes you, too. He however, decides to not say anything for the time being. 

He flirts with you, but subtly. Small compliments here and there, occasional touch, loves to be around you? Yeah, that kind of subtle. His flirting is so painfully obvious to April yet somehow brushes past you. He’s just being friendly, right? Maybe? Or (hopefully) you beat him to the punch and confess your potential feelings for him? That's the thing, he’s not sure if you feel the same way. Sure, his occasional flirtatious manner gets you blushing like mad, but that’s normal when someone compliments you.

Back to your personal conflict.

You keep so much in including emotions that Leo just can’t read you at times. He reads actions, not minds. He can’t tell that you feel insecure about yourself in photos until the sleepover. He sees it. He finds out. Thanks to being invited to a sleepover down in the Lair. He realizes it.

And oh, does he have a mouthful to tell you when he does.

“Okay, the annual Sewer Sleepover is ending in T-minus 30 minutes people!” Donnie says, checking his watch absentmindedly. Once the sleeping portion was done, it always ended with a big friends/bros breakfast in the morning. 

“Are we taking flics?”

Raph cocks a brow and Mikey snickers, “Flics?” Donnie asks, watching as Leo gets up from his spot on the couch and stretches. 

“I’m just…wow that felt good,” cracking his back for everyone to see causes April to cringe from the noise,   “I’m trying to be hip.”

“It’s not working.” April comments, putting her eye mask back on and flopping back on her spot on the floor. 

You were participating in the 4th annual Sewer Sleepover with April and the turtles. Leo had mentioned it one day, to which Mikey suggested you join the next one as it was coming up soon. It’s today! Err, yesterday, actually. It was an amazing time, you got to hang out with your good friends, gorge on food, play video games together, and the best part: draw a penis on the sorry sucker who fell asleep first. 

It was Donnie, by the way. So it’s pretty hard right now to keep a straight face without snickering everytime you look at him, so everyone just avoided eye contact. Nobody has the heart to tell him; poor Donnie. He just looks so excited to take this photo and told April to put it at an angle to get his “good side.”

~ 

How did you get to this point? You’re sandwiched in between Raph and Leo while he puts an arm around you. As much as you’re crushing on Leo right now, you feel uncomfortable as you wait for April’s phone to finish counting down and snap a picture. The longer you wait and the more anxious you get to hear the camera snap, you begin to feel sick. 

3…

2…

1…

“Crap.” What a relief. The phone fell from the contraption April made to keep the phone standing up. Maybe she should just invest in a phone stand or something.

Before she can readjust the phone back, you swiftly leave Leo’s grip, grabbing the phone and standing behind it. 

“Here,” you start, “I can take it instead.” 

“What? No way, Y/n! You have to be in the 4th Annual Sewer Sleepover Extravaganza photo!” Leo exclaims, earning a nod from Raph and Donnie.

“Yeah,  Y/n, we can just find another spot to put it, no biggie.” April adds, yet you don’t agree. You’d really, really rather not be in the group photo. Plus, what’s so bad about being behind the camera, anyway? 

You can feel your anxiety rising as now all eyes are on you, Leo’s making it especially worse. After a few moments, you just huff in slight annoyance. 

“Guys,” You breathe, “I can take it. It’s not that serious.”

“It is! We want you in the photo too!” Raph tries to change your mind, yet you can’t be persuaded. 

“Maybe Y/n’s just camera shy. Is that it?” Donnie blurts out. Sometimes, Donnie doesn’t really think about what comes out of his mouth. Most of the time it’s just his inner thoughts, but this time, his inner thoughts are correct. 

Camera shy was just the tip of the iceberg for you. There were other factors. None of which you would be outright telling everyone, either.

“Yeah, Don,” You sigh and fiddle with your fingers, “That’s exactly it.” There’s a slew of silence that only seems to be awkward to you, and it results in the others complying and getting back in their spots for the photo. You glance at Leo as you lift up the camera and begin to count down, and he realizes he isn’t going to be able to stand next to you during the photo anymore. His eyes quickly meet yours, and when they do, you immediately hide your blush behind the phone, only for him to give a look of concern. Something just wasn’t right with you. 

~

You’re feeling better for the time being. After placing what’s just transpired in the back of your mind, you try to distract yourself by helping Mikey flip pancakes while the rest of the brothers and April (attempt) to help. Except Leo, he’s banned from the kitchen. Because of this, he’s never really sure what to do during the group breakfast cooking portion of the sleepover. That is, until, you accidentally get pancake batter on your shirt thanks to being clumsy, and you’re on your way to to wash it off in the bathroom upstairs. 

“Gah, stupid Bisquik mix,” You curse to yourself, using all the strength you have to scrub the stain out under cold running water. As you’re hunched over the sink, you fail to notice Leonardo walk past the open bathroom door, only to realize it when he clears his throat. 

“You shouldn’t be camera shy.”

As you stop scrubbing for a moment, you don’t look back at him. “It’s deeper than that, Leon.” Continuing to scrub, Leo walks into the room, his eyes focused entirely on you. 

He liked it when you used his nickname. Leon beats Leo for some odd reason, and it made him feel good. 

You didn’t want to admit the fact that there’s something more going on, but it’s Leo, he wouldn’t scream to the whole world your personal problems (unless you approved of course,) he had respect for others (to a degree.)

“I know, I- okay, you’re never gonna get out the stain if you’re scrubbing it like that.” 

So, you sit there in silence for a bit, watching as Leo scrubs at your shirt- the right way. Not any different from the way you were doing it, but to each their own. 

“Are you insecure?” Leo takes on Donnie’s persona at times, he says what he thinks. Like right now, where he’s not trying to intrude, but he wants to know. Is that how you feel about yourself? 

So, you tell Leo everything. It comes out like word vomit, and you’re going 100 miles per hour trying to make sense of your emotions. 

You’re insecure, you lack self-confidence, you don’t think you look good in photos, you think that you’re better off behind the camera rather in front of it. It’s something that’s been bothering you for quite awhile. That you don’t belong in group photos with your friends, as bad as it sounds. You think it’s true. You don’t belong.

“For what it’s worth,” Leo stops, just the water being the only sound in the bathroom, “I think you do.” You belong. To Leonardo, you belong. He’s midway into almost finishing getting the stain out of your shirt and says that. As your breath hitches, Leo looks up at you, his eyes once again looking at yours- thinking he said something wrong. But, he didn’t. You needed to hear that, and it coming from Leonardo made it much more meaningful. The guy you have feelings for thinks of you in such a way that makes you appreciate him. 

As the heat rises in your cheeks, you turn the other way, trying to find something in the bathroom to distract you. Those monarch butterfly shower curtains look nice, wouldn’t you say?

“Th-thanks, Leon, I…um…” You stop yourself, just because Leo lifted your spirits, doesn’t mean he likes you, does he? But he just looks so good right now, his hands on your shirt still trying to get that god forsaken Bisquick pancake mix stain out- who knew batter could be such a bitch to get out of clothing? And oh, the way his arm brushes against your skin while he’s doing it? Come on. You’re practically inhaling his scent- he always smells like this Axe spray he found while digging through Raph’s old things one day, and he abuses it so much. He thinks it’ll attract mates. Well, he’s half-correct. Though it wasn’t the reason it attracted you, it still had you in a chokehold. 

“I know what it’s like to not like the body you’re in. I mean, look at me, Y/n, A life-size mutant turtle. The average person is most likely scared of my dashing good looks.” This is Leonardo’s way of being supportive, guys. 

“Well,” You swallow, mustering up the courage to say what you’ve been thinking this whole time since knowing Leonardo, “I like the way you look.” You say it with your chest, and your assertiveness makes Leo’s eyes light up. You like Leo’s presence. It doesn’t repulse you. 

“Me too. I mean! I like YOU, wait- I like the way you look, too.” Now, Leo is a confident guy, but right now, you just had him stumble over his words. He likes you? 

“What I mean is, I think you should’ve been in the photo with us. You look great.”

He thinks you look great. 

And God, his (very hot) voice complimenting you like that? He knows what he’s doing. He’s the flirty type, everyone knows that. But, he’s flirting with you!

“It’s out.” Leo lets go of your shirt, and looking down, you just see a damp spot in the middle of it, though the stain is gone. “You actually got it all out, thank you.” 

“I’m simply a threat against any food-caused stain.” He says, puffing up his chest only to earn a small laugh from you. He smiles, looking at you, only for your eyes to meet with his. 

He suddenly gets this boost of confidence- more than usual, and pulls a Donnie.

“I think you’re like, really pretty.” 

Oh! Alright, Leo. His voice lowers to a whisper, and it seems as he’s drawing closer to you. Or are you drawing closer to him? It’s a little bit of both, a spur of the moment kind of thing. You both just…get closer. His lips come closer to yours, and when it’s up to that point where you’re too nervous to continue, Leonardo is the one to close the gap in between you two. 

His lips on yours? You could die right now. Despite Leo’s flirting, you couldn’t have seen it coming. Especially right now. His little compliments here and there now hold lots of meaning to you. 

The kiss doesn’t last long, as it’s your first kiss together. However, pulling away from Leo left you empty. You wanted more from him. Come to find out, he felt the exact same. So instead of continuing it in the bathroom, he grabs your hand and steps out into the hallway. There’s commotion coming from the kitchen, but nowhere else. Leo picks a wall for your back to lean on and you share the second kiss. His hand under your chin while the other around your waist. It’s a beautiful moment, and it feels so fucking good. Your hands play with the ends of Leo’s bandana, to which he hums into the kiss as a response. Eyes closed, oblivious to everything around you, and the feeling of your lips on Leo is truly enchanting.

“Hey Y/n I- oop-” You jolt back to reality, breaking the kiss and looking at April, who’s staring sheepishly at you and Leonardo, “Nnnnevermind, uh---oh! pancakes are kissin- I mean sizzling!” April huffs, inhaling slowly, “The pancakes are sizzling. I’ll um…leave-”

Once April goes back down toward the kitchen, far away from you and Leo, only for you both to laugh together. 

“Okay, that was so-”

“Awkward?”

“Aww, Y/n,” Leo cooes, “We’re already finishing each other’s sentences.”

Although you wanted to kiss Leo more, the food was smelling so good, and it seemed that he had the same thought. You were both starved. 

As Leo talks about how he was so ready to tell everyone with his hand in yours, he’s then brought down only for the others to tell him straight up that it was pretty obvious. 

“Like, serious?” Donnie deadpans, while Raph scolds Mikey for putting an insane amount of syrup on his pancakes. He um…enjoys syrup with a side of pancakes. “I knew it! I should’ve betted money or something.” 

Although it’ll take time to get comfortable taking photos with friends, you’re lucky enough to have someone like Leo, who'll pick you up and shower you with compliments. Anything to help you feel better about yourself.

//

taglist:

@bee-1n-space @ducky-died-inside @writingandcrying

Masterlist

[bubbleguppyyy]

Encapsulated in Time: Pt. 3

Bucky x fem! reader

~ Surpriseee ~

Story Synopsis: Bucky knew something was missing from his memories. Something important, something special. He had tried everything to try and recover what it was, but he never could grasp anything. However, he never expected to find those missing memories in a file and an old box of videotapes.

Bucky sat on the floor next to his bed, his back resting against the side of it. Sleep refused to come to him. Very likely because of all the memories of you rushing through his head.

He turned and rubbed his face into the side of the mattress, trying to find some sort of comfortable position. He had been trying to sleep for hours now and he was starting to think he should just get ready for the day.

There was a sliver of moonlight shining through his blackout curtains, illuminating a picture of you he put on his bookshelf. Only your eyes and hair were highlighted.

Bucky always thought you had beautiful eyes. He could stare into them forever. The emotions and love they always held for anything and everything was truly a wonder.

He traces your temple with his eyes to the top of your head. He always loved how much shorter you were to him. He would always rest his arm on your head because you would get this adorable aggravated face and look up at him to tell him off. Ruffling your hair was another fun thing to do.

As Bucky stared more at the picture, a sudden realization came to him. He sat up quickly, scrambling to grab the photo. It’s the one of you and him sitting on a balcony somewhere, you smiling brightly while he simply stared at you.

He held the frame close to his face. Running his finger over your forehead.

He had realized that he didn’t remember where he shot you. He was supposed to shoot you in the middle of your forehead, killing you instantly. Except, he never received that order. You didn’t say execute, you just said “shoot.”

Hydra had programmed him to correlate simple words with actions. Shoot just meant to take a shot, it didn’t matter where. Execute meant to make sure there was a kill.

Had you done that on purpose? Did you bleed out in pain just because he took an order wrong?

Bucky whipped around, searching his room for his phone. He had thrown it early after the Avengers wouldn’t leave him alone.

He found it behind his dresser after having searched every other inch of his room.

His hands were shaking as he picked it up, barely typing the code in. Flipping through his contacts, he pondered what to say. When he came across the name he was looking for, he paused.

Did he really want to know?

He tapped the contact and waited, holding his breath.

“Barnes, you better have a damn good explanation as to why you’re calling me at this hour.”

Bucky wanted to laugh at Fury’s tone but he was barely holding it together.

“I apologize, sir, but what I need to know is very important. It could not wait until morning.”

Fury sighed from the other end, mumbling that Tony was rubbing off on Bucky.

“What is it?”

A lump formed in Bucky’s throat. He was scared, terrified even. If the answer to his question was what he thought it was, it could change the course of everything.

“Wa- was her body ever recovered and if so, where was she shot?”

Fury went silent, no sound of breathing or anything. Bucky strained his enhanced hearing but nothing came through. He started to think Fury thought he was crazy for asking that, or maybe he hung up.

Then, he heard the clacking of a keyboard. Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize was being held. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt as he waited for the director to say something.

5 minutes later, Fury finally speaks up.

“I have a request for the files to be pulled but they won’t be here until the morning, Barnes. Try to get some rest and I will call you the moment I know.”

Bucky simply said okay and gave his goodbye, hanging up immediately.

He tossed his phone onto his bed, watching it bounce around for a second. Looking over at the old box, Bucky decided that he wasn’t going to get any sleep.

Next thing Bucky knew, he had gone through half of the tapes in the common room. He couldn’t stop playing them, wanting to remember every song thing about you. Who you were, how you two met, why you chose him.

Your voice was engraved in his mind, creating a haze in his eyes. He was on a video he had taken of you as you got ready for the day. He could see part of himself in the mirror behind you, recorded in his hand.

You were swiping lipstick on when you caught his eyes through the mirror. He could’ve sworn the smile you gave him stopped his breathing. You turned to look at him, your eyes shining with love.

“How come you never let me take videos of you. I want to remember you as well, James.”

He huffed behind the camera, making you giggle. You turned back around and spritzed perfume on. Bucky remembers the exact scent you always used. A mix of almond, cocoa, and vanilla. He called you delectable, like a sweet treat.

The sound of his phone ringing snapped him out of his reverie. The contact on the screen caused his mood to drop. He looked out the window, noticing that it was early morning. He clicked accept.

“Is the Captain around?”

Bucky scrunched his face in confusion. Why would Steve need to be present for this? Of course, Stev decided that was the right moment to go on his run.

He saw Bucky and immediately got ready to ask what he was doing but Bucky just silenced him with a look, beckoning him over.

“Alright, he’s here. Now, what did you find, Fury?”

Steve sat next to him on the couch, giving Bucky a confused look. Bucky just shook his head at him, giving a look that said “I’ll explain later.”

“I hope you’re sitting down, because what I’m about to tell you might make you drop.”

[ghostly-penumbra]

Seven Ways to Summon the Ghost King.

Chapter Three: Mix and Match.

[1] [2] [here] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Ao3

Summary: The twins seek some friendly ghost help and- wait, they do succeed?!

- - -

“Everything is in place, is the camera ready?” Dipper asked as he stood next to the ritual circle.

“Ready to film some spooks! Boo-oo!” Mabel answered while waving said camera, causing the image on the screen to shake.

“Mabel, stop!” The feed was cut for a moment where only static was shown, and a second later it was Dipper again, brows furrowed in a frown. “As I was saying,” he continued curtly, “now that everything is ready, we can finally start the summoning of the Spirit of Protection!” He approached the camera and showed the Third Journal, flipping a page back and forth to show everything written in it. “The Journal says that outside the ten types of spirits the author first faced he found The Book of Summonings! We, uh, we couldn’t really find the book referenced in the Gravity Falls Library, but the Author made sure to copy the summoning ritual for the Spirit of Protection!”

“And how do we know this isn’t another demon who will backstab us the moment it gets what it wants?” Mabel bellowed off-camera.

“Because…” Dipper dragged the answer just like they had rehearsed it, “we looked for more sources besides that book!” He put aside the Journal and showed the new pictures on his camera roll, of him, Mabel, Wendy and Soos hiking the Gravity Falls hills, taking in the sights, doing funny poses, unearthing the secrets hidden within the dark, never-ending cave… unsupervised unrestrained summer fun, as usual.

Dipper continued, “We found this cave with all these wall paintings! I tried to take pictures of them, but all of them came out blank. It must be some sort of protection system, or- or you can only access that knowledge if you climb there, and anyone else isn’t worthy and-”

“And we’re lucky you’re a nerd with a good memory who memorized it on the spot!” Mabel complimented him teasingly.

“What we could understand spoke of a kind, benevolent being who protects people in need, that matches the Author’s description of the Spirit of Protection he got from The Book of Summonnings, and considering how we had to face Bill in our Grunkle’s mind… we could use all the help possible, you know?”

“I know! Now less talking, more chanting!” Mabel demanded.

“Ok, ok, I’ll do it!” Dipper complied, but couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice.

Dipper moved behind the circle, and Mabel approached, better capturing the intricate symbols drawn on crayons –Mabel had used their chalk that morning for some Mabel juice– in the centre was a stylized D, surrounded by a circle pointing at the four cardinal points: north being a Venus flytrap, south what looked suspiciously like part of a circuits’ board, east was a red-tinted and angry-looking skull, and west was a green flam; each symbol was encapsulated in a circle of their own. It was simpler than expected, but Dipper had followed the journal’s instructions.

Lowly, Dipper could be heard mumbling “This doesn’t sound like normal Latin but here goes nothing…

“Reĝo de fantomoj,

guidanto de la mortintoj,

terura malamiko,

valorega aliancano.

Mi estas en granda dangero

kaj tial mi alvocas vin.

Bonvolu helpi mi.”

The wood boards creaked, starting from the ceiling and running through the four walls and under their socked feet, until it reached the summoning circle.

Along its way, as the wave passed the sparse candles littered on the room, their flames flickered and turned green, and when it finally reached the Circle, a bright white light emanated from within it in a blinding ring, making the twins cover their eyes and step back.

“My eyes!”

“Why is it so bright?!”

“I can’t see any-! Hey! Bright colorful figures!”

“Mabel, focus!

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.”

- - -

Danny looked down at the kids as they rubbed their eyes and tried to regain their sight, stumbling about on what clearly was their bedroom.

“What’s there? Who is it?!” The boy said, trying to open his eyes without pain.

Danny vanished his more outstanding regalia sending his crown and ring back to his pocket dimension. He kept his fur-lined cape, however, because he had learnt how to make the inside of it reflect the Amity Park starry night sky. In his opinion, he really rocked it.

The first one to recover was the little girl (because, unknown to Danny, she was better adapted to bright neon colours blinding her eyes.)

She gasped, squeezing her cheeks in her hands with an almost drooling smile. “Hot boy!”

“What? Mabel, this isn’t time for- oh, you’re right. I mean!” Dipper squeaked, cheeks red and hands suddenly sweaty. “I mean, who are you?”

“I don’t know, kid. You tell me. Who did you mean to summon?” Danny said out loud, wondering how had he managed to do that. Ancients, every time he thought he had gotten rid of these How To Summon instructions, someone else found a way to get a hold of him. It was becoming so annoying.

“You are the Spirit of Protection? But- you’re just a teenager!”

Spirit of Protection? That was a new one, and at least that meant these kids weren’t trying to summon the Ghost King, that wasn’t as bad. Still, though…

“I was a teenager when I died which was a long time ago, you know?” Eight years was a lot of time, actually.

Both kids flinched and looked at him with wide, sad eyes and Danny had to hold back a groan.

It’s a good things kids are not used to other kids dying. He had to remind himself. Even if it’s annoying when they give you The Eyes.

“Never mind that though. What do you think you’re doing summoning spirits willy-nilly in the middle of the night with no adult supervision?” So what if he sounded like his parents? He was right!

That changed their mood quickly, from sad and pitiful to chastised and yet unrepentant.

“Well, you see, mister, er, ghost… my sister and I are visiting Gravity Falls for the summer, and this place is really weird and cool! But there are also all these dangerous things like zombies, and gremnomes, and Bill Cipher!

“He’s a dream demon that’s been tormenting us this summer!”

“Dream Demon? Do you mean a Nightmare?” Danny asked.

“Uh, no? Well he is a nightmare to deal with but he has called himself a dream demon, because he invades people’s dreams and stuff.”

The Spirit of Protection’s frown deepened. “Demons can’t do that anymore the Lord of Dreams banned them from his domain years ago.”

“I don’t think Bill got the memo, then, or cared about it.”

Danny mumbles, “That’s not good.” He looked at the twins, who were hiding their yawns and blinking away their tiredness. Yeah, he couldn’t just leave them like that. “Look, dreams and demons are not my domain so I will need some more info before I can set anything up, alright?”

“Isn’t your domain Protection, though?” Asked Mabel. “Can’t ya just ‘poof!’, make a magic shield around the Mystery Shack?”

“Nah, Protection is my Obsession, but you didn’t summon the Spirit of Protection… at least, I haven’t been given that title yet.” He finished with a worried grimace. He’d talk to Frostbite and Clockwork about it.

“Wha- but then, who are you?”

Danny let his Crown and Ring return in a flare of green fire and drama.

“I am the Ghost King.” He declared.

But rather than the awe or fear that would have amused the young King, Mabel squealed in delight and Dipper spluttered in disbelief(? That didn’t sound like indignation to Danny, anyway).

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!”

“What? That can’t be! The journal said-”

“Do you have a pony? Do you have a castle? Have you seen a unicorn?!”

“-of Protection! It doesn’t say anything about a King-”

“Wait, is the unicorn dead?! Can you bring it back?!”

“-the difference between a Spirit and a ghost, anyway?”

“But if the unicorn is already dead then it won’t ever, ever die again! Okay, then, hand it over!”

Flicking both middle fingers in a gesture that would remind one of Spider-Man, Danny covered the twins’ mouths with ectoplasm gags that would dissolve soon with no damage done, effectively shutting them up at once long enough for him to speak.

“One at a time, alright? Okay, first off, yes, I have a castle, no, I don’t have a pony, yes, I have seen a unicorn: it’s not mine and it’s an asshole, so you won’t be getting it.” There was a muffled, disappointed sound. “Second, everything has a spirit, but only the dead can be ghosts (unless you’re speaking metaphorically, of course, then anything is possible), it’s like, all ghosts are spirits, but not all spirits are ghosts, and even then, sometimes the lines get blurry.

“And finally, I am the Ghost King and you called me here so either you got your ritual mixed up, or something is up to someone.” The ghost explained.

“Don’t you mean-” Dipper started, watching as the ectoplasm that had been covering his mouth disappeared in wisps of smoke.

“I said what I said.”

“Uh, okay then, mister- sir- your Highness-” Dipper stuttered.

“Phantom.”

“Mister sir your highness Phantom!” Mabel said cheerily, making the ghost sigh.

“Just Phantom.”

“Okay, Phantom, the Author said it was a ritual to summon the Spirit of Protection and usually if he makes a mistake he corrects the information- oh.”

That ‘oh’ turned out to be Dipper flipping the ritual’s leaf back and forth, and separating them in two, revealing two other pages with symbols and writing.

What Danny could see from his position were big, green letters that read HOW TO SUMMON THE GHOST KING.

“You were saying?” Phantom said in a deadpan.

“Ugh, what is it with the Author starting a new page mid-sentence?”

“Don’t you worry about that, I’ll be taking these”

Before Dipper could react, Phantom had taken the Journal and torn out the pages about summoning him.

“What are you doing?! No!”

“Hey, that’s mean! Don’t do that!”

Danny ignored them and went intangible when the kids tried to swipe at him to get the book back.

“Hm, yeah, I’ll have to talk to Clockwork about this, whoever is giving away these titles is being far too generous. Or a real jerk.” He flipped a few pages, ignoring the protesting pre-teens. “Hey, this is actually accurate. Nice find, kid. I’ve seen a few of these too… well, their ghosts, but that counts for something, right? Although I think I can help ya with the ghost types, if you kids are facing guys like these on the regular you need to be prepared.”

“Wait, that means you’re not taking the Journal away?” Dipper asked hopefully.

“Nah, just the stuff about me. I don’t like people having the means to summon me and try to bind me to their whims.” He flipped some more pages until he found a blank one, took Dipper’s blue ball pen from his nightstand and scribbled on it. “That gives me, y’know, a choice in whether I come or not.”

“I- that’s-! Thank you, Phantom! And sorry, for the summoning, didn’t mean to bother you…”

“Don’t worry, kid.” Phantom breathed in deeply (just for emphasis, since he didn’t need to), and said, “Alright, you two, time to go to sleep. No! Don’t fight me on this, you won’t win. I will come back tomorrow, around ten in the morning, I gotta check out on this Cipher guy with some friends of mine, I need more info. But don’t worry,” and the next thing he said was with a heaviness of absolute truth that left no doubt in the twins’ minds about his Royal status, “no one will bother you tonight.”

- - -

Okay, translation from Esperanto of the summoning chanting:

King of ghosts,

leader of the dead,

terrible enemy,

invaluable ally.

I am in great danger

and therefore I summon you.

Please help me.

That's what Dipper ended up saying, but since I didn't show it, I gotta tell ya, this was the Spirit of Protection's own "chanting":

Spirit of protection, defender of the defenseless,

I speak to you and I ask you to come to my call.

I am in great danger

and that is why I call on you.

Please help me.

And the Ghost King (Pariah, at the moment Ford wrote the journal) was this:

King of ghosts, leader of the dead

Terrible enemy, invaluable ally.

I demand your hearing and to my will I bind you.

Carry out my mandates without repercussions

May my adversaries suffer your curses!

which was quite an effective way to have him do your bidding. Good luck Ford had bad writing habits! Since they didn't say the part of the binding, it couldn't tie Danny to anything. They only spoke of a protective ghost king, and the summoning brought them exactly that, so it doesn't matter if the title of Spirit of Protection is or isn't actually Danny's, he's a protective spirit; so they got to the perfect answer with a Frankenstein of an equation.

This one I had a lot of fun writing! I feel like I should've put some more action since last chapter actually showed the restult of Danny's interference, but I liked the banther of this. I'm more of an "interactions" writer, tbh. I once did a crossover with Lucifer (TV) just to see how Danny and him would interact. This is a warning for future chapters, btw.

[nomsfaultau]

What would you say is your favorite part/scene of fault, also what do you imagine Red to taste like?

For one, Red’s texture would be kinda awful. Like thick water that prefers to clump to itself in tendrils. I imagine Tommy misses forks a lot. Red tastes slightly salty and a little bit metallic. Since it basically magically floods the amygdala in order to produce a flight or fight response, I functionally compare it to adrenaline, which can result in a metallic taste in one’s mouth. The salt is since Red is also kinda analogous to sweat. Ew. Potential other flavors when he’s super duper stressed include bitter (adrenaline concentrations) and sulfur (fear sweat). Tommy would not be delicious if he was having a panic attack that’s for sure.

And ahhhhhhh favorite scenes! Such a tough one! I’ll break it up by character bc I’m not getting anywhere else wise:

Tommy: Ember. The scene where Tommy fights against his touch starvation in order to finally let go of his toxic relationship with Philza. When Philza’s affectionate touch begins to burn him and Tommy finally recoils. Just…recognizing that his desperation has led him to ignore so much and finally learns how to stop blaming himself for everyone. Even if Tommy was acting on misinformation, getting Philza off a pedestal was still huge. Philza: Malachite. When he returns to his Collected in full dragon mode. Something just hits me about a massive dragon being guided home by tiny bees. The beauty of him but also the sheer destructive force. And the pure uncertainty of it, if Philza even remembers his loved ones at all. The terror of not only the heart break if he doesn’t, but also the possibility that such a powerful destructive creature could slaughter his children and not even notice. Tommy’s swirl of gut wrenching emotions and awful hope as he’s face to face with a massive dragon, only to get licked. One of my favorite cliff hangers tbh. Also the entire amnestic arc is such a fun way to explore different facets of Philza after he haunted the narrative for ages. The Blade: Unfortunately most of his coolest scenes haven’t been posted yet. But I do adore the fight scene in Alabaster where The Blade is having this epic show down with the organ house (creature pulled straight from my nightmares). He caused the problem by trying to take care of his friends, and he’ll solve it using exactly that. Very good indicator of the larger problems he faces. Also the fact he’s doing a Cool Fight Scene…while his mane is in braids, his hooves are covered in nail polish, and ‘Tommy wuz here’ is plastered on a tusk. The Blade can just get silly with it in a way the others can’t sometimes, and it’s refreshing to have the most chill functional guy be the one with bloodthirsty voices. The Blade makes the active choice to be far less edgy than he could be, and I adore him for that.

Wilbur: Midnight. It’s such a small scene, but the moment where Wilbur is out stealing food and he comes across a pet dog. I think it perfectly encapsulates the warring tension inside Wilbur between his pure survivalist mindset and his softer side. I like the way he refuses to let himself admit what he’s doing as Wilbur tries to forget everything that happened in the Foundation, which simultaneously leaves the reader in suspense for what he’s doing as he inches his knife closer to the dog’s throat. And that last line that suddenly says so, so much about the memories Wilbur is repressing: Wilbur really, really did not like shock collars. Perfect amount of building suspense to an answer that only creates far more urgent questions it refuses to address.

Tubbo: Old Gauze. Might be recency bias, but I just love when Tubbo decides to start screaming at Philza in the middle of the woods. It really encapsulates some of Tubbos’ glaring predjudices but also the flaws in Philza’s simplistic morality system (or lack thereof). Tubbo has a lot of unhealthy beliefs about hatred, guilt, and empathy. Plus the utter hypocrisy of saying Philza has no empathy while actively dehumanizing Philza…delicious. I think in stories with a moral of ‘killing people bad :(‘ it becomes really easy to make the pacifist character the unequivocally good guy. And I want Tubbo to be just as messy and flawed as everyone else. (Also really like the tiny scene in Atramentous where Tubbo starts disassociating about proper tree trimming techniques while their house is literally being invaded by Foundation soldiers.)

Though really any scene where I get to mash different character’s moral philosophies against one another like a kid with action figures automatically gets a lot of my love. I imagine readers probably have vastly different favorite scenes than I, given some of them are tiny in the grand scheme of things. Feel free to share parts that made you unhinged.

[popculturebuffet]

Pee-Wee's Playhouse: Monster in the Playhouse Review

In Loving Memory of Paul Rubens 1952-2023 The loss of Paul Rubens this week.. was one of the most devistating celebrity death's i've experienced, up there with Bowie and Adam West. It's just one of those deaths that really gnaws as your soul a bit, to see some one who brought such joy to your life gone in an instant. With Paul it hurt more because he's been such a constant: My family LOVED Pee Wees Big Adventure and I saw it PLENTY as a kid, a truly iconic and fun film that really showcased what paul could do. As I grew up, he was in Mystery Men, one of my faviorite superhero films to this day and a great part of it as the gaseous gladiator The Spleen.

Ironically it wasn't till I was in college and beyond I got to see Peewee's Very own children show and paul's masterwork Peewee's Playhouse, the classic 80's childrens show that had plenty of whimsy for it's target audience of young children.. but plenty of charm, puppetry, a stacked cast, and some all time great set design that made it a classic. It's no wonder my young niece and nephew glommed onto it as kids back when Netflix had it nor mourned him alongside the rest of us.

So while I intend to do more of Paul's work later when I can, faster if someone comissions them, I figured this was the best place to start and to honor him in the moment: my faviorite episode of his show. You'll find out why and if you hadn't really heard of paul rubens find out why he was so awesome under the cut.

Pee-Wee Herman started as a character Rubens made for the stage, with his stage show The PeeWee Herman show. The character was a hit from the get go and said hit lead a young filmaker by the name of Tim Burton to come calling. Thus Pee-Wee's Big Adventure Was born. I was honestly suprised to find the movie came first, as the show has none of it's cast, just the human muppet at the center. It does make sense though as the two works show off the two diffrent but equally awesome ways to play with Pee-Wee. Pee-Wee as a character.. is a giant cartoon. He's very clearly a grown man, but acts like a ten year old, lives in a bonkers house no matter the verison of him, and dosen't care how weird he comes off to everyone.. and thus charms most people simply by being himself. It's why the character resonates with me so much: Pee-Wee is who he is and he's not self concious about it. he's not really lambasted by most characters for being weird and those who do are usually jerks. When something bad happens to him it's usually because he brought it on himself.

So as a giant cartoon there's two ways to play him: you either plop him into the mundane world and see everyone else bounce off the loveable weirdo, or you meet him on his level and have a world of childlike wonder and total insanity. The movie went for the former, allowing rubens to be as unrestrained as he wants while still being a charming guy, and the show, being meant for kids but not talking down to them, could be as weird as rubens could get.

Playhouse has the trappings of a preschool show: most of the cast is hammy, everythings weird and ther'es a lot of loud stuff to keep attention like the secret word. But it's done in a way that's also gentle, calming and just dang fun to watch: it comes off as what a young kid would THINK being an adult was where you can be a cowboy or pretty for a job, have to deal with horrifying salesman and get to have a ptreodactyl as a pet. It's this nice chill fantasy world that's diverse, where only three people are dicks and one of them, pee wee, ususally learns not to be and that tries to teach kids to be excellent to one another.

And while I picked this episode as a personal favorite.. it really encapsulates a lot of what makes this series great and it's philosphy well. Monster in the House follows Pee Wee on what starts as a pretty normal day, he checks on his ants who are gorgeously animated in this nice construction paper style with black on yellow. It REALLY looks cool. Also cool is a season 1 exclusive feature: his toys. His toys... are basically sids toys from toy story, some horrifying mashups, in this case an octopus cowboy with a thousand eyes and a Frankenstein head on a standard dolly, that still has doll hair. It made me realize something about the show: it REALLY loves it''s animation. While the puppetry is awesome, we'll get to that, we have bits like the dinosaur family, the toys and the ants, the penny cartoons, all vastly different styles, all gorgeous. They even bring in some retro shorts via the king of cartoons. It also speaks to the shows tone: it's really freefloating: While there's usually some through line to anchor the episodes shenangians, it has this nice, serene atmosphere, a childhood memory brought to form where you'll often play or do other stuff amidst the hustle and bustle of your life. It's a vibe I haven't really seen in any other show or felt anything close to and it's glorious. There just.. isn't another show that FEELS like this.

Helping with that is the puppetry. I've been covering muppets here lately and Paul really has a lot of the same philosphy's as Jim Henson. It's really sad the two never did something together: Pee Wee did a segment or two for sesame street and not only won an honrary muppet award but was a guest in muppet magazine where we got just.. the most wholesome image ever

But both have this gentle nature that belies the manic content they make, injecting an earnestness into the madness. Peewee has a talking chair, a dog who is also a chair and looks utterly horrifying, a globe, his own robot, a tetradactyl.. all puppets.. but all feel really. Terry is like the son PeeWee never had, CHairy is one of his best friends and in a nice touch i'd never noticed before her eyes and hands usually move when she's in frame even if she's not the focus of the scene. There's also clearly something going on between them but I feel a memorial is a poor place to talk about chair on human romance. The puppets feel real even whent hey can be limited, and all have unique looks. Even chairy and dog chair despite being both animate chairs look and feel different, chairy coming off as pee wee's shy best friend and dog chair being an utter nightmare that's also adorable.

It's the giant gaping mouth. Just... I love a good dog but when you make one that could swallow me whole and very likely my soul at the same time you loose me. Except for Clifford. he's a good boy. You eat those souls clifford, you get bigger and stronger boy. That's a good red dog. Good boy.

So before we get to the plot we need to get the secret word. For those less familiar Pee Wee unplugs and turns on his robot buddy Conky, whose just a delight. And honestly all this reviewing thomas the tank engine effed me up a bit as I was horrified at first that Pee Wee turns Conky off at all.. but then realized they cleverly tucked the reason WHY Conky is plugged in and has to be turned on into the show: he needs to be recharged. Pee Wee would love to have him on all the time, but he dosen't want his friend to run out of battery. It's simply how the bot sleeps.

So he has honky print it out the word and whenever somebody says the secret word "scream real loud". it's a LOT of fun as any time it happens the whole playhouse joins in. Pure hell for parents but something so charmign you can forgive it. It's also sweet when Reba the Mail Lady, one of peewee's friends and his well mail lady, is so deligthed to have said it by accident. It's really sweet

The plot kicks off proper when Mrs. Steve shows up. Mrs Steve is a season 1 exclusive... and unlike others like Tito or Captain Carl who likely got cycled out because production moved and they simply coudln't move with it, Mrs. Steve feels like she got shuffled out because she just doesn't fit the shows tone well. The show DOES have an outright antagonist in randy, but he's more a harmless doofy bully no one takes seriously and who at most sets peewee astray by getting into his head. Mrs. Steve on the other hand is that kind of asshole we've all had: she gets into everyone's business, complains constantly and unlike most of the cast dosen't really jibe with the weirdness that is the playhouse. I don't mind someone say having a straight reaction to peewees nonsense but detesting it just dosen't work. She DOES work well enough for the episodes she's in, I just think longterm it was a wise decision to phase her out. Her actress does a great job though.

In this case there's a monster in the neighborhood. I mean you'd THINK given Mrs Steve sees Dog Chair and Season 1 globey on a regular basis she'd be used to monsters but apparently not. She's warning everyone. Pee Wee doesn't believe but everyone else does. Even the king of cartoons has to be talked into doing his job. I also just.. love the fact that in season one the king whose only job is showing up to show children cartoons has a new york style cabbie. It's so peewee.

Naturally though for this universe there IS a monster, as just when peewee clams everyone down by turning off the lights,a nice calming little bit of letting fear go.. the monster shows up. And Roger , he's named later.. has a fucking awesome design. It's clearly someone in a suit though how I don't know. THey might be hunched over by they CAN jump.

It's such a unique design. Admitely I love cyclopic monsters, so i'm defintely bisased but the nice touches like his weird foot, the little tubes or the side mouth are great.

I also love Pee Wee's response to Chairy Pointing out he said monsters weren't real "So I was wrong, sue me". With Roger just making monster sounds Pee Wee has no idea how to deal with him, realizes he's hungry and makes him a sandwitch which is fun. I also love Roger looking inside peewees fridge to see his food doing thier usual capering and how he just opens and shuts it like a kid would. And as it turns out.. that's what roger is. When PeeWee can't get him to go he WISHES he could understand him. And naturally ...

Since he's not being forced to this bit though the real jambi gladly grants the wish. With the wish granted, long lived Jambi we find out Roger.. is actually a child. He's kind, has a nicely innocent voice and simply wanted to play. He didn't mean anything by his stomping, and was just confused why Peewee was scared of him jsut because he was a monster. It's a nice message about not hating something you don't understand just because it's diffrent. Not subtle, but it's also not so over the head that it dosen't work. Roger may look weird.. but so does the rest of the house. Unsurprisingly PeeWee is huge in monsterland. So PeeWee apologizes and makes a new friend and everythigns good. The episode ends with pee wee getting a call on his picture phone.. which is one of my faviorite runners as in a nicely peewee touch, he always puts on some background and costume before answering. We get Roger's mom whose upset he was missing, ssays the secret word (a touch I really love) but invites peewee back for spagetthi because who wasn't. We also get a nice twist on the usual ending. Usually pewee gets on his scooter, heads off and we see him ending. Here Roger JOINS peewee for the trip. They also scare the crap out of mrs steve, always a good time. Monster in the Playhouse is excellent and it's on youtube. It's a great sample of how good the series was, has a nice wholesome legend and as always showcases just what a great performer rubens was. He'll truly be missed and I hope he's somewhere up there, in his own playhouse. Thanks for reading.. and we'll miss you paul.

[what-gs-watching]

“Sunlight over me, no matter what I do.”

This week on what G’s watching - what G’s listening to. 

This is exciting!

Gang, I told you content is how I apparently digest my feelings, and a big ol’ part of that is music. Always has been, my dad has this crazy extensive collection of albums. When I was a kid he always had something on in the car, or playing from the old stereo in our living room. One of my favorite memories is listening to the Beatles’ White Album with him on long afternoons. He’d let me dance around on his feet, and we’d sing every single one, I was the eight year old who knew the entire thing by heart.

Music is a core fucking memory for me, it’s my dad in a nutshell. I remember one year for Christmas, he gave me a bunch of burned cd’s - all of the Beatles broken up by time period, Cat Stevens, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell,  a set of discs that included the top songs broken out by month between 1964 and 1968, six in total. The tracks, he told me eventually, perfectly encapsulated the way those different seasons felt to him - The March/April disc really feels like springtime.

If you knew my dad, you’d know that the effort he put into it was much  more than his usual Christmas attempts, which were: my mother buying the gifts and then writing his name on the tag. 

So the point is: music can be an incredible thing and it’s a large part of who I am. I could write an entire post about all of that (and one about the Beatles, and one about Paul McCartney specifically, and one about Adele, and one about Bo Burham…see, I’m nuanced)  but I won’t. Right now, at least. 

Because I want to talk about Fleet Foxes. Specifically, Helplessness Blues.

This album came into my life at a weird time, I’d moved to a new city and was working my first ever real tech job and I was living with my sister, trying to figure my shit out. Which involved coworker-turned-friend drama because at the time I was absolutely not the best person, and it was very early 20’s of me. You know, when everything feels frenetic and you aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to be doing with your life, so you’re just…doing random things, all the things. 

Which made me extremely susceptible to the creeping kind of darkness infused with hope the album has. I have a penchant for indie folk bands. I can’t help it. I fucking love guitar and thrumming drums with violins and shit. It just feels real to me. Authentic. Organic.

So it’s no wonder Fleet Foxes pulled me. I had a couple of their other songs on random playlists but had never attempted to listen to their first release. And then one day I was getting my oil changed, sitting in the waiting room and I read a review of Helplessness Blues in a magazine, probably Rolling Stone. I immediately bought it, which wasn’t really like me at the time - I was deep into stitching together random lists on my ipod, pulling tracks from all over the place, but I felt like I had to.  Thankfully.

I don’t know what it is about this album, but it’s the perfect mix of mauldin, shiny, twisted, uneasy, exciting, overwhelming. It feels like there’s a story to it, it’s cohesive and purposeful, but I couldn’t tell you what the narrative actually is. And that’s probably the point. It’s whatever the story is to you, and man this album for me is angst and questioning and accepting. It’s become one of those perfect albums you can listen to, never skipping a track, because they’re always a little different depending on the mood you’re in.

And right now, I'm in a weird mood. I’m lost in my life again, and angst sounds about right, so I put the album  on this afternoon after I’d finished my unemployment application and tried to harass the pharmacy for my husband, did some laundry, some dishes, random life things. I decided all I wanted to do with my Friday was chill the fuck out, blast Helplessness Blues through my airpods, and just, be with myself, and  something familiar. Inside my own brain, but with something comforting, lulling me in the background. 

I wanted to wrap myself up in something, and this was the perfect choice. Apparently one of my coping mechanisms is to just put some music on and let it overwhelm me, turning the volume up as high as I can tolerate, and singing along as needed at the top of my lungs. It’s honestly therapeutic. 

That’s what Helplessness Blues is good for. Because it’s quite a production. You can get lost in the story and it’ll morph into whatever you need at the time. Today it’s a squirming  sense of unease, but also triumph. It’s so good.

I could probably talk about all of the tracks, I’m not going to lie, but that sounds exhausting; they’re still lulling my brain right now and I don’t feel like I could pick out each one well enough, they flow together too well. 

However, The Shrine / The Argument is fucking ambitious. It’s so many different things all at once and it’s almost confusing as one song but eventually it’s really, really not. It’s weird and it ends with a horrible cacophony but then delivers really soft and agonizing violins. It has some of my favorite lyrics from the entire album:

In the morning waking up to terrible sunlight / All diffuse like skin abuse the sun is half its size

When you talk you hardly even look in my eyes

In the doorway holding every letter that I wrote / In the driveway pulling away putting on your coat

In the ocean washing off my name from your throat

Because, who hasn’t felt like that? It’s a really specific loss. How else can you say something like that? 

This is clearly getting away from me, but that’s okay. This is what I wanted to do today. I don’t do this very often, Helplessness Blues isn’t in my regular rotation, because it deserves to be listened to and I don’t always have that kind of time. I’m thankful that I do today though, I’m almost through my second rotation, and it's helping. I’m updating the story that it is, for me. Next time I listen to it, it’ll remind me of this stupid thing I’m going through and all that I am right now, a little bit. 

For example: listening to Blue Spotted Tail was very Crowley and Aziraphale today.  That’s apparently where I am, so now it’s part of the story. 

Why in the night sky are the lights hung? Why is the earth movin’ around the sun? Floating in the vacuum with no purpose not a one…

Poor little Antony J.

 Why is life made only for to end? Why do I do all this waiting then? Why this frightened part of me that's fated to pretend?

So. If you need to feel ways about things (we all do, now and again, right) this album will do it for you. And this is a terrible love letter to it, but just…trust me.

[lostandfoundbook]

Chapter 16

Read it on AO3

Read it on Wattpad

Alex's post had been received spectacularly. She watched as the comments came flooding in of people wishing her well and apologizing for making assumptions about her relationship. People constantly called her and Everette and power couple before they realized how bad of a person he was.

Her phone was blowing up with messages from her managers, her PR team, and her friends. People she hadn't heard from in years were reaching out to her in sorrow telling her they're so sorry. She didn't even care about these people, and yet here they were, in her inbox. She stared at them as she sat in the recording studio with a new team.

Oliver was busy that week, but Alex wanted to record. She had a new song she wanted to put on the end of the album. She was slowly starting to remember her own sexual assault. She remembered the dream, or, memory she had on her first night in the hotel room. It was of Everette, and her. 

She remembered the way her grabbed onto her, and tried to touch her. She remembered how she tried to say no, and how he didn't care. She looked up the police reports, and everything was there. It happened shortly before they broke into the hotel. 

She tried to shake that all away as she focused on the lyrics. As she spoke them, she could feel all the rage of the situation come out in them. The vitriol of everything came spitting out of her as she channeled her every being into focusing on the lyrics and nothing else.

'I can't even wear my skin, Without them asking where I've been, Without them asking for a spin, This is not an invitation'

That line was to Everette in particular. It was a message to all the men she had dated, but she couldn't help but remember the want his hands spread across her. It made her feel dirty, like she needed to take a shower. She kept her mind at bay with thoughts of how her album would do.

Album. Isn't that a funny thought? Alexandria had never expected to have a professionally produced album. She had one, a debut album that her and Benji released, but this felt like a real debut. Like something was actually happening and she was apart of it.

"How does that sound?" She called out to the producer across from her. He threw her a thumbs up, so she continued singing. 

'This is not an invitation, Fuck you mean you need it?, Fuck you mean you RSVPed?'

She said this line with a lot more ease. It was bouncier, more playful. The music playing back in her ears was a thick R and B slash hip hop track, and she loved the way it vibes. It really captured the feeling of her old music, while introducing a new atmosphere towards it. A new story. 

She found herself getting lost in the track. The next part they needed to record was sort of spoken, sort of rapped, sort of sung. It was a mixture of all of them in one, and it's something she found herself doing a lot. It was expressive, just like with a monologue in theatre or a spin in ice skating. 

She found herself stumbling over them as she tried to smoothly getting them out, and failing to encapsulate her true feelings into the lyrics. The producer gave her and look and spun his hand around, as if to tell her to do it again. She did.

It was even worse the second time. She stuttered over the lines and was off tempo, ruining the entire take. She groaned into the mic and shoved her head into her hands. "I'm sorry. Maybe a five minute break would do me some good?" She spoke softly into the mic, removing her hands to see the expression of the man. He nodded.

She stood up and stretched around. The recording booth was small, a 4 foot by 4 foot room with foam sound proof panels lined all across the wall, also black. It was extremely small to block out any reverberations from voices or projecting. It was claustrophobic. Alex pulled the door open to step out into the rest of the studio.

"It gets hot in there?" She called back as she exited and flopped herself on the couch. "It's hard to focus."

James, her new producer, finally spoke up. "It sounded like you weren't in the right head space. You've got to try to let the world melt away when you're in there."

Alex frowned. She wasn't expecting to get advice from him. "Yeah, but it's so hard when the contents of the song are so personal." James looked her up and down on the couch before slapping his hands on her legs. "Have you ever tried box breathing?"

"What's that?"

He rearranged himself in his seat. "Well, you breath in for 4 second, hold for 4 second, breathe out for 4 seconds, and then repeat." Alex let out a little scoff noise. "That makes an L, not a box."

He raised his hands "It turns into a box when you repeat it. Have you tried it?" 

Alex shook her head. "No. I haven't ever heard of it before." He turned to face the sound board and started to fiddle with the track. "It's really useful for getting out of your head."

She stopped and stared at the man. He had brown hair, and lines appeared on his face that made him look older than he probably was. Stress, she told herself. The way he had crows feet by his eyes, and the way his forehead crinkles when he frowned, as if he was using his entire facial muscles to do so. 

He was probably around his mid thirties, so Alex figured he probably had some life advice she didn't. Maybe this was something everybody learned along the way. She took his advice and started breathing. In, two three four. Hold, two three four. Release, two three four. Hold, two three four. Repeat.

She did this over and over again until she felt a sort of tranquility wash over her body, as if she had entered a sort of dream like state. "Woah. I feel high." she blurted out. James turned towards her. "It's meditation. You reached a zen state."

Alex giggled. "Zen. I don't think that's what I'm channeling for this track." James shrugged in return and hoisted his chair back in front of the sound board. "You never know. Sometimes you get a take that's so unexpected, it shifts the entire album."

Album changing? Maybe not. That's not how Alex felt. She did feel ready to start re-recording, however. She hopped out of her seat and stood up, steadying herself as she did so. She walked back into the tiny booth, and she sat down, putting the headphones on. "We're ready?"

James paused. "Are you or aren't you? There's no uncertainty when recording a track like this!"

Alex nodded firmly. "I'm ready."

Finishing up her track was an invigorating process. Two songs out of twelve. That leaves ten more. The thought pushed that little world on her shoulders down a bit, and the pit of anxiety that welled up in her stomach bubbled higher. She really needed to get this album out of the way. She wiped her sweaty palms onto the black tights she was wearing, paired with a blue t-shirt.

She opened the door to her bedroom to find Avery and Oliver sitting there. "Hello!"

She paused. "What's this?" Avery stood up and rushed towards her. "Planning for the gala! Come in! I'm so excited to show you all the table clothes. Look at how cute they are!"

Alex watched as the ginger girl carted her hand behind the crook of Alex's back and quickly shoveled her into the seat next to her. "Look at this!" She said, showing Alex a photo of a white table cloth with gold trim on it.

"I see it, Avery, but why is this happening in my room?"

Oliver looked towards her with pleading eyes. "You said you'd help. I need help-- I'm ASKING for help. Please help me?"

Alex brushed her hands over the photos across the table. What exactly did he need help with? It was the same gala he hosted every year. A bunch of celebrities got together to rub noses with each other while they eat fancy food and wear fancy clothes. What more was there to it?

A lot, it turned out. Alex was busy helping choose out silverware assortments with different wrappings; decorations for the backs of the dining room chairs; different table cloths for different tiered guests; different bar selection for different tiered guests; different music for different vibes of the nights; the kinds of lighting for each vibe they wanted; and even something as simple as what was going to be in the goodie bags. 

It was a big process that Alex didn't consider. Something as simple as lighting can change and entire event, and she worked diligently to make sure that everything looked perfect. The table clothes were going to be white with black lace trim on the edges (courtesy of Avery) and the silverware was going to be an off-white color. The plates were cream, so Alex thought this matched better.

Oliver decided that during the event, they would play out one of Alex's songs from the album she was making. They hadn't decided on which one of the two yet, but they knew both would make a big impact. They chose an open bar for lower tiered guests and the hotels key restaurants bar menu for the more elite guests. 

After awhile, Avery picked up a tablet and turned towards Alex. "Dresses. I don't know what to wear and I need you to decide what you want to wear as well. We have options again."

Oliver pipped up "I helped" earning a nod from Avery like a parent and a child. You could tell that pair had known each other for years. They had a whole code of body language that Alex didn't understand yet. She might learn it over her time being here, but currently it was foreign to her. 

"Alright. Let me see your dress first. It's easier for me to decide for other people."

Avery slid across the photos of the tablet and multiple dresses caught Alex's eyes as she did so. "No peeking." she added and turned the tablet away. After a bit of time she turned back towards the girl and handed it to her. "Which one?"

Alex looked through her options. The first dress was a mock-mermaid style dress with a slit going up the left side of the front of the dress. It had an off the sleeve shoulder, and it bunched together down one edge of the dress. It was silver, and it shifted colors in the lights. Or at least, that's what Avery told her. 

It was cute, but it felt more like a prom dress. Hot days of stolen kisses in a young romance, dancing your heart out with close friends in the dark, and flavors of spiked punch and candy littering the room. She imagined Avery sitting there with Oliver by her side, and how much she would stick out like a sore thumb. That wasn't the vibe this event was going for. This wasn't the dress. Alex scrolled past. 

The next dress she was met with was a green dress that draped over both breasts and came up on one side. The skirt of the dress was rouged up to the hip and it had a big thick slit doing down the same side the straps were on. It was asymmetrical, and beautiful. "It's a bit revealing, don't you think?" Avery added in.

"I think it's beautiful, and it being revealing isn't a problem. I just think it doesn't match the theme very well. What is Oliver wearing?"

He shrugged. "A suit." Avery waved her hands. "Men are easy to dress. Ignore him. Focus on the next dress." She slid her press on nail across the screen to show off a long black dress with a slit down the side. It had a sweetheart chest like, and it was black lace on black satin. The slit came all the way up to her hip, and the back was simple. Alex liked it.

"This is the one"

Avery shot her a glace and picked up the tablet. "Are you sure? There weren't many option but I didn't think you'd pick this one."

Alex gave her own shrug. "It's pretty. I like it. You'd look nice in it." Avery turned the tablet around to show Oliver who began writing something down on a piece of paper. "Alright, we'll have that done by tomorrow. What about Alex?"

Avery flipped the tablet back around and backed out of the photo gallery she was in to find a new folder of dresses. "Here" she said, shoving it in Alex's lap. "Take a look at these and tell me which one you like for you."

She stopped and analyzed the screen. The very first dress that had shown up was a baby blue ballgown style dress with a medium sized bow slapped across the middle. It felt offensive, like the bow was reductive and had no point being there. The ruffles that came out of the bow however were beautiful. 

Alex loved the color but she swiped on to the next photo. That bow was a crime to fashion. The next dress she was met with was a silver mermaid style dress with rouging on one his and a small slit down the middle that ended near the knees. It was a straight across neck line and the shoulders of the dress fell down to the side as they looped around.

The blonde girl looked up from the tablet. "I look terrible in mermaid dresses. I can't walk. It's like watching a penguin go down a red carpet" She smoothed out her blue t-shirt and placed the tablet flat on her lap as both Oliver and Avery let out a burst of giggles. "It's horrible. I'm serious."

After her fit of giggles, Avery swiped left on the tablet. "Just look at the next one"

She saw a blue and white ombre dress with a Queen Anne style neckline, down to the pieces of fabric that draped off of the edges of the neckline that Alex was enamored with. The skirt was made of tulle, and with the right garments, Alex could make this work. "This ones really pretty."

There were sparkles all across the frame of the corset, with more tulle lining the edges of the breast. It was beautiful, but was it right for the venue? Alex flipped the tablet towards Oliver. "Pretty" he murmured out before focusing back on the papers in front of him. Alex turned towards Avery. "Yes, but does it fit the venue? The music? The vibe? It's beautiful and I want it, but I don't think its the right dress still."

Avery analyzed it for a moment. "You might be right. It's too... flouncy." Too light. Too soft, she thought to herself. She wasn't soft. This wasn't the dress for her. She turned the tablet back around and scrolled to the last dress on the list, instantly feeling her heart flutter. "Oh my god"

The dress had this beautiful sweep under one of the boobs, creating an asymmetrical style sleeveless dress. The dress rouged to the side of the asymmetry. It was a cream-tan color, and it slowly faded into this orange-brown-black as it reached out to her hip. It faltered down one side of her hip, with the other side having a shorter cut to match the asymmetry of the dress. It flared out on the ends and had the tiniest amount of train.

"It's beautiful"

It was studded up to the nines with gemstones and diamonds all over the orange-brown-black color, and it resembled fire to her. It wasn't just the right dress, but it's the dress she wanted forever. She wanted to go out dancing in this dress, and run through the rain, and let every fear and fault fly away as she wore it. It was perfect. "This is the one" She said, sliding the tablet back to Avery. 

She held the tablet over to Oliver who lifted his head. "So it's decided then?"

Alex nodded. "That's the one. 

* * *

If there was one thing Alex loved more than everything, it was a good party, and a good pair of clothes to wear to one. She had been to a lot of parties over her years. There were times in her teen years where she'd dress up in the shortest dress she could find before going out with friends to some college party happening around town.

They always played music there, and its one of the places that invigorated Alex to start her career. Or at least, that's what she was starting to remember. She remembered sitting on the couch of one of these parties, just enamored by the lights they had set up.

The room was a deep magenta-red colors and the strobe lights they had set up were set to a single colors consistently, the color blue. It's wasn't much of a strobe light at that point, but it served it's purpose in the end. When the band stepped up to that one inch platform in the garage, Alex could feel her pulse racing. 

It wasn't just the alcohol and drugs running through her system, it was something deeper than that. This feeling that one day, that could be her standing up on that stage. This deep seated envy towards the lead singer there, knowing that she wanted to do that one day. Her moment wasn't shaken until some college boy walked up to her to have a chat, and she couldn't even mumble out the words "Hi" because she was so drunk. 

She showed up with friends, but they had all disappeared at that point. They were off having their own little parties. The man carted himself off once he realized that state Alex was in, and she was left to her own devices on the couch again, sitting a can of beer.

It went even further from there. Alex recalled all the binges she had gotten into through parties. Molly at a friends house. Cocaine at a club. Ecstasy in her parents basement. Maybe that last one wasn't so glamourous, but a party is a party, isn't it?

She could recount all the times she'd go out with friends and have them drive to nowhere with no destination as she took sips off a bottle and stargazed, wondering where all the thousands of lights could be hiding. You can't see them in certain parts of the city, and during certain parts of the year. 

Summer was the worst. Alex loved being able to look up at those stars as if she could reach out for them and hold them in their palm. They might burn if she did. Instead she resigned herself to only looking, for fear of what might happen if she did dare to reach out. What would happen if she dared to join them?

[parttimepuff]

Beep you really, really should reconsider. Not just for the safety of yourself, but others as well.

The truth is a difficult one to explain in a way that truly encapsulates all of what it entails. In short, Dark Matters like you have a bad reputation because in the past you and others of your kind did horrible things. Your kind is associated with stealing the autonomy of others and committing horrific acts using their bodies. The thing most people associate with Dark Matter are largely traumatic, painful, and scary, and tragically in many cases this is not baseless.

That doesn’t mean you are evil, or are inherently bad, or are less worthy of love and friendship than others. You are not the same as you once were, and I’m not trying to say or imply that you are. But others who don’t know you won’t necessarily see the you that you are now. Folks act in accordance with experience, and unfortunately the experience most have with those like you is bad. Memories can be powerful things, Beep, and Dedede in particular has memories of being possessed by and made to fight those he cared about on multiple occasions. If he were to see you now, with nobody with you to even try to reason with him, chances are he would attack you in perceived self-defense, because as far as he’s experienced that’s the most appropriate course of action in the interest of the safety of himself and his followers. From his perspective it would seem like you broke into his room, and that alone would make him defensive. He can’t read your mind, and right now he has no reason to even consider that you might be coming with honest intentions.

You could get seriously hurt, and it would only make things harder to patch up in the future. If Rev or Gremlin was there with you, they’d at least be able to prepare him a bit so that maybe he wouldn’t get walloped by sudden painful memories resurfacing. They could explain that you’re not what he would expect you to be like, that you’re fun and rambunctious and have no ulterior motives. But that will take time, as so far the king doesn’t even know about Rev, and probably doesn’t have the most solid trust with Gremlin yet either. And without trust, it’s hard to believe them and feel safe in regards to someone he would otherwise think is out to get him. And seeing you first would complicate things for the others if he found out you were with them. Gremlin tried to give everyone nightmares. Magolor, he betrayed Dedede and others in the past and attacked them in pursuit of power. He doesn’t even know Rev and therefore has no reason to trust him. Finding out that you were being harbored by an ex-megalomaniac, ex-planetary threat, and some stranger from the mirror world would damage his trust with everyone.

The same wouldn’t be said if the introduction was different. If you wait, you could be seen as a reformed Dark Matter being given a chance by an enemy-turned-friend, a reasonable guy who had done bad things just to survive and not out of malice, and that guy’s equally cool counterpart, he’d be much more inclined to accept you. This would accomplish everything you hope to in a way that’s better for everyone. It just requires patience to get to that point, and I know how painful having patience can be. But it will be more than worth it. Please, just go back home. Don’t make everyone worry in trying to handle everything yourself. Friends and family, they’re the ones who matter, not the people who look down on you, and they’re the ones who will be there to support you. But they can’t support you in this endeavor when you’re trying to do it without them.

Reverie is trying his best, he cares about you so much— more than what words can describe, even— and the reason he hasn’t told you everything is because he doesn’t want to cause you more pain than he already thinks he has. Telling you everything would have been like giving you the heavy burden of knowing many people hate you without even knowing you. By not elaborating he was trying to protect you from the pain of that reality. He isn’t ignoring your struggles, or delaying fixing things on purpose, or not trying at all; it’s just that this is a situation that isn’t under his control, or any one person’s control even. It takes time and establishment of better relationships and stronger trust to go about something like this. And to put it bluntly, what you’re seemingly about to do will almost certainly jeopardize what progress has been made by everyone who’s working towards the goal of achieving peace and understanding.

Is that something you’re willing to risk for yourself and your loved ones?

Were she not near the king's window, Beep would be much louder in her initial response. She was beyond tired of this. "I know all of that already, at least… a lot of it. And that’s what I’m trying to fix!!! I don’t want people to look at me like that! Or my family!" The Matter whisper-yelled, fists clenched. It was infuriating that even the anons were getting on her back about this.

Still, she couldn't exactly sneak in while they were still talking to her. There wasn't really any other choice than to listen, little as she wanted to. Angry as she was, pointing out how Dedede would react stung. "Yeah, he’s gonna be scared of me, but what else am I supposed to do? Dad's scared to even look at this place and Gremlin… he had to deal with me ruining everything in October." Beep lamented, some self doubt slipping in. "Maybe I should knock…"

The warning, yet again, that she could 'be seriously hurt' soured her expression again. "Shut up, I get it." Beep growled, glancing away. "…but I’m trying not to mess it up. How’s he supposed to trust me if we never talk? If Gremlin or Rev never move for it? Dad won’t even tell me why he’s so freaked out by Dedede, he keeps the memories away from me…"

The mention of Wiz's mistake, laid out in more detail and less delicately, made her stiffen. "…no he wouldn’t." Beep mumbled, despite knowing there was at least some truth to it. The drive that had sent her back to the castle felt like it was slowly draining from her the longer the anon spoke. "But, none of them are bad people! They’ve only been…good…" She insisted, nonetheless.

As she listened, it became harder to hold on to her rage. "…but they don’t have to do anything. They all love me, yeah, but I need to work so much harder to live in the world with the rest of them. They shouldn’t have to… s-suffer because I-I’m different." Beep paused, taking a moment to keep the tremble out of her voice. "Rev doesn’t deserve that, Orbee doesn’t deserve that. I just, want to make things right." She finally met their gaze again. "But, you make it sound like I’m wrong… guess I’m good at that, huh." She muttered, sounding resigned.

Beep no longer seemed angry at all, now feeling a dawning sense of guilt for her actions. "But I, know people won’t like me. That’s why I’m doing this, to fix it… I know Rev can be dumb but… Does he not, trust me to know stuff?" She asked, not expecting an answer, before falling silent. Was she really doing the right thing coming out here? The Matter hovered under the window, having many more questions to answer for herself now.

"I know he loves me, he makes me sick all the time. I spend more time outside now because of it…" Beep sighed, looking off into the distance, half-expecting to see him coming. "I just want to make his life a little easier…"

[bookclubforme]

Our girl is going through it!!!! That’s why!!!! That’s the reason! This whole speech is to show us that Basgiath. is. Wearing. Violet. Down. It’s doing exactly what it is designed to do and wearing down Violet’s empathy.

The speech to Rhi makes perfect sense for where it happens in the story.

Calling it a death factory perfectly encapsulates where Violet is in the story.

Violet entered the quadrant against her will because her mother forced her and she had an idealized notion that if she could just survive and bond a dragon, then she would get to spend her life doing something noble by defending her countries civilians against the relentless attacks from the neighboring country who never stopped attacking them.

And then her entire world view got utterly uppended. She got betrayed by her boyfriend and one of her closest friends, found out her best friend from childhood violated her and stole her memories and then used them to get her and people she cared about sent to their deaths, found out everything she was ever taught growing up was lies and propaganda and her country was actually the bad guys, got thrown into battle as a woefully underprepared first year cadet, had to watch her friend die without ever getting a chance to make peace with him, pushed herself to near burnout, and then got stabbed with a poision blade and then got to wake up and find out that her beloved older brother was still alive and just like the secret about their country being the bad guys everyone around her knew about Brennan too.

Sure, there’s a three day break while she’s unconscious and fighting for her life against the poison, but for Violet, that all happens in a matter of hours. And then she gets told to get back in line in formation like none of it ever happened!

She’s still processing all of that, and she has to pretend none of it happened at all. She’s looking around at this place that was supposed to turn her into a badass dragon rider and seeing the place for what it really is: a death factory that doesn’t actually care about training them. It’s expected that cadets will die. It’s not a question of if cadets will die it’s a question of how many. That’s why the iron squad award is for least amount of cadets lost not no cadets lost.

By the time she gets to her speech with Rhi, she’s been paying more attention to what’s happening around her. She’s noticing all the ways that basgiath doesn’t prepare them - like flight training to land faster and not get off the ground quicker. She’s seen all the ways they’re meant to die. She’s finally understanding what Xaden meant about winning not being important, about the quadrant stripping away your humanity. She’s seeing it happen to herself in real time. Violet is no longer idealizing being a dragon rider. She’s starting to lose optimism and hope and you see it in the way she sees basgiath and the way she’s treating the people around her.

Violet is being worn down day in and day out by the weight of the truth, knowing she’s not being prepared to survive the real threat, being worn down by Varrish targeting her because of his vendetta, by assination attempts and Andarna being in the dreamless sleep and Tairn in constant agony being seperated from his mate, constant worry about Xaden, trying to live up to her promise to Liam to protect Sloane who hates her, by every challenge and every threat around every corner.

All the while she’s worrying about her friends - her squadmates not being ready for what’s out there because she can’t bring herself to tell them the truth! That’s what this whole speech is really about. Violet is starting to see being hard as a good thing because she knows how painful the world is when you’re not calloused.

That’s why she tries to convince Rhi it’s better to be calloused to death, and then almost immidiatly breaks and starts to tell Rhi the truth. The whole speech is because she’s trying to rebuild her whole world view while getting worn down all day everyday.

I think you’re missing the last peice of this though. The moment in part 2 when during the death roll Violet outright admits that the way the riders handle death is Inhumane.

Iron Flame is all about the reckoning that Violet goes through after learning the truth at the end of Fourth Wing. It’s all about her struggle to recenter herself after getting knocked so far off balance she doesn’t know what way is up. That’s why she’s bouncing back and forth from different extreme view points, she doesn’t have a center anymore.

Anyone who read Iron Flame recently, can you help me understand something about Violet real quick?

In chapter 21, she goes on this unhinged rant justifying the war college’s ableism and social Darwinism mentality by saying that watching her squadmates die was good because it made her desensitized so she could leave Liam’s body or whatever. After venting about his death to Rhiannon, she says this:

This is meant to parallel Xaden’s gauntlet thing in the previous book and him dehumanizing her in front of everyone by calling her a literal weapon. Okay, whatever.

My issue with this scene is that it directly contradicts what she says about the slaughterhouse college in chapter 4.

What made Violet go from starting to believe that Bàsgiath was a death factory to her defending the authoritarian empire that killed her friends? What changed her perspective?

[mari-writes]

Akaashi Keiji remembers with clarity the moment he realized he was attracted to Bokuto Koutarou.

To be honest, Akaashi had been drawn to the boy since he first laid eyes on him. Bokuto was a star—he was bright, beautiful and played volleyball like no one else. Innocent, 15-year-old Akaashi had never stood stood a chance.

But that feeling, that magnetism that drew Akaashi to his upperclassmen was never very grounded. It wasn’t necessarily something he could put his finger on. He knew he liked Bokuto, knew he liked being around him, knew they had a special sort of chemistry that not many other teammates were lucky enough to have. 

And by the start of his second year, the Vice Captain of Fukurodani was even aware that he might, maybe, possibly have a tiny little crush on his Captain.

Just a small one, really. Nothing to worry about., really.

Everything came crashing down, however, during their match against Nekoma in the Tokyo qualifiers.

“Are you feeling better now?” Akaashi asked, glancing over at Bokuto, who was bent over slightly with his back turned. He’d just hit a powerful cross shot that ricocheted off of Yaku’s receive and into the surprised crowd. 

A cross shot that he’d insisted he’d forgotten how to do just minutes earlier. 

For a few beats, Bokuto remained still. Then, in one fluid movement, he turned slightly and unfolded.

Akaashi’s eyes widened involuntarily as the young man threw his head back in bliss. His fists were clenched, chest puffed out in obvious pride, and his eyes were squeezed shut, as if he was reliving scoring the point from memory. 

Akaashi’s breath lodged in his throat. 

For just a second, he let his gaze swept over Bokuto’s body, watching as a bead of sweat traveled down his throat, over his Adam’s apple and down into the from of his jersey. His broad upper body, and his powerful arms strained against the sweat-soaked fabric.

He had never looked more powerful, more radiant and beautiful than he did in that moment.

Oh gods, Akaashi thought, I’m /attracted/ to him. Like, /sexually/ attracted. As in, /I want him to pin me against the wall/ attracted.

Panicked, Akaashi tried to school his features back to normal. He swallowed harshly, adopting his usual blank expression as he turned back to his other teammates. 

“He’s fine,” he nodded, once, and Konoha gave him a thankful smile and nod in return.

The rest of the game went well, with Akaashi only mildly distracted by the fact he’d just had a major revelation. They won, because of course they did, and Akaashi celebrated—even sending Kozume a snarky smirk as they shook hands under the net.

It was not until much later, when they were headed back to Fukurodani on the team bus, that he allowed himself to think about it again. 

So.

He was physically attracted to Bokuto.

This was interesting, yet altogether unsurprising. He had often found himself looking at other… /parts/ of his friend that weren’t his eyes. 

He wouldn’t lie that he’d stolen glances of the young man’s backside in his favorite pair of joggers. The ones that were much too tight, in all the right places.

His legs, those powerful thighs restrained by his long kneepads… it had always been distracting, for some reason that he was now starting to acutely understand.

Bokuto’s lips were also quite nice to look at. Akaashi had always thought so. But now, he thought he might like to taste them one day, too.

Well, Akaashi thought absently, this was sure to be an interesting rest of the school year…

//

That panel has always been my favorite of Bokuto, and I think it completely encapsulates the appeal of his character. NOTE: This was inspired by Novus’ gorgeous redraw!  Thanks for reading everyone! I'm sick this weekend but this made me feel better lol

[padme-parker]

Mizpah // the darkling x f!reader // ch 7

summary: You and Aleksander come to a disagreement discussing who should be able to wear Morozova’s collar. Zoya is put in her place. Alina has a talk with Baghra. 

warnings: swearing (I think??), violence, baghra being an old hag.

A/N: frfrfrfrfr sorry this took so long lmao, it was very unmotivated to finish. not proofread, I was halfway asleep when writing this so sorry for any mistakes. Listen to a great song while ur reading lol!

YOU thought back to what the letter in your pocket said, something had changed within Aleksander. Before he was the Darkling, he was your Aleksander. That naive, loving boy was now gone. Replaced by the rough shell of a man. He sought out the power to protect his people, power that you could wield.

“Aleksander,” His name left your lips in a hushed whisper, “..what if I want the stag for myself?”

“No, I won’t allow it. We have Alina for that.” His dark gaze bore into yours. His eyebrows scrunched together, suggesting the conflict within him. He wanted for you to have the stag, more than anything. But he wouldn’t let it happen if that meant losing you, he realized that now, centuries too late.

“I won’t allow you to put the life of my friend at risk.” You shook your head, Alina deserved to live a happy life with Mal. Far away from the war and the Little Palace. Somewhere far away from your Aleksander.

“So then you agree, it’s a risk. I’m not going to let you take it. Not when I just got you back.” He said, reminding you of the many times he’d lost you to the stag.

“Things are different now. We have better weapons. More Grisha willing to fight than ever. We even have two sun summoners.”

“The Fjerdans have a weapon that fired multiple bullets at once.” The haunting images of Mikhael and Dubrov being shot down entered your mind. They had been your friends too, even if you weren’t as close to them as Mal was. “And the Shu, they’ve always had far more advanced technology than us. Like I said, no one can know about you being a sun summoner.”

“But..” You longed to feel that giddy warmth you felt when you summoned, a glow that you could feel radiating from you. It was the same glow Alina had on her face whenever she summoned. The glow Zoya had when she used the wind to push you into that stone wall. You hovered one hand atop the other, waiting for something to happen. A simple spark, then nothing. A frustrated sigh left your lips.

“It won’t come that easily, my love. That’s why Alina and I must banish the fold together. Only then can we truly be together.”

“You said-” A memory comes flashing, candles and lanterns flickering. The two of you laid naked in a bed, a thin sheet covering you. His hand resting on your hip, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. He whispered something into your ear, moving his hand from your hip to glide over your collarbones. You shiver at the memory. “You said that you and I were going to change the world. So what’s changed?”

“I thought that there would ever be only you and I. That there would be no others like us. But I was wrong, we have Alina now-”

“You have me! I didn’t know it until now, but you’ve always had me.” You raised your voice, startling him. “Do you tell the same thing to all the sun summoners you meet? Or was it just me and Alina, oh wait..” You scoffed out. This was ridiculous, you came here for the truth. Not to argue with an ancient man.

“It’s not like that, I thought I had lost you forever. I mourned you for centuries, even the day I met Alina. I mourned you until you finally returned to me.” He takes your face into his hands once more. You’d become increasingly aware of just how naked he was, you eyes darting down to the towel that was holding on for dear life. “I can’t spend the rest of my life mourning you again, knowing that you may never return.”

“Fine.” You weren’t giving up, not yet. But you didn’t want to spend another second with him when he was just a slip away from flashing you. You make your way to the door, but before you could even touch the knob, you're in his arms once more.

“Where do you think you're going?” His voice was deep, raspy. His hold on your wrist was gentle as he stared at you, waiting for you to answer.

“To sleep.” You said, as if the answer was obvious. “In my room.”

Aleksander exhales, heavily sighing. “You could stay here..” Even after centuries, you were still the one person who could make his heart flutter. The only one who could make him nervous. He didn’t show it visibly. But from the smirk on your face, he could tell that you knew the effect you had on him. “..with me.”

You observed his room, hexagonal in shape. All the furniture was black, keeping to his theme. Quite possibly the most horribly decorated room you’ve ever been in.

“Do you really live like this?” His room lacked the life and warmth you seeked. There were bookshelves that ranged from floor to ceiling. Images of a forest etched onto the walls. He may have lived here, but it was clear it wasn’t his home.

“Here? Yes. But I wouldn’t call this living.” He surveyed his own room, looking at everything from his bookshelves to his domed ceiling above his bed. “Just merely surviving. The Little Palace isn’t my home.”

“And what is?” You’d already expected what his answer would be.

“You.” He hears you scoff at his statement as he lets a smile paint his features. “Our home, just north of Kribirsk.”

“We have a home together?” You tried to imagine what it would be like, a comfy little cabin in the woods. The General you knew wasn’t one for modesty, he rode around in a black carriage for Saints sake. But maybe for you, he would have settled down for a simple life.

“Well, would you call a run down castle a home?” If you closed your eyes hard enough, you could visualize it. A stone castle overgrown with vines, some of the structures had tumbled to the floor. You could hear the rushing water in the background, most likely a river. Fields of lavender surrounded the castle. The lavender and honey bar of soap came to mind, he remembered what you smelt like. A smile came to your lips. “What, do you think that's funny?”

“No, it’s just..lavender and honey. You remembered.” You teased, using your hand to cover your mouth to subside the laughter that was bubbling in your throat.

“Besides your belongings, it was the only thing that kept you fresh in my memory.” He walks closer to you, something akin to cinnamon, rain, and honey wafting towards you. Such a similar scent, but so different.

“Well,” You said, removing the gold kefta revealing the black slip on you had worn underneath, “If we’re going to sleep in the same bed, can you please put on some pants.” You set the kefta on a chair, feeling his gaze on you. His eyes taking in your form as you kept your back to him. The next thing you heard was the shuffling of his feet, then his towel dropping to the ground. Your eyes widened as you resisted the urge to whip your head around.

“You can look.” He said, but you knew he hadn’t even put on his trousers. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“I know that, but I haven’t yet in this lifetime.” You let out a nervous laugh as you toyed with the lace detailing of your slip on.

“We can change that now if you’d like.” This time, you whip your head around. You're thankful to see that he’s got his trousers on now, along with a shirt. The corners of his lips quirk up as he takes in your reaction, “I’m just kidding.” He said, followed by a whisper, “maybe..”

“No, no. You and I are just going to sleep together. I mean sleep in the bed together. As you know, like friends, but not friends-” You stop yourself before you could go on. “Aht, you know what I mean.”

“Are you nervous?” He questioned, his eyes looking at how you fidgeted with your clothes. “You always find something to fidget with when you’re nervous.” The statement made you drop the lace of the slip on, clasping your hands together behind your back.

“I’m fine.” liar. But who wouldn’t be nervous? This was the infamous Darkling, and you were going to sleep next to him. You reassured yourself that you weren’t like the others. How many of his flings did he invite to stay the night when he was finished with them? Probably none. Besides, you weren’t a fling, not even close to it.

“You know you can trust me, right? I won’t do anything you're not comfortable with.” You let out a hum as you made your way towards his bed. He copied your actions, lifting up the covers and getting in them. He patted the spot next to him, waiting for you to move. You go to take off your night slippers and place them at the foot of the bed, noticing that he had also placed his boots near the foot of the bed.

“So, that’s where I get the habit from.” You said as you got into the covers, sitting awkwardly next to him. “I assume I get my many habits from you then. Just not sure which ones.”

“There’s a long list of them,” The fidgeting of your hands and feet make him laugh, “That one, surely doesn’t come from me.” Before you know it, you’re encapsulated by his arms. You let out an oomph at the sudden movement.

“Comfortable now?”

“Very.” You replied as you snaked your arm across his waist, your head resting on his chest. Listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was your first time being in his arms, but it felt so natural to you. A memory from Caryeva surfaced, golden eyes that stared back at you as you melted in his embrace. You shook the memory from your mind, not wanting to think about him when you had Aleksander next to you. “Do you think we could visit the castle?” You whispered, playing with the fabric of his tunic.

“Anything you want.” One of his hands goes to your hair, gently playing with it. The other stroking the soft skin of your shoulder. It was a routine that came naturally to the both of you, as if the missing puzzle pieces had fallen into place. “That’s actually where I went for the week. I knew that sooner or later, you would remember me. I wanted our home to be just the way you remembered it when you arrived.”

“That’s very nice of you…” Sleep was finally catching up to you as the truth weighed heavy on your mind. Aleksander continued to play with your hair even when you saw the steady rise and fall of your chest, signalling you were asleep. Careful not to wake you, he kisses the back of your head with a smile. You were finally in his arms once more.

-

THE feeling of someone breathing behind you had pulled you out of your sleep. It wasn’t a situation that you found yourself in often. But the warmth he had been radiating had almost lulled you back to sleep, almost. The arm that was loosely thrown around your waist had pulled you closer until he could rest his chin on your shoulder.

“Good morning, my darling.” His deep, raspy morning voice had stirred something in your stomach, a fire igniting in your core. “How did you sleep?” You removed his hand from your waist as you turned to face him.

“Fine, now that you’re beside me.” You had to admit, it was weird sleeping in the same bed so soon after finding out the truth. But you didn’t want to take any moment with him for granted. “I had another memory come to me while I was asleep.” He urges for you to continue, “I think we were at the castle. The sun was setting, giving the room the most beautiful haze. There was no music playing, but we were dancing in each other's arms.”

You see him smile as you describe the memory to him. He abruptly gets out of the bed, only to offer his hand to you. You wearily place your hand into his, a giggle leaving your lips as he tugs you out of bed and into his embrace.

“There’s no music!” You said as he twirled you around.

“It didn’t stop us last time.” He swiftly replied before pulling you back into his arms, settling for a slow sway. You could feel the fabric of his trouser brush against your legs at his every movement. Laying your head on his chest, a feeling of ease overtook you. You closed your eyes as you got lost in his hold.

It was a feeling so foreign to you. All your life you had always been on edge, even as a child at Keramzin. You could never let your guard down. But with Aleksander there was a side to you that you never knew. One that allowed you to relax and finally be happy. It was a side that neither of your closest friends had seen, ever. When survival was always your priority, you were never given the chance to be at ease.

“Open your eyes.” Once more the room had been engulfed by your light. You looked at your hands as they were glowing, a shocked laugh leaving you.

“Are you doing this?”

He shook his head before replying, “No. This is all you.” You noticed the lack of his shadows in the room, signifying he had no part in what was happening.

“I thought you said it wouldn’t be easy for me to conjure light.” You closed your hands and watched as the light faded, the only indication that you had summoned was the glow on your face.

“I guess being at ease helped you. From here it should get easier by the day to call forth the light.” He explained, a prideful look on his face.

“Does that mean I can have the stag now?”

He lets out a sigh, “No, like I said. I won’t risk your life for the stag again.” His resolve remained strong, never once showing a change of heart.

“But I’m getting stronger, within months I’ll be able to summon at my fullest potential!” You insisted, keen on having the stag on you instead of Alina.

“The key word here is months, we don’t have that time anymore. I’ve already spent months training and mentoring Alina. The people are getting restless, they want to see the shadow fold gone. Immediately.” He responded.

You opened your mouth to reply, only to get cut off by the frantic knocking at the door.

“What is it?” Aleksander growled out, irritated by the interruption.

“Sir! It’s the girl! She seems to be missing. We’ve searched everywhere for her, General.” Fedyor’s panicked voice rang out. “I’m so sorry, I’ve failed you, General Kirigan.” You roll your eyes as you go to open the door. Probably not the smartest idea since you were just in your nightgown.

“I’m right here Fedyor, no need to worry.” He takes in the disheveled state of your hair. Not yet combed since you’d just woken up.

“Oh sorry, did I interrupt?” He sends you a suggestive wink, which he prays that the General didn’t see.

“No. In fact, I was just leaving.” You looked back to Aleksander, a bewildered look on his face. “Have a nice day, General! I’ll see you later for dinner, like we discussed.” You hoped he caught onto your excuse.

“So, you and the General..” Fedyor began, his shoulder bumping into yours in a teasing manner.

“We were just merely discussing plans.” You lied, which wasn’t very much far from the truth.

He gives you a once over, “in your sleep attire?”

“It was an urgent matter.” You replied, stilling as you remembered you had left your kefta in his room. You’d just have to fetch it later.

“I’m sure it was.” He snickered. Soon the two of you parted ways, you to your room as he went to combat training. You decided to get changed for the day. You put on your usual military outfit, along with your weapons strapped to you. It’s not like you needed them when you could summon the sun from the tips of your fingers at any given moment.

No one can know. His voice rang clear in your mind, reminding you to limit the use of your summoning. You flopped onto your bed with a sigh. You were in the Little Palace and still managed to find nothing to do. You remembered the books you had so carelessly tossed when you encountered the Apparat.

Reaching for one of the books, you began to read it. You didn’t know how much time had passed when you decided to put down the book. It had been intriguing, but the strain on your eyes was becoming too much. The sun was still shining bright, you decided that you could explore the grounds on your own.

You threw on your jacket, doubling checking to make sure you had your weapons on you. The cold winter wind nipped at your skin as you clutched your jacket closer to you, trying to maintain your body heat. You resisted the urge to join the Grisha as you walked past the combat training area. The thought of fresh air had been appealing, hoping that it would help clear your mind. But it did little to ease it. There were so many questions that you didn’t know if Aleksander could answer. Have you always been a sun summoner? Why wouldn’t Aleksander let you take Morozova’s collar for yourself? How long had it been since he last saw you?

Soon, you found yourself in front of a fountain, a bench a few paces away from it. The old pictures on the stone made you laugh, how wrong their story was. You knew Aleksander, or as they called him, the Black Heretic, had regretted creating the fold. He did so out of anguish, the loss of you becoming too much. Ever since then, the two of you had collectively worked together to destroy the fold. But it seemed like the Saints had other plans for you each time.

“Something funny, otkazat’sya?” Zoya’s voice boomed out from behind. You spun around, finding that Zoya had been accompanied by the oprichniki Grisha as well.

“Shouldn’t you be minding your business, Zoya?” You must admit, it was a lame comeback. But it was the first thing that came to mind.

“I’ll mind my business when you finally leave the palace.” She and the oprichniki took two steps towards you as you took a step back. “Why are you even here? What could the General possibly want from you?” She taunted.

“Well, there’s a long list. Would you like to know?” You didn’t wait for her to reply before continuing, “For starters, I’m not easy. Not like you.” Zoya raises her fist, nearly summoning before the oprichniki stops her. “The General actually enjoys my company, can you believe it! I don’t need to seduce him to keep his attention.” She breaks loose from the oprichniki’s hold and lunges towards you. Before she can even reach you, she has a pistol drawn to her head, your pistol.

“Take another step and you’ll see for yourself if the Saints are actually true.” You threatened. Zoya could have easily summoned air to misdirect the bullet, no one would see. “You know, after being reprimanded, I would have thought that you’d learn your place. But perhaps you haven’t, so let me remind you.” You put your pistol away as you approached her. She lets out a yelp as you grabbed a handful of her hair, forcing her to her knees as her eyes flew up to yours. Your other hand had a harsh grip around her jaw. “I maybe be otkazat’sya, but you’ll find that my aim is accurate. I make no mistakes, Zoya. Remember that the next time you try to cross me.” You released her as she fell to the ground, tears in her eyes. You didn’t know if they were from embarrassment or fear, it’s not like you cared either way.

“Well, well, well, just what exactly do we have here?” Aleksander’s form came abruptly from the forest, as if he had been watching his whole time and he just now decided to make his appearance.

“Nothing. They were just leaving. Isn’t that right Zoya?” You stared at her as the oprichniki helped her up, the two of them scurrying away, leaving you alone with Aleksander. “Pathetic, aren’t they? How long were you watching?”

“I saw them following you and decided to follow them. I knew you could handle yourself, but I wanted to watch the show.” He entwined your arms together as the two of you took the long way back to his room, a path where no one would be able to interrupt or spot you.

“Did you enjoy it?” You questioned, stroking the soft fabric of his kefta.

“Seeing you put Zoya rightfully in her place? Yes. Although I do wish it was you who was on your knees.” He suggested, making a gasp leave your lips. “Anyways, it was time to fetch you for lunch. I know you didn’t have breakfast, and you wouldn’t be able to last until dinner.”

“Why thanks for the concern, my knight in shining armor.” You looked at his outfit again, choosing to reword your statement. “Correction, my darkling in a black kefta.” Now that you were thinking about it, you’d never seen him in anything else but black. Sure there were some memories here and there of him in a different colored top, but he left those colors behind when he’d lost you.

“So, what’re we having for lunch today?” You asked, the two of you continued walking towards his room. There were no interruptions, no others. Just Aleksander and y/n, the way it had always been. The way it’ll always be, until eternity.

-

MEANWHILE in the sweltering heat of Baghra’s hut, Alina struggled to get a grip on her sun summoning.

“What’s wrong with you, child?” Baghra chided, the thought of hitting Alina with her stick had crossed her mind one too many times today. She was about ready to throw her into the fire pit.

“I’ve noticed something.” She began, “Ever since my friend arrived at the Little Palace, it’s like there’s a side of Ale..” Alina let his name die on the tip of her tongue, it felt strange to be saying his given name. “..there’s a side of the Darkling I never knew existed. She’s brought out something in him. Something I haven’t been able to do in the months I’ve been here.”

She felt something comparable to hatred flow through her veins. But she could never bring herself to hate you. Not when you were practically her sister. No- she hated the way she’d so easily given into the Darkling, and how easily he’d thrown her away. She hated herself for giving up on Mal.

“You must tell me child, what is her name?” Alina had never heard such urgency from the old hag before.

“Y/n, her name is y/n y/l/n.” Her eyes widen in shock as she sees the smallest smile come to Baghra’s face. “Do you need a healer or something? Why are you smiling?”

Baghra left Alina in silence as her mind whirled with the possibilities. But there was one echo that was louder than the rest of them: Hope.

-

Mizpah tags: @all-art-is-quite-useless @devilxangel @musicconversedance @parabatai-winchester@runawayolives​ @tartiflvtte @rbg1933 @thatguppienamedbae@batgal96​ @thebarisinhell99 @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @kaqua​ @queenseneschal @benbarnes-supremacy @princessofpersia96 @takethee @dontjinx-it @freakytillthemoon @amortentiaaaa@marvel-ousnesss @coolninjavoid @areomalfoy​ @pansysgirlfriend @universalirwin @leavejuliaalone @xx-winwin-wednesday-xx​ @honeyofthegods @lunamyangel @d-list-goddess​ @comphersjost @telepathdestiel @the-celestial-kitsune @thestoryofmylife9 @s-corpionem @pancakeisreading @sanna2020​ @secretsandtinyshadows @savannah-elliott @maliasblue @tea-effect @disneyandharrypotter @futuristicpinklemur @tanyaherondale​ @the-puff-is-strong-with-this-one @hxgreeves @yourboiialucard​ @thereeallink @ladyblablabla @wolfieellsworld​ @p3nny4urth0ught5​ @louweasleymalfoy @the-natureofme@itsloveroflife @oddlittleminx @within-thehollowcrown​ @itsfangirlmendes @heyyimlaynna @jgtfvhsg @gloriousmoneyrascalbiscuit @auggie2000​ @itsnotquimey @jtownraindancer @sonnensplitter @sarcastic-and-cool @poulterfilms @spookybooisa @stickyknightflowerbailiff​ @hollandsweetie @yungkvte @evyiione @2023-padfoot @kawaiimarshmallow @nikki-sixx-is-daddy @sanktawylan @blackbirddaredevil23​ @athenamikaelson​ @mellifluous-cosmos​ @mylittlecrazyworldofinterest​ @iiclarixa​ @lcandothisallday​ @agent-jbarnes​ @cleverzonkwombatsludge​ @tiiffanym​ @spnstuff-mrvl​

Mizpah taglist closed for now </333

S.a.B. forever tags: @deceivedeer​

[wh6res]

dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved