#SO fucking ironic to see that on my dash from them specifically because his fucking girlfriend (my ex friend who was my roommate) would

[im-socurious]

Hiii, can you please do an oneshot where we get in an argument with Ony because he didn't let us go to an party so we sneaked out the house and went to the party without him knowing but thennn he finds out.

my first ask! ooooo u ate down wit this one😩 let me blow your mind.

Ony x Fem!black!reader

Test That Theory (Pt. 2)

Test That Theory

You were a grown woman. A strong woman who had a long life to live. You weren’t gonna let a man boss you around!

“No.” Ony said bluntly. You looked at him in shock. “Why? I didn’t have to ask you, i could’ve just went.” You said back. “You go to that damn party, and watch what happen. I’m tellin you now, ima raise hell if you do, mama.” Ony said, but you were fuming. “Nigga, you not my daddy. I’m a grown ass woman.” You said, venom dripping in your voice. It didn’t phase Ony. “Test That Theory, mama.” Ony said, still calm, cool and collected. He specifically made sure too keep his answer short, he didn’t tell you what the punishment could be. He didn’t want you to know what could happen if you rebelled.

It made you mad. He was still calm. He was testing your patience. So what did you do?

You snuck out.

It was 12 AM. You slipped out of Ony’s arms, got all dolled up and dashed. You had your friend pick you up.

Ony had woken up when you slammed the door a little too hard. He looked around and that’s when he came to the conclusion that you had snuck out. “this fuckin girl..” he muttered under his breath.

He threw on his sweatpants and a hoodie, his gun and left out. Once he pulled up at the party, he shouted your name.

You froze. The familiar voice not going unheard. You looked back and saw him and both of yall made eye contact. You tried to run to the back of the party but the heels barely let you get anywhere. Ony had caught you.

He grabbed your hand and tugged. “Let’s go” he muttered, his voice ice cold. “Ony-” “Shut the fuck up. I told you not to come to this party, it’s not safe and you still came. Let’s go. I’m not gon say it again.” He said.

He dragged you from the crowd to his car. He opened your door without even looking at you, and closed it. He started to drive with an iron grip on the wheel. Veins showing n all.

Not a word was said during the whole ride.

You kept your head down. You didn’t want to see his face. You were pissed at the fact he ruined your fun but scared at the idea of punishment. Almost wanting to let all your anger out, you hold back. Many insults floating around in your head.

You guys pull up at home. Ony comes around and opens your door, “go inside” he says. Not a single word after. You walk inside quietly, Ony trailing behind you.

He opens the bedroom door, not saying a word. You walked in. He walked in after you and slammed the door shut, scaring you. You looked up at him with wide eyes, your cunt slowly soaking your panties.

“Didn’t I tell you not to go to that party, ma?” He asked. “…yes ony.” “So why did you still go?” “ You never told me why I couldn’t go! All you said was that I couldn’t. You didn’t give me a reason! I didn’t know it wasn’t safe…” You said, looking away. “I shouldn’t have to tell you why you can’t go somewhere. You should just listen to me, ma. I would never try to purposely ruin your fun, so when I tell you not to go somewhere, it’s for a reason. And it’s not for a stupid reason either.” He spoke sternly, staring down at you.

“I’m sorry, Ony…” “Yea you gone be sorry. Take them damn clothes off.”

yeaaaaa ima just make a pt2. im too busy with school yall😞 i always tell my self ima start going to sleep at like 9 but i end up going to sleep at like 11 and school be on my ass bro. this post has been private for a while because i had posted on accident and i couldn’t un-post it, so i’ve editing it. but stay tuned for that pt2!

I LOVE YALL🎀

[surwitch]

Peter Quill know how sucks when something fuck up. And Peter Parker looks really fucked up. Matt Murdock just want moment of peace.

[eng is not my first languadge soooo sorry if it is a mess. it happens somewhere after nwh and gotg3, but before born again, because i wrote it when news about series was like "oh, yea, we re-write daredevil" so yea. i go from there. have fun.] tw: mention of blood, non grafic, but here

now in ao3 too: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55686070

Peter Quill know how sucks when something fuck up.

He just know, you know? With this whole "my father is a planet, my dad space-pirate die to save me, my girlfriend died and then come back but it was not her but her from another universe" thing in his life. And oh, yes, live all his life don't knowing that people invented spotify. Literal, fucking, crime. Why no one tell him? But yes, to the point: he, the Star-Lord, see a misery when he meet one.

And, you know, Peter is just bored. Earth is… fine. Very chill. Some aliens one-two times in several months, villians of the week who stop metro (like it not bad enough at the good days). And living with his grandpa was cool, but Peter was born for a big city. City that like the space - city that moving and never stops. So, Peter here, in the center of all hell on Earth (with how many shit happened here at past few years), in the New York. And well, happy accident, and he's here, in coffee shop with overpriced coffee looking at some tragedy, really.

Peter Parker (whos name Quill sees wathing at guy fresh license that falls out of his pocket) looks really fucked up.

(Peter hates that there another Peter because when he tries to think it make a mess in his head. Parker. Parker is good.)

Like, no, boy is not ugly, but, uh, you get it. He had eyes of the sad little pet and they look like they always wet. He has atmosphere like boy from rom-coms who run in the rain for hours with words in the end of his tongue only to forget them all by looking at person that he ran to.

Parker look pathetic as fuck, buying another coffee (that he never drink, what a shame) and never anything else. And he's always look like he knows something about girl who works here ("my friend's call's me MJ" tells she to Quill one day, "And you, creep, comes here enough to count as one." and then she turn on another 70's hit when he's laugh to his death), but MJ never talk about him. She didn't even looks like she knows him more than client and Peter know that this woman not lie.

And boy Parker looks like someone kill his parrot. Every. Fucking. Time.

Oh God, if this another drama with "my girlfriend but not my girlfriend" then its a blessing that Peter catch Parker. He's the Star Lord, he can help with this kind of situation. And this look more funnier than looking at New York streets for vintage stores (Peter hates that all his favorite stuff is vintage now. It costs like a airplane. Or good space-gun.)

Peter Quill know how sucks when something fuck up. And he'll find a way to help this Parker boy with some strange shit between him, MJ and cool guy Ned. Ned is cool. Peter just need to figure out how make Parler "cool" and not "sad". But he'll find a way.

Matt Murdock just want moment of peace.

And between being a vigilante and trying to live a normal lawyer life it's… difficult. Sometimes with "blood in his mouth in the middle of the court hearing" type of difficult. So having this little loud man around not make it easier.

Matt heard how people call him Spider-Man ("The dash is very important" a boy once enlightened him on a roof. He was tapping his foot on the roof, and Matt could hear it slightly shaking the iron sheet that covered the air conditioners at the other end of the roof.) and he's meets him himself.

Boy sound like a nice one. Young. And sad.

Normal teen combination. Still Matt doesn't feel's like it right for this teenager specifically. So, he'd did what he do a lot - become a idiot (At least is what Jen said to him. Sometimes she's reminded him of Foggy.)

And patrolling the boundaries of Hell Kitchen, crossing paths with a guy more often, Matt can admit that he is good. Very much so: the kid knows when to restrain blows, when to strike them, and how to talk to people so that criminals fear him and civilians trust him ("Sometimes it helps that some criminals believe that I killed Mysterio," Spidey tells him one day, "But me… I didn't kill him, you know?.." and Matt nodded confidently at him, because Spidey's heart wasn't lying.)

And Matt did that disgusting thing that he's not allowed to do. He became attached. And Matt hated getting attached.

Oh God, Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph, just give him a peaceful death.

His whole story showed him how easily affection can turn into something at your throat. (Even Jane beat the shit out of him once, and he gritted his teeth and sometimes called her a friend. In my head. But he did.) Thanks, he didn't like it.

And Spidey is a teenager. Maybe a little older, just entering adulthood. But the guy is so much like him: he's just trying to do the right thing in a way that he's found and that works. Even if this way makes him sad.

It just how he feels every day. Permanently sad. Apathetic. Dreary. (Matt thinks about how Foggy would laugh at the fact that he's worried about it in another person when he's the same himself.)

Matt Murdock just want moment of peace. But with kid, who's blood already attached to his couch, it seems impossible. Not like Matt has a lot of believers in fact that if kid doesn't was here he'll gonna find peace but. Let man have a dream.

("I have a good friend once. We don't talk now." say's Spider-Man and Matt get it. Vigilante life sucks in this case: when you know, that there's a people, who search for you, and if you have someone "normal" around these people gonna go for them. He became estranged from Foggy for this reason. His number still in Matt's phone.)

And maybe one day he's find peace. Even if it will be a little moment when beeps are going off in phone and he hears the same beeps going on in Spidey's phone.

One day. Just for a couple minute. Not now.

Now Matt figuring out what the fuck (Forgive him, Lord) he need to do with a kid in blood on his couch. But, um, he'll figuring it out. Somehow.

[this just some shit from my notes that i wrote right after gotg vol3. this just some shit from my notes that i wrote right after gotg vol3. sadly, i dont have enough skill of writing in english to make it something bigger (like actual fic, yk?) or i just don't feel muself confident enough to do something big in eng. maybe this. soooooooo take it, have fun and please write me if you want to use this idea. i think its hilarious scenario. sincerely, your surwitch. she/her.]

[coulsonlives]

Hi, how's it going? I just saw your post about spoons and how people in this RPC act like you're an ableist asshole over it, and holy shit do I relate, because it's literally happened to me too. Rant incoming, but I thought I'd pass some validation your way... I have a lot of feelings about this.

Like you said, tumblr users have become absurdly brazen with the "you're ableist" accusations towards people with disabilities who are just trying to enjoy a hobby, and trying to ensure their needs are met by making them clear/upfront in their rules. Like, jesus christ... If you have depression or low spoons, and you easily burn out from high partner/character turnover, or if you don't spend a lot of time online, or if you get really disoriented if you log on once a week and see a lot has changed re: your partners' blogs and such, that's a valid concern. It's not being fucking "ADHD ableist" to say you burn out if partners have a high turnover with their blogs or characters, so you prefer to follow people whose blogs and characters are more stable. It's not "ADHD ableist" to say you prefer writing longform posts rather than one-liners. It's not "ADHD ableist" to say you have memory issues, so you can't manage when threads or characters change a lot. That last one about memory is very ironic, because ADHD can literally affect working memory too, sometimes you need to take the exact same approach with it! Anyways, long story short, there's no "right" way to roleplay. My approach to roleplaying isn't going to be compatible with everyone else's, that's just the way it works. But some assholes don't understand that at all, and they throw fists over it, and I just? Stop.

We're not saying "if you roleplay this way, you suck ass", or "this way of roleplaying is better than the rest", or "if you read these rules, you must do as I say because I'm a bossy controlling high-maintenance bitch", but that's literally what the Reactive Outrage Crowd seems to interpret from our rules... Which we've put upfront out of courtesy, before people even interact with us. And I'm sick of it. I've seen it happen to my friends, and it's happened to me, I'm sorry to hear it's happened to you, too, ugh. You can be the nicest person, and you still get shit because people take screencaps out of context or whatever, and they think their disabilities and ND traits give them full license to order us to conform to their own specific needs, which they wrongly believe is the only "right" way to roleplay, so we must conform to them, and them only.

What the hell happened to, "we are fundamentally incompatible as writing partners, so instead of trying to force each other to fit into a mold, which is only going to lead to frustration, let's acknowledge we are too different, and find partners who are more compatible"?!

Honestly, these last few years.

The worst part, in my opinion? How tumblr's RPC is full of petty-ass roleplayers who like to pretend they're inclusive, and understanding of people who are ND or who have disabilities, but as it turns out... They're only accepting if you're the "right" kind of ND or disabled, fuck you if you're anything else.

Are you autistic, and do you have very blunt or direct rules that are formatted in bullet points? Maybe you'll hear, "wow, if I wanted to apply for a job and check off boxes, I'd go on indeed, lmfao" (I wish I were kidding, this has happened). Have health problems and need to explain the specific ways it affects your writing or blog organization, which involves a lot of tag lists and explanations? "Wow, these rules are so long, nobody with ADHD is going to read a textbook, lmaoo." (Yes, I've also seen this.) Prefer not to follow people who are super into one specific fandom, because you don't want to hear about it, or because you don't want a higher likelihood of seeing that content on your dash (due to accidental untagging or something)? "Lmao, this person sounds like a wet napkin".

Are you kidding me?

Some people are so ready to shit on rules and posts that do literally nothing wrong. The only things these rules and posts do is show incompatibility with the person's own roleplaying style, in a totally non-judgmental way. But people equate these rules and posts to ableism and rudeness, because they've gotten it into their heads that their own way to roleplay is the "only way", and then they start stirring up the Outrage Porn mobs. Hey, look everyone, here's the latest in "shitty ableism," let's all stare and wonder wtf is wrong with this person who's done literally nothing even remotely offensive! Like that's not a super fucked-up form of entertainment. And why is it always "ADHD ableist", like you said? I feel bad for the people with ADHD who genuinely don't give a rat's ass about people's rules or finding faults in everything, and who just adhere to the live and let live mindset.

Like… Come on, people. There is nothing wrong with ADHD, or with preferring high-turnover threads or short rules and things... Just like there's nothing wrong with the alternative. Just shut the fuck up with the rules bullshit, regardless of your disabilities, and stop acting like you know what's best for all people and their own disabilities. People who are clearly incompatible with you don't owe you shit, especially if they're not hurting anyone or forcing you to do anything. You need to stop being so entitled and learn how to walk away like an adult. And stop calling everything ableist without it warranting it, because not only are you hurting ND/disabled people more often than not when you use it (sometimes without even realizing it), especially on a website like tumblr, but you're grossly watering down the term, and that's going to bite all of us in the ass one day. You shouldn't be proud of that, you should be ashamed.

Okay, I'm done lol.

(Shit like this is why I don't go on tumblr anymore, for the record.)

This needs to be framed and displayed in the tumblr rp museum of excellence, thank you for saying it

[pan0ramy]

okay i've played enough to the point where i want to get my thoughts out SO i'll put them in a read more in case anyone doesn't want to be spoiled 🫡 wall of text incoming lol

there is. so much new stuff happening mechanically, but i wouldn't say it's overwhelming either??? i think i'm still getting used to how mel feels a lot more... deliberate than zag did? i was very much used to just zipping around and getting quick hits in and then dodging back out again, and you can still do that in 2, but you have to think a bit more about enemy placement and things like that. your dash is slower, too - sometimes to the point where it feels like there's too much of a delay when i press the button tbh, but that might be something they'll change - so i find myself often grouping a bunch of enemies together in a cast, dodging out, dealing with the stragglers and then picking them off one by one. when it clicks, it really clicks, and it's very satsifying. i actually swapped around the buttons for the cast and special, since.. the special is more like 1's cast, and the cast feels like a special? so that way it feels a bit more natural and i'm not pressing the wrong buttons all the time lol

i know they've said some of the art is still work in progress (and you can kind of see it with some of the backgrounds), but everything looks GORGEOUS so far. something that really struck me was how, when you get a boon from one of the gods, it really feels like they're taking over your screen with how the colours of the dialogue box changes, the background art changes, the lighting changes - whereas in the original it felt a bit like you just had a visitor who was calling in to help you out for a bit, this really feels like you're having an audience with them while they're elsewhere, and it's really cool to look at

honestly the designs in general are amazing??? i was very curious to see how they'd redesign anyone that's coming back from the original game, and i don't think there's a single design i dislike so far. like,,,,, THEY GAVE DEMETER A LIL BUN. I LOVE IT. she was the first god i got a boon from besides apollo and i was SO happy she showed up so quickly, she's probably my favourite from 1!! they also made artemis look a lot more… friendly, for lack of a better word, which makes sense since she seems to be to mel what thanatos was to zag? i have to wonder if she'll appear back at the base at some point, because she looks ADORABLE. even the gods i wasn't the biggest fan of in the original, like poseidon and aphrodite, got REALLY good redesigns. (and they somehow managed to make aphrodite hotter. HOW.) i will say i haven't found hermes, dionysus or ares yet, so if they pop up later on i'd LOVE to see what they do with them specifically - especially ares, i feel like he'd have really good potential for a redesign of some kind (which is saying a LOT since i loved his design in the OG)

new designs-wise, though, I LOVE HESTIA SO MUCH ALREADY. she might be another of my new favourites, she's just. so fucking adorable. i really like odysseus, too, and he has great dialogue to match it! just like the original, dying ironically feels like a reward since i get to go back to the base, talk to everyone, pet the frog AND give the lil familiars some treats so. 10/10 on that

on a different note, i am. slightly scared (in a good way, though) as to how much content seems to be in early access? if what supergiant have said is true and this already has more content than the FULL base game of hades 1, then. even if it's not finished, that's. a bit insane? so i'm curious to see how many different areas there are, especially since it seems like we're going downwards this time instead of upwards every time you finish an area! there's a lot of new mechanics for upgrades and skill progression, too, and i love all of them so far - i already prefer the arcana and grasp system to the mirror in the original, since you can change your loadout each run in a more minute way if you want to! there's a LOT more potential for customisation here, and now with how you can pick up materials in the environment after clearing a room, it seems like you're encouraged not to rush through everything and really take advantage of what the game is offering you, which. i love, everything feels very well planned out so far

also, side note, but with the amount of baldur's gate i've been playing, i. really thought i was losing my mind hearing hecate speak for the first time. but. nope! just the same VO as the narrator 😅 the VO is great as expected, though! i got a lil emotional hearing mel say some of the same lines as zag ngl this game has made me an emotional mess so far and i've only beaten the first boss lol

hades 2 has dropped i am about to be so insufferable im so sorry

[lightningfilledsaber]

I’ll be talking about the last post I reblogged in the tags of this post for the sake of the person I reblogged it from

[tomatograter]

Do you think Dirk saying that he doesn't like to label himself as gay means he has internalized homophobia? Or does he really just don't like to put labels on himself? I've seen ppl saying it's homophobia but there's ppl in real life that don't feel comfortable with labels so I'm a bit confused honestly, cus we are talking about Dirk and he's... Dirk after all

Easy answer: Dirk is Gay.

Prolonged answer: I think it's kinda weird how some fandom discussion around "Dirk dodging the label in One pesterlog" has largely spiraled way outside of its original context to be talked about in a vacuum, especially when that context is crucial to understanding what is actually being said, AKA — it belongs to a deeply awkward conversation between Dirk and Roxy. One of Many they are implied to have had about the subject of Roxy's sustained, unwelcome, and oft drunken advances towards Dirk (& his splinters).

I'm going to reproduce it plus another bit of text down below, for the sake of comparison.

(To prevent the trickster text from looking like absolute shit, I have altered the background. Read the original here, if you're nasty: https://www.homestuck.com/story/5754 )

Now that we've been reacquainted with how and where that sentiment is expressed, let's try to break down what Dirk is doing here.

He is not receptive to Roxy's early advances, and spends most of the 'intro' for this conversation (not pictured) ignoring when Roxy flirts with him, until she gets upset at how 'boring' he is being right now.

Dirk is the one compelled to apologize.

He proceeds to shut the scenario down as an unwanted probability, eliciting further guilt-babbling from Roxy over how Dirk never wants to play along with the perfect traditional family fantasy, until she finally blows up and says it's because he's gay.

"I mean, yeah, that's what I thought."

Dirk, rather than saying I Am Not Gay, since he looooooves changing a conversational subject, claims that "Gay" is not entirely historically appropriate for this situation, given the non-negligible passage of time and the wildly dystopic circumstances* they find themselves in.

Dirk reassures Roxy he does still care about her.

Dirk is absolutely terrified of a similarly inclined (and intoxicated) Roxy up close. This is the most exclamations he's ever used.

Now, *These circumstances? The loss of 99% of the human race, including their society, customs, culture, and prejudices. (ALLEGEDLY.) It's important to remember that from Dirk and Roxy's side of the timetable, troll culture has been pushed as "the norm" for actual fucking centuries. HIC tried to recreate the caste system by artificially coloring human blood, leading to the death of billions. Faygo came out of the water tap, not water. Troll slang was incorporated into the English language. Humans ceased to organically reproduce. They were actively Discouraged from reproducing, since that's not something HIC could have total genetic control over; rendering traditional marriage and the concept of the nuclear family pointless.

You could also argue that same-gender relationships are not uncommon in Alternia, making "gay" altogether unnecessary by proxy, and that's true! But my point is this one: any union (or at least our society's holy concept of it) between straightie humans would be by definition undesirable under HIC's rule, too. She is the church, the president and the governing body. The population is only as good as they are assets for her to do whatever she wants with, including mass murder.

But wait! While that tracks… Roxy clearly still holds onto very 'conservative' definitions of romance for most of Homestuck. We see this multiple times. Dirk, as proved in conversations with Jake, uses 'gay' as an ironic pejorative. Suddenly it's not Historically Inaccurate anymore, Jake's interests are just gay.

Does this mean the context above is basically worthless, since they don't seem to have internalized it? No.

What must be kept in mind is this: Dirk and Roxy's only "active" link to de facto humanity is our society as it was in the early 2010's. Those glimpses they get by talking with jane and jake. They have all that dystopic context, yes, but the reality that seems the most "unfucked" to them for a grand majority of their lives are the halcyon years before the Condesce's rise to power: back when weed was illegal, BlogSpot was popular, movies sucked, MTV was still a hip channel, and gay generally meant something real bad. The wave of homophobia as a punchline or fear mongering tactic was at THE HEIGHTS. Marriage equality was a hot debate topic. Those were the dayz.

Dirk is keenly aware of the taboo implication the word "Gay" as a self-denomination carries. He's no dummy. But he's rarely direct with his intentions either. He's slippery as a bar of soap. (He's never "straight about his feelings", if you prefer.) And for a guy that cares so much about his reputation and maintaining a curated sense of utter coolness, he wants to avoid outing himself as any sort of weirdo no matter the cost.

But that's not all. I think the gravity of just how much Dirk believes he *owes* Roxy simply for existing as the last human in the same timeframe as her is a severely underplayed aspect of Dirk's core character, together with how much he tries to avoid her sexual advances only to end up feeling like absolute shit over it, because — if they truly are the last people on god's blighted earth, isn't he being "selfish" and "irrational" about not feeling shit for Roxy, in the grand scale of things? Is Roxy not his only friend in tangible reality, even if he avoids the mere suggestion of visiting her? Even if she gets black-out drunk and tries to push him into indulging her, regardless of how many times he's already said no?

(Spend enough time here and you realize how it directly mirrors the jane/jake experience.)

Dirk cares a lot about each and every one of his friends.

He pointedly adapts his speech based on whichever one of them he's talking to in an effort to express that investment. May it be reassuring Jane, fooling around with Jake, or trying to prevent Roxy from falling into a total catatonic doom-spiral; he avoids telling them anything that would be too crushing to hear. That's not what he's trying to do here. Not to say that he isn't bitchy sometimes, but that’s far from the central thing he does. The Epilogues have retroactively led people to believe that Dirk abhors and despises every single person he's ever been close to before (god forbid) LIKING them, and I think buying too much into that assumption ignores the foundations of his canon text, as well as the central motivation behind 99% of his actions in the story. This is the guy that grew up on Friendship Is Magic, has a picture of rainbow dash shamefully glued to one wall and a rainbow poster of Jake's symbol stapled to another, and everything he does is a little cringe attempt to demonstrate his worth by showing how much he cares about people, even when he's punching his actual feelings down instead of up and saying them.

Which brings us back to the load-bearing part of this question: Admitting to Roxy that there is absolutely no fucking way he will ever agree to having her babbys because he is gay is precisely the opposite of what Dirk wants to say, if his intention isn't pulverizing her. So he doesn't. And his worry on this regard is such that it prevents Dirk from even telling Roxy that he does love her, in the platonic sense, as a friend and hell-earth survivor, because he knows that specificity is what that would disappoint her greatly. (He only ever confesses this to Jane, on the death slabs.)

But also I think this is a really funny visual of Dirk's relationship with the word gay, to put statements into perspective:

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

so get this. I was gonna roll around in Tombstone related fluff today - but no, no - this post came across my dash so Now We Are Gonna Discuss the Carnal Consumption of Meat as it appears on That Show Supernatural.  YEAH BUDDIES!

(also my sincere apologies to OP of the inspiration post who innocently tagged it with “lunch date!”  because I am about to go Elsewhere, cursedly).

Let’s all go meat man, after the cut!

This analysis centers primarily on 5x14 Bloody Valentine.  The title of course is a semi-homage to a 3D Slasher Film Jensen starred in circa 2009. 

Which I will be renting soon I guess.  ,[<- parasocial panda GET BACK IN YOUR ENCLOSURE]

Also Its Really Fun that the trailer for Said Cinema ends with “nothing says date movie like a 3-D ride to hell” [are you also thinking of Cas pulling Dean out of hell, or are you normal?]  ***unironically the teaser for 5x14 is -

EXT. SIDEWALK - IN FRONT OF ALICE'S APARTMENT BUILDING

RUSSEL 

First date.

They then eat each other.  Literally they eat each others flesh.  They also do it while dirty talking about it.  SPN IS A SHOW 

ALICE Ugh! I've been so alone. So empty...

RUSSEL I know. Me too.

ALICE I want you, Russel---All of you... inside me...

[they both take bites out of each other, Alice chewing on a piece of Russel's flesh]

****Remember this detail, as it is important.

ANYWAY, it’s truly Cursed that not only are we doing an homage to this 3-D Jensen Horror Date Flick but also this episode is specifically centered on Valentine’s Day.  The day honoring romance and love Now Coopted by Hallmark, everyone, that is the day spn writers chose to introduce us to 

Sir Horseman of THE Biblical Apocalypse Famine. 

Canonically, we are aware that the show is drawing from the book of Revelations in its depiction of the Four Horsemen.  Here’s what it says about Famine -

"When He broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a black horse; and he who sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand.”

-Revelations 6:5

Famine holds scales (used to weigh out grain in times of food scarcity).  Spn’s depiction is represented as hunger, a bottomless pit of need.  It consumes souls (demon and human alike).  

Cas describes Famine a little more poetically:

CASTIEL 

"And then will come Famine riding on a black steed. He will ride into the land of plenty... "

"... and great will be the Horseman's hunger, for he is hunger. "

"His hunger will seep out and poison the air. "

***Consider a prior season in which we are introduced to the Seven Deadly Sins.  Which are the sins associated with hunger?

Gluttony

and Lust.

***this is also important

Back to the episode.  Case cold open, and we find out that Alice was a Nice Girl.  In that she didnt drink, smoke or

have premarital sex.

***So Alice’s hunger for the sin of Lust caused her to succumb to it; and her demise was presented as Gluttony (literally eating her partner’s flesh). HMM

Famine’s presence is affecting the town, and Cas is not immune.

DEAN 

And when did you start eating?

CASTIEL 

Exactly. My hunger-- it's a clue, actually.

***They lay it out a little more in case you missed it ->

SAM 

I thought famine meant starvation, like as in, you know, food.

CASTIEL 

Yes. Absolutely. But not just food. I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something--Sex, attention, drugs, love...

***this is so important.  but of course because its spn and our textual narrators are generally unreliable (even in a Ben Edlund episode, yes I know)

we get a red herring

CASTIEL 

Right. The cherub made them crave love, and then Famine came, and made them rabid for it.

***but that’s not accurate.  they didn’t get married or become obsessed with each other (remember the cursed coin in 4x08 Wishful Thinking and the unconditional love wish? not what happened here). they had premarital sex.  they did the thing Alice considers wrong, and dark, and sinful.  and then they ate each others’ flesh.

DEAN 

Okay, but what about you? I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?

CASTIEL 

It's my vessel-- Jimmy. His, uh, appetite for red meat has been touched by Famine's effect

***mad lad Jimmy Novak’s hunger is for...red meat?  He is starving for red meat?  You are telling me that the Novaks, red blooded conservative religious midwestern Novaks, ate RED MEAT SO SPARINGLY that Jimmy Novak was LITERALLY starving for it?!?!  No way.  Absolutely no way.  This is a man who was such a religious zealot he STUCK HIS HAND IN BOILING WATER and accepted an angel of the lord into his own body but his secret hunger was for fucking ground beef?

give me a damn break.

to me this is an absolute coverup.  Because Cas’s burger consumption is not related one iota to his vessel Jimmy Novak.

it is a representation of Cas falling.  Cas’s cravings for meat represent his growing (and very much prohibited) feelings for...humanity (Dean Winchester), and they are presenting as Gluttony in the form of his downing more and more copious amounts of red meat.  

SERIOUSLY, consider this - at one point the depiction is so desperately carnal that he is eating raw ground beef with his bare hands. It is fucking uncomfortable.  and it is SUPPOSED to be.  Famine stirs up hunger for the prohibited.  For the sinful. That which we are starving for but do not believe we can ever have, so we lust and we lust and we LUST after it, but should we allow ourselves even just a taste of what we have been ravenously craving, we binge it until we ourselves disappear into the oblivion of our own sinful, dark desires.

Since You Want More Examples of why this cant possibly be hunger for Cheeseburgers and Cheeseburgers alone, Consider Famine’s effect on Dean.  Remember his doctor kink?

**when its revealed that Doctor Corman has succumbed to Famine’s poison by drinking himself to death, Dean - very uncharacteristically by the way - reacts by saying out loud

DEAN Thanks. Crap! I really kind of liked this guy.

***please note that Doctor Corman says the following to Dean in the prior scene they have together -

DR. CORMAN [to Dean]

Agent Marley, you just can't stay away.

****was that a flirtation?

***Also, Dean doesn’t want to go out and chase tail for Valentines Day.   

SAM

I mean, what do you always call it-- Uh, unattached drifter Christmas?

DEAN 

Oh, yeah. Well... be that as it may...I don't know. Guess I'm not feeling it this year.

SAM 

So you're not into bars full of lonely women?

DEAN 

Nah, I guess not. [takes a sip of his beer] Ahh. What?

SAM 

That's when a dog doesn't eat-- That's when you know something's really wrong.

***oh look we are relating things to eating again.  sex/lust to gluttony.  hmmm hmmm hmmm

ANYHOW -  *takes deep breath*

 this is also the Episode Where This Scene Lives

****JACKTING JOICES

oh and speaking of jacting joices, this is also the Dean Notices Cupids Crotch Episode.

frAckles, I am once again asking why you only permit celestial beings to hug you from behi-[gunshots]

but Dean isn’t hungry.  Why? Famine has the explanation, and we get it after Dean immediately runs inside after Cas heads in to complete his portion of their plan barely giving him any time to do so because he misses him that much.

FAMINE 

I disagree. [Famine moves closer to Dean and touches him] Yes. I see. That's one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can't fill it, can you? Not with food or drink. Not even with sex.

DEAN 

Oh, you're so full of crap.

FAMINE 

Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your brother, lie to yourself, but not to me! 

***not Dean making all of those homophobic/homoerotic jokes every time he’s in danger or feeing uncomfortable; not that, that can’t possibly be what Famine is referencing, right?

I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are, how defeated. 

***not THIS parallel:

AMARA:

You're a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel, except… It's cloaked in shame

You can't win, and you know it. But you just keep fighting. Just... keep going through the motions. 

***not the motions of performative heterosexuality!!

***Dean’s not hungry because in his heart he truly believes that he can’t actually have what he hungers for.  That Thing Which This Episode Overtly but Also Very Clearly Made Obvious.  It’s an angel riding shotgun [I did Do That and I am Not Sorry], eating a burger in the front seat of the impala.  But, I’ve deviated from the meat of this essay [gunshots] [this time just for the bad joke].

BONUS

there’s Exists another episode in which a man ravenously consumes red meat; eventually succumbing to eating raw beef with his bare hands in the season prior to this one.  

Yes Supernatural the Show That Brought Us Not One But Two Scenes of Persons Carnally Consuming Red Meat With Their Bare Hands.  

This episode is a MOTW - the man in question is a rougaru - a monster that starts out as human but due to some specific genetic disorder (hmmm hmmm hmm crack in THE chassis hmmm hmmm) soon begins to be extremely hungry - “for everything, but eventually long pig.” AKA human flesh. 

Wanna know the kicker?  

Episode’s called Metamorphosis.

(GIF by jackttwist)

I’ll see myself out.

[DOUBLE BONUS for extra credit:

if you really wanna wild out, go watch the scene of Jack the rougaru looking at himself in the mirror in 4x04 - and then meander on over to 7x01 and check out God!stiel looking in the mirror as the leviathans writhe inside him over there. It’s worth the walk.]

***oh and @lilac-void​ im tagging you in this one because in exchange for your KIND creator content nomination I guess I will respond by cursing you with an Honorary tag in this, a Meat Meta.  you’re welcome slash I'm sorry XO [but seriously thank you again for your kindness and appreciation; it really motivated me to sit down and get moving on making more content <3]

[une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir]

random thoughts about aegon vi and septa lemore

Apparently, it’s Aegon’s week. i don’t think i ever paticipated in these events for any character or pairing, but @agentrouka-blog​’s theory that septa Lemore is Ashara Dayne and that the baby switch was between Aegon and her rumoured child (instead of random kid) showed up on my dash today.

Lemore being Ashara Dayne and there having been baby switch like theorised would be fantastic, because she’d know a lot of stuff that is otherwise impossible to know. She knows who dishonoured her at Harrenhal (we all know Brandon, not Ned). She knows about Wylla, a wetnurse from the Dayne Household, who Eddard Stark and Edric Dayne both say is Jon’s mother (we all know Jon is Lyanna’s, so this apparent lie version being told by two different people who have nothing to do with one another seems to suggest a combined lie between Ned and the Daynes). She knows about Jon because Ned went to Starfall with him and (if baby switch theory is true), she can confirm Aegon VI is real.

There’s also the suspicious narrative choice of a “Targ” (not even, she has dark hair, not silver hair, even if she has purple eyes) getting with an impetuous Stark at Harrenhal and a secret child never really going anywhere. What’s the point of that besides shading Rhaegar plus Lyanna equals Jon? This I always thought was suspicious, but this theory would *poof* make it make sense.

TYRION III ~ ADWD

This is the chapter where Aegon VI Targaryen is first introduced. The whole chapter is like a “perigrination” to find him. I am of the opinion that Aegon VI is the real thing for a long time now and there’s evidence that might be the case in this very chapter where he’s introduced.

"How fares our lad?" asked Illyrio as the chests were being secured. Tyrion counted six, oaken chests with iron hasps. Duck shifted them easily enough, hoisting them on one shoulder.

This is shortly after the chapter starts. Not only Illyrio asks about Aegon, there’s also the imagery of six chests about. If Aegon is crowned king of Westeros, he’ll be Aegon VI Targaryen.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++

"There is a gift for the boy in one of the chests. Some candied ginger. He was always fond of it." Illyrio sounded oddly sad.

This is often used as a clue that Aegon VI is fake. Illyrio is expressing some sentimental attachment, so there are theories that he could be the father and the mother would be some Valyrian looking wife he has. it has its merits.

On the other hand, Aegon VI is on the run from the crown, hiding under a false identity and dyes his hair another colour, but most importantly in this passage, is Aegon’s fond of a specific sweet that what we would at first mistake for a father for the reasons pointed above gifts him with.

This is 1:1 what’s going on with Sansa, she’s on the run from the crown, hiding under a false identity and dyes her hair another colour, she’s fond of a specific sweet (lemoncakes) and Littlefinger, who’s pretending to be her father and is very... emotionally invested... in her, gifts her with some (well, in parternship with her cousin, but the cousin is another matter).

By parallel, Aegon is real.++

Tyrion craned his head to one side, and saw a boy standing on the roof of a low wooden building, waving a wide-brimmed straw hat. He was a lithe and well-made youth, with a lanky build and a shock of dark blue hair.

Aegon is inrroduced standing above the rest, literally high-standing.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++

An older couple with a Rhoynish cast to their features stood close beside the tiller, whilst a handsome septa in a soft white robe stepped through the cabin door and pushed a lock of dark brown hair from her eyes.

This is actually what I came for, Lemore.

Why a septa would be described as “handsome” when that should have no relevance since she’s supposed to be chaste (I know, it’s Tyrion, but still)? Ashara Dayne is described by many as being beautiful, arrestingly so. If Lemore is Ashara, “handsome” is a good way to describe her beauty still.

Lemore has dark brown hair. Ashara is described as having long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders. More importantly, Lemore's first actions is push her hair from her eyes. Like, pay attention to this woman’s eyes, even though they’re not described ever (not even their colour).

TYRION IV ~ ADWD

Tyrion had drunk himself blind his first night on the Shy Maid. The next day he awoke with dragons fighting in his skull.

So yes, the night after Tyrion meets Aegon and his party for the first time, he dreams of dragons fighting. Take note these are dragons, not a fake dragon in whatever way and a dragon.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++.

The clouds in the sky were aglow: pink and purple, maroon and gold, pearl and saffron. One looked like a dragon. Once a man has seen a dragon in flight, let him stay at home and tend his garden in content, someone had written once, for this wide world has no greater wonder. Tyrion scratched at his scar and tried to recall the author's name. Dragons had been much in his thoughts of late.

One of those clouds looks like a dragon. There’s no dragons with these colours BUT Targs have purple eyes and Viseryion, a dragon I believe is a narrative stand-in for Aegon VI, is described as cream and gold, so one colour here. Honestly, the important here is that Tyrion is associating dragons around Aegon.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++.

"Good morrow, Hugor." Septa Lemore had emerged in her white robes, cinched at the waist with a woven belt of seven colors. Her hair flowed loose about her shoulders. "How did you sleep?"

Holy shit.

“Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes.

"Fitfully, good lady. I dreamed of you again." A waking dream. He could not sleep, so he had eased a hand between his legs and imagined the septa atop him, breasts bouncing.

"A wicked dream, no doubt. You are a wicked man. Will you pray with me and ask forgiveness for your sins?"

Only if we pray in the fashion of the Summer Isles. "No, but do give the Maiden a long, sweet kiss for me."

Laughing, the septa walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning.

"Plainly, this boat was not named for you," Tyrion called as she disrobed.

"The Mother and the Father made us in their image, Hugor. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

Yeah, it’s Tyrion, who’d sexualise a rock, but this is a septa who deserves respect. Yet, this is how the writer “paints” the reader’s first interaction with this new character. These are always the most striking moments when establishing a character and sex imagery is what the writer decided to do.

Also Lemore not only knows that Tyrion’s fantasising about having sex with her and doesn’t give a shit, she laughs instead, gets naked to bathe, and doesn’t give a shit if others look at her naked body. This doesn’t feel like a septa. I mean, I remember Mordane and the zealots at King’s Landing who screwed with Cersei. They have nothing on this.

The way she puts why she has no problems with naked bodies and the like also suggest some kind of “free spirit” which goes well with the (disgusting, but there) dornish wanton woman trope and being dishonoured by Brandon at Harrenhal.

Another thing to note, is that Tyrion also clearly says the “Shy Maid” wasn’t named after Lemore, which suggests she’s neither shy nor a maid. This is confirmed by her actions and by...

The dwarf watched Lemore slip into the water. The sight always made him hard. There was something wonderfully wicked about the thought of peeling the septa out of those chaste white robes and spreading her legs. Innocence despoiled, he thought … though Lemore was not near as innocent as she appeared. She had stretch marks on her belly that could only have come from childbirth.

Lemore was pregnant at one point!

When Lemore climbed back onto the deck, Tyrion savored the sight of water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. She was past forty, more handsome than pretty, but still easy on the eye. Being randy is the next best thing to being drunk, he decided. It made him feel as if he was still alive. "Did you see the turtle, Hugor?" the septa asked him, wringing water from her hair. "The big ridgeback?"

This disparity of behaviour between septa Lemore and any other septa in ASOIAF is VERY suspicious.  Note how Lemore has two mysteries about her already, she’s characterised nothing like any septa in ASOIAF (more like the tasteless “dornish wanton woman” sterotype instead) and a mystery child. What’s the point of that, if she’s irrelevant.

Compare how he Yandry and Ysilla couple is treated, where there are no bizarre things taking place that I noticed. Also Yandry and Ysilla are specifically said to be a pair of Dornish orphans. Why is the image of Dornish people here, along with Lemore? Suspicious, suspicious.

Lemore is “past fourty”. The asoiaf wiki lists Ashara Dayne as being born between 260AC and 269AC, which means that she’d be around this age if she had lived.

The imagery of a (false, but still) maidtaking a bath while men watch is the same as Florian and Jonquil song, an event that legend says happened at Maidenpool (close to... yes, that’s right, Harrenhal, where Ashara met Brandon).

"The turtles have their charms, I will allow. Nothing delights me so much as the sight of a nice pair of shapely … shells.

"Septa Lemore laughed. Like everyone else aboard the Shy Maid, she had her secrets. She was welcome to them. I do not want to know her, I only want to fuck her. She knew it too. As she hung her septa's crystal about her neck, to nestle in the cleft between her breasts, she teased him with a smile.

That’s not the behaviour of a septa and note the narrative acknowledgement that Lemore has secrets. She’s also called Lady instead of septa at some point in the narrative.

If this is Ashara, then Brandon met his match at Harrenhal. The waste, I can’t. What a sexy couple.

This chapter also contains Targ history as well as some Dorne (mother Rhoyne and whatnot). It goes well with Aegon is the real deal. But what really cinches it is the ending...

"It was him," cried Yandry. "The Old Man of the River."And why not?

Tyrion grinned. Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings.

The Old Man of the River is a lesser god, the son of Mother Rhoyne. These gods are all associated with Dorne.

Aegon is real.++.

Tyrion VI ~ ADWD

"Even the bravest of your forebears kept his Kingsguard close about him in times of peril." Lemore had changed out of her septa's robes into garb more befitting the wife or daughter of a prosperous merchant. Tyrion watched her closely. He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough, and Yandry and Ysilla seemed to be no more than they claimed to be, whilst Duck was somewhat less. Lemore, though … Who is she, really? Why is she here? Not for gold, I'd judge. What is this prince to her? Was she ever a true septa?

Who is she, really... indeed... Lemore’s identity clearly is important.

She turned back to Prince Aegon. "You are not the only one who must needs hide."

Why does Lemore need to hide? :)

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Mystery Of Pixie Hollow by GleefullyCaptainSwan - Sneak Peek

Chapter 3/11

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche @jonesfandomfanatic @winterbaby89

Chapter 3: Story Time

“I asked who you are, and you have yet to give me a name.” He growled again in her ear.

“My name’s Emma Swan. I just want to talk to you about your daughter.”

“What do you know about my daughter?”

“I know she went missing just like my son, Henry.” She felt his entire body flinch. “Please, right jacket pocket, there’s a picture of him. I just want to talk.”

She felt him dig into her jacket, pulling the photo free and stepping away from her. He stared at the picture, a frown slipping on his stubbled face. “How old is he?”

“He’s six. He went missing on his birthday a few days ago.”

He was waving the knife around, tucking it under his chin as he talked to himself. “It’s the appropriate age range…makes sense…hmm...few days ago…where were they…went North…” He stopped moving and stared at her. “Storybrooke, not again...”

“I’m sorry?”

“They were in Storybrooke last weekend, correct? The carnival.”

“That’s right, how did you know that?”

“I track their movements, keep an eye on where they go, look up any missing person reports after they leave.” He stepped into the boat, gesturing for her to join him. Emma stood nervously on the pier as he disappeared into the belly of the boat. She looked around at the empty pier. If she went missing now, no one would have any idea where she was.

Shit.

He poked his head up through the stairwell. “Are you coming or not, lass?”

She sighed, stepping onto the boat, and following him cautiously down the stairs. When she got to the bottom she gasped. In every direction she could see there were photos on the wall with string connecting them. It was like an art project had exploded in the small area, except it wasn’t art, it was some low-tech stalking shit if she ever saw it.

She knew she should turn around and get the hell of this man’s boat, but curiosity was eating at her. What did he know? Why was he so obsessed with the people on the walls?

“This is where I started doing my research, Alice, she went missing five years ago. We found Pixie Hollow just walking through the neighborhood and Alice loves fairytales, so she just had to go.” His voice trailed off sadly, as if he didn’t even remember she was in the room and then suddenly he spun around on his heels. “This one went missing shortly after, it’s harder for me to get information on anyone that disappeared before Alice, I tried, but my research skills aren’t that great. I hate computers, Alice always did everything…” He trailed off as he turned around again.

“You can see that they all fit the age range, around 5 to 8 years old usually.”

“You’ve been collecting all of this information for 5 years?” She finally spoke.

“I’ve had to be resourceful; the cops are useless.”

“Tell me about it.” She said with a snort.

He turned around and stared at her. “Where did he go missing at?”

“I told you, Storybrooke.”

“No, what attraction?”

“It was a mirror maze, you know, filled with mirrors, can’t find your way out.”

“Mirrors…that’s a new one. Alice, she went missing from the Jolly Roger Adventure ride, she got in the cart, she was only in for a few minutes, but when it came out the other side, she was no longer there. Vanished.”

“I don’t remember that ride being there.”

“I’m sure they change them out to avoid suspicion, just like the name. When we went, it was called Neverland Adventure Park. I believe they go by Pixie Hollow now.”

“How do you know it’s the same park?”

“You have to follow the money, love.” He said with a smirk. “And this one.” He turned toward the board on his wall. “She’s always with them.”

“Who’s that?” She stepped closer to the photo of a woman with short hair, wild eyes.

“That’s Tink. If the park opens near you, she’s sure to be found nearby.”

“Wait, like Tinkerbell?” She laughed.

“The one and only.”

“This is ridiculous. Next you’re going to tell me Peter Pan owns the place, and all his lost boys operate the rides.”

“Well done. You’re quite perceptive love, there doesn’t seem to be any reason to need to tell you.”

Her mouth dropped. “You’re insane.”

“Ouch, you wound a man, I can assure you I have my wits about me.”

She turned to leave. “I just want to find my kid, I’m not here to play pretend with a man who believes in fairytales.” He reached out and grabbed her by the wrist.

“I can assure you love; this is no fairytale; this is the stuff nightmares are made of. Pan is dangerous, and if he has your boy, you best start believing in him.”

She shook her head and pulled her hand away from him, turning to leave before something caught her eye near the stairs. She stepped closer to the photo. “I know this idiot.”

She felt him hover behind her, his breath at her neck. “That’s Felix. Real jackass that one.”

“He’s the assistant manager at Pixie Hollow.” The idiot who told her that Henry must have run away. He was there. No. Emma closed her eyes. This was insane. “I have to leave.”

“This isn’t some fantasy I’ve made up, Swan. It’s all real.” He called after her, letting her run up the stairs and away from the boat. “It’s all real.” She heard him shout as her feet hit the pier and she hurried back to her car, slamming the door shut behind her.

She tried to slow her breathing, the thought that perhaps what she had witnessed was just an elaborate nightmare and soon she would wake up in her bed and Henry would come bounding into her room and everything would be alright but as she drove home that night, thoughts of what she witnessed in that boat, she knew that no matter how crazy he seemed, the man was just desperate to find his kid.

Henry had only been missing for a few days, Killian’s daughter had been gone for 5 years. She wasn’t sure how crazy she would look if she hadn’t found Henry after that long of a time.

She stopped at a station when she was halfway to home, she filled up the bug and bought some snacks to eat on her way. She was starving and realized that she had skipped eating since she left her home that morning. As she stepped into the light, leaving the gas station behind her, she recognized a black car that she swore she saw parked outside Ashley’s house.

The sunlight gleamed across the front window for a moment and Emma walked casually to her car, she opened her door and sat in the front seat. Glancing over at the black car she saw movement in the front seat. She pulled out of the gas station, turning onto the road as she watched the black car behind her do the same.

Whoever this asshole was, they were definitely following her.

Emma drove a few miles until she spotted a convenience store on her left, turning quickly she dashed into the parking lot and parked her car. The black car squealed to turn into the lot, parking a distance away from her. Emma watched it in her rearview mirror and then swung her car open, grabbing the tire iron next to her on the seat.

She marched toward the car, gripping the tire iron in her hand. As soon as she got close to the vehicle, the door opened, and Officer Nolan stepped out of the car with his hands in front of him. “Hello Emma.”

“Are you fucking following me?” She yelled as she lowered the tire iron.

The passenger door opened, and Officer Locksley stepped out, his hand firmly on his hip where she knew his gun sat.

“We weren’t following you…” He said and Emma rolled her eyes.

“Are you kidding me? I spotted you miles ago, are you really going to try and convince me that we all just really had a hankering for some snacks miles away from town?”

“Well, we weren’t following you earlier, we just…” Officer Locksley started before his partner interrupted.

“We were following Killian, so imagine our surprise when you showed up.”

“Jones? Why are you following him? He’s just some nut on a boat.”

“You need to let us do our job, stay away from Killian Jones.”

“Why, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Look, I can’t get into specifics with you. I get it, you’re desperate.” Officer Nolan began and Emma found herself wanting to toss the tire iron at him. He flinched and held up his hand. “I’m sorry your kid hasn’t come home, but this isn’t the way to find him. Jones isn’t all there.” He said pointing to his head. “His daughter’s been gone for a long time now; we’ve been keeping tabs on him.”

“Why? I’m pretty sure you’re outside your jurisdiction.” She said with a laugh. “Why are you so obsessed with the guy.”

“Alice went missing in Storybrooke five years ago. He moved out here after a while, but we’ve always kept tabs on him. He was in and out of shelters with that little girl. Working as a fisherman with men he never should have trusted around his daughter. He’s dangerous, stay away from him.”

“Wow, judgmental much? So, if you’ve ever had the unfortunate experience of not being able to provide for yourself, of needing to ask for help somehow that makes you a bad person? Is that why you don’t believe someone took my son either? You looked me up and don’t like my backstory either?”

“Look Ma’am, we don’t want to see you get murdered too.” Officer Locksley added.

“Murdered?” She exclaimed

“Why do you always do that?” Officer Nolan yelled at his partner before turning back to her. “Look, just stay away from the man, let us do our job.”

Emma laughed and turned away from them. “Try doing your job first, maybe then you can give me advice.”

Emma took the backstreets home, satisfied when she didn’t see the black car following her anymore. How dare they judge someone because they had to live in a shelter. Emma had spent a few years in one herself before she was able to provide for her and Henry. Things weren’t always easy for them after Neal left them high and dry with no income and no clothes on their backs. Emma did what she had to do to survive. She hated to think that because of that, she was viewed as a bad mother.

She would do anything for Henry.

Emma tossed her keys on the table, shutting the door behind her and locking the latch. She went to the fridge and grabbed a beer, popping the top and dropping down on her couch. She reached over and pulled the laptop toward her, clicking the button as it blinked to life.

Pulling up Google, she typed, “Killian Jones Storybrooke.”

The search was quick and efficient, the first story came with an older photo of the man she met today. He was younger, probably in his early 20’s. The photo was of him being taken into custody, and another of his mug shot, steely blue eyes staring into the lens with a look of anger. The article was from 15 years ago.

“Killian Jones arrested for manslaughter.” The title caused her eyes to grow, she clicked the link, digging into the details. It appeared the man worked for a criminal mastermind, Mr. Gold, who operated outside the lines of Storybrooke. Killian appeared to be the muscle, hustling people for money that was owed to his boss. The story told of a love affair with the bosses’ wife, Milah. Apparently love was enough to set him straight and he turned on Gold.

From what she could gather from the court case notes, Killian had interrupted a fight between Mr. Gold and his wife, a fight so brutal that it left the woman paralyzed and unable to walk. The ensuing fight ended with Mr. Gold’s death and Killian’s incarceration for manslaughter, with time served and good behavior, Killian served five years.

Emma searched again, “Killian and Milah Jones.” A grainy photo of a wedding was all she could find, the man smiling as he stood behind the woman in the wheelchair. She bit her lip, clicking onto the next article. “Woman dies in car crash leaving behind husband and infant daughter.”

Emma made an audible noise as she clicked the article, reading the story about how a drunk driver had crashed into the couple who were returning home from a quiet dinner. Milah Jones died at the scene leaving Killian alone with his infant daughter, Alice.

Emma wiped the tears from her eyes, clicking on the search bar. “Killian Jones missing daughter”

The photo of the carnival caused her heart to stop. She recognized the lettering on the sign in the background. It said “Neverland”, but she remembered the way the letters of “Pixie Hollow” lit up the night she had arrived at the carnival. Reading the article, she found that the story matched the one that Killian had told her earlier that evening. His daughter had gone into the ride and never came out.

Whatever Killian had become in his life, a liar wasn’t one of them.

Emma didn’t know what it was about the man on the screen in front of her, blue eyes staring back at her as if he had a sad story to tell, but more than anything, she saw understanding behind his eyes. He understood what she was going through more than anyone else.

She reached for her phone sending off a text to Will.

Emma: You were right, it was a wild goose chase going after these parents, no one wanted to talk to me. I just need a few days to get right in my head. I’ll text you soon. Love you.

Before she could stop herself, she was in her car, driving down the highway on her way back to Boston. She glanced in the rearview mirror making sure there wasn’t a black car behind her, the officers who had found nothing about her son in the time they had been looking.

When she pulled up to the dock, she looked at herself in the mirror. “This is crazy.” She said with a laugh.

Crazy was all she had, she thought.

Getting out of her car, she made her way toward the boat parked at the end of the slip. She creeped onboard, unsure of the etiquette for alerting the resident of a houseboat to her presence. “Hello?” She called out nervously, hoping he wasn’t brandishing his knife at this hour. “Killian? It’s me, Emma Swan. We met earlier today.”

There was a creak below her, and she froze. “Hello?”

“It’s bad form to sneak into a man’s home in the middle of the night.” She heard the voice below her; his boots tapped against the boards as he ascended the stairs, moonlight dancing against his dark hair as he reached the deck.

“I’m sorry. I uh…I needed to talk to you. To warn you.”

“Warn me? What do you have to warn me about, love?”

“When I left here, I was followed by the cops.”

“Of course, you were. I’m honestly surprised it took Mills this long to send those two out for a visit. Pity they involved you, my apologizes, Swan.”

“Wait, you knew you were being followed?”

“David and Robin have been keeping an eye on me ever since I left Storybrooke. They are determined that one day they will catch me slicing young children to pieces and put me away forever.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you believe, love?”

“I think you just miss your daughter.” She said softly.

“You mean the boys didn’t tell you all about my sordid past?”

“No. Well, I mean yes, but I don’t care. I read all about it, Mr. Gold, Milah, Alice, if you wanted to hurt me you would have done it earlier when you held a knife to my throat. The way I see it, everyone has a past, that doesn’t mean we don’t miss our kids.”

He stepped toward her. “You’re not afraid of me, Lass?”

She shivered as his lips practically danced off her neck. “N..no.” He stepped back and stared at her as if he were examining every inch of her.

“Then you believe my little, how did you put it earlier…fairytale?”

“I don’t know what I believe, but I know my son didn’t run away.”

“Very well, then it’s story time.”

~*~

“Daddy I want to ride the Jolly Roger!”

“Ok starfish, but first daddy needs to get you that churro you wanted.”

“But I want to ride the ride, there’s isn’t any line.”

“But you can’t take food with you on the ride, Alice.”

“I can go on it by myself while you hold my churro, daddy. I’m a big girl.”

“Are you now, love?”

The little girl smiled brightly, and Killian knew he could never tell her no. He paid for the churro and the man handed it toward him as they walked toward the Jolly Roger Adventure ride. They approached the attendant and he handed over the tickets.

“Is she alright to ride alone?”

The man laughed, “Ah yeah, it’s not scary, in one door and out the other.”

He nodded to the man, looking around at the quiet ride, there wasn’t a single child in line. “Alright, starfish, get in your ship and enjoy the ride.” The little girl wrapped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him.

“Love you daddy.”

“I love you too, my darling.”

She ran toward the ride, looking back one last time. “Don’t eat my churro.”

Killian’s eyes darted around the room, watching as the woman examined the photos he had amassed in the belly of his boat. He didn’t know if the woman believed everything he had told her about his dealings with Peter Pan and his traveling carnival, but he knew that she was desperate to find her son and if he knew anything it was that desperate people would believe almost anything.

If Pan had this woman’s son, he would need her to believe him. It was the only way he was ever going to get Alice back. He’d been doing this alone for five years, maybe it was time to try something else.

~*~

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?” Alice asked Henry as they sat in the dark.

“I’m going to eat the biggest piece of birthday cake I’ve ever eaten. I might even eat an entire cake.” The girl laughed. In the few days she had known Henry, he had always been at her side. He was scared and missed his mother, but more than anything else, he seemed to feel comfortable in her presence.

Alice had been here longer than most of the other children, she had remembered that terrifying feeling of being alone, knowing that you were trapped and couldn’t get home. She missed her father more than anything in this world but growing up she had learned a lot from her father about accepting your circumstances, learning to adapt to your environment.

She had done just that, adapted. She didn’t cause trouble, she made friends with all the children, and she knew when to speak and when not to. She felt it was her job to take the children under her wing, to keep them out of harms way.

“What are you going to do when you get out of here?” The boy asked.

“I’m going to sit down with my dad and eat a churro.” She laughed, smiling fondly at the last memory she had of her father standing at the entrance of that stupid ride, holding a teddy bear in one arm and a churro in the other. The smile on his face as he watched her disappear into the black void was the last thing she remembered every night when she went to sleep.

One day, I’ll find you daddy, she thought.

One day, I promise.

[everlarkficexchange]

Not today

Written by: @emilia206

Prompt 4: Trope: Jealousy Katniss. Modern AU Katniss Everdeen sees his ex boyfriend as the date of one of her coworkers in the company party. She shouldn’t care, because she broke with him, one year ago and still…. when their song plays, against her better judgements, she finds herself dancing with him. [submitted by @alwayseverlark] 

Rating: Mature

Word count: 8062

British lingo you might be unaware of:

A-Level’s - Last form of examination before students go off to university. 

Ladbrokes - betting shop

Tesco - food store

(If I left anything out, let me know)

A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta @melting-starlight, on ao3 she’s Starlight_Wren.

Forlorn, she stares down at her lager, it’s the first moment of quiet she’s had since she entered the pub. Plutarch had been the first to drag her away, talking about everything from what his lunch was like to how much the station was missing her shows. She had only been able to nod and smile, making agreeable noises at the appropriate times, but otherwise letting all of his words wash over her. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Plutarch had bustled off through the crowd to go talk to another unsuspecting colleague. She had tried to crane her neck over the other patrons’ head, to see if she could spot either Johanna or Annie, the only reason she had relented and come to this thing. But before she could make any discernible recognition, Fulvia, Plutarch’s right hand woman, had sidled up behind her, saying that they simply must ‘catch up’. Ever straight to the point though, she had skipped pleasantries and gone right to the heart of the matter. What had she been doing this past year? 

The answer was a pretty simple one, but for some reason that escaped Katniss, it needed lots of explanation. She had spent close to forty-five minutes getting her brain picked apart. Trying, to no avail, to explain to the silly woman the exact reason she had uprooted her and left everything behind to travel all over the globe. Meeting new people, not many, but some. Enough people, Katniss thought. At first, there hadn’t really been a point in it, other than she had to get away from the shit show that was her life. Five years she’d worked at that stupid radio station, blathering on about meaningless things that made her mind fog up with the mundanity of it all. And all she had gotten out of it was a small damp flat in the north of London, with expensive bills and an insufferable landlord. Five years of only seeing her little sister once, twice if she was lucky, a year. Five years of shattered dreams and a dead end job. And still, this woman could not understand why she would want to leave. Of course Katniss never said any of this to Fulvia, but it had been swimming around her head throughout the entirety of the conversation. Instead, she had given watered down reasons and held her tongue as Fulvia had gone on to say, “But what about that boyfriend of yours? I remember him being so supportive…” 

She didn’t want to get into that, how she had left him behind. It had been a year and the wound that it had inflicted still ran too deep, was too painful to get into. Especially with nosy, judgy Fulvia. So, she had politely excused herself from the conversation, taking to the bar and ordering herself an overpriced pint. Fantastic. It wasn’t like she was strapped for cash or anything. 

Having given up on searching for Annie and Johanna at this nightmarish reunion, she had found herself a quiet corner in the buzzing room, sitting on a lumpy sofa and setting her drink down on an aged wooden table that had ring marks on the surface from drinks overspilling. It wasn’t often that she thought about Peeta, having long since trained her mind to immediately turn and run in the other direction if any thoughts began leading her down that painful path. But now, with Fulvia bringing him up, and being surrounded by people who had all been privy to their relationship, it was only inevitable that she should think of him. Specifically, the last time she had seen him.

 —————————–

His face had closed off, completely shuttering all emotions that would otherwise flick across his face. And still, as he stood, staring blankly at her, she continued talking. Trying to explain herself, explain why she just had to leave.

“Please Peeta, believe me when I say it isn’t you,” she whispered, “I just feel so trapped in my own life, and I feel as if I don’t leave now, I never will get anywhere.”

“What about us?” he replied, tone blank and neutral, but still betraying the underlying anger and confusion.

She shook her head sadly, tears falling unbidden from her eyes. Desperately wanting him to hold her and tell her it would be alright, but needing him to stay well away from her so that she could do this. Finish this, clean and precise as Johanna had told her to do it. 

“Right,” Peeta said, voice hollow.

They stood there, silence engulfing the little flat. It was never silent in there, the generators downstairs always humming, her boiler constantly gurgling away, but it seemed even these held their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I think you should leave now,” Katniss said to her feet, not daring to look up at his face. 

She stood in her kitchen, stock still, as if any movement from her would cause her to break and shatter on the linoleum tiles of the floor. She listened as Peeta collected his toothbrush and spare clothes. Katniss flinched at the sense of finality she felt when the door banged shut.

 ————————-

Their break-up had been anything but clean and precise, and it wasn’t a wonder considering that Katniss had been at the helm of it. It was ironic, really, that for five years, her income had depended on her being able to talk for hours about nonsensical things, always upbeat and on the ball for the listeners chiming in, but when it came to her own boyfriend, she hadn’t been able to get the words out right. She had made him think that it was him that was suffocating her, when in actuality it was everything. She was pushing thirty and already she could feel herself stagnating. 

She wished that she could do it again, try not to make such a mess of it as she had done. How could she have known, though, the profound affect it seemed to have had on Peeta? He had always been so supportive of her decisions, only asking that she open up to him and be honest. Of course she hadn’t expected him to be completely OK with her decision, but she had been hoping that he would at least understand her reasoning. Instead, he had been angry and confused, perhaps even rightfully so, before he had completely shut down becoming cold and distant in the moments prior to him slamming out of her little home.

“Penny for your thoughts?” a perky voice said next to her, pulling Katniss out of her reverie. 

Looking up, Katniss couldn’t help but smile at the big brown eyes that were peering down at her. Rue. Her intern from a year ago. She didn’t look much different,  just a little older and worse for wear. But that’s what this job did to you, lured you in with promises of bigger and better ahead, before getting you trapped and very much stuck. 

“You don’t want to know,” Katniss replied, shuffling over and making space for the young woman.

“Oh, and why’s that?” Rue asked, her lips quirked upwards in a smile.

“Neither thinking, nor talking about it will solve a thing,” she mumbled down at her glass before taking a prolonged drink from it. She reveled in the fizz and slightly bitter taste as it washed down her throat. 

“Well, if you’re gonna be all closed off to me, your favourite intern, I’ll let you in on all of my issues to date,” Rue said, taking a sip from her own glass.

Katniss smirked. It was true that Rue was her favourite intern, but that wasn’t exactly a feat. Most interns that Katniss had been given the responsibility of taking care of had been so awful that they were fired within their first two weeks of working at the station. 

“So, remember how you warned me before you left, that this job ‘will suck me dry of all inspiration and motivation’ whilst also ‘dashing my dreams and love for the craft’ but not before ‘restricting what me on what I can talk about, and instead giving me stupid shows that will make me want to die’?” Rue paused, taking a drink from her pint.

“Yes, I do recall telling you all of those things, I assume you’ve come to the conclusion that I was correct and that you should have saved yourself while you could,” Katniss said, trying not to gloat at the fact that she was at least right about something, and it wasn’t just her overreacting and being dramatic.

 Rue nodded her head vigorously, her corkscrew curls bouncing, “Well, I’ll be honest. At the time, I thought you were just being dramatic, or maybe you were bitter about something, but you really were so right. I can’t get anyone to take me seriously or invest in any bigger show ideas, or get them to take on or promote more obscure artists. The sponsors continuously overlook me so that they can pour more money into presenters who have a body to boot. Even though that shouldn’t matter, ‘cause we’re on a fucking radio, nobody is looking at the face or body behind the voice anyway!”

 “And as soon as I try to get Plutarch or Fulvia to give me a recommendation so that I can move to something a little more low key and less industrious, they tell me that I shouldn’t leave, that I have so much potential, and that it would be such a waste for me to go do something less mainstream, because how will I ever be recognised then?” Rue finished with a defeated groan, flopping back against the leather cushions. 

Looking up at the ceiling, Rue asked, “How’d you get out? I mean for me, it’s just an endless cycle of early mornings, playing music that makes my ears bleed, and frustration that after all my hard work, I’ve just become another peppy girl on the radio.”

Katniss snorted at this, “Depressing, isn’t it? After all the analysing of different styles of music and poetry, it amounted to this.”

“Fuucckk,” Rue groaned at the ceiling fans, “It’s depressing because it’s so painfully true. Do you know how many hours I spent holed up in my room studying for my Music and English A-Levels just so I could at least get a seven, and now I’m stuck here.”

Katniss nodded her head, “Only ‘cause I did the same thing though. What were we thinking?”

“Ugh, I know! My mum told me that this was an ‘unsustainable career path’. I hate to say it, but I think she may have had a point.”

A crash came from the other side of the room, effectively interrupting their mutual venting session, a clattering of glasses fell to the floor and shattered, causing both Katniss and Rue to jump before turning around to see what happened. A flustered waiter apologised profusely to a skimpy blonde who looked upon him with narrowed green eyes, and a stain that looked an awful lot like red wine spilled on her yellow dress. The few people who had been applauding the waiters slip up began to slow their claps when they realised that the unfortunate woman who now had a stain across the front of her dress, was not taking it on the chin as it were. In fact, she looked like she was a few seconds from throwing a fit.

“Oof, would not want to be that guy,” Rue remarked, “Glimmer looks about ready to go get his ass fired.”

Katniss turned to look at Rue, who was leaning her chin on the back of the sofa, “How’d you know her name?”

Rue made a face, “She’s a presenter at the radio station, she does the show that Annie used to do.” 

“Shit, really,” Katniss said, blowing air through her teeth to make a low whistling sound. “That show was one of the more popular ones.”

“Still is. Rumour has it that the company hired her to replace Annie, who was making noises to leave, so they sent her Glimmer as an intern. Annie left a week later, claiming that the work environment had become insufferable.”

Katniss had turned back to watch as the waiter bent to pick up the broken glass, whilst so-called Glimmer rolled her eyes impatiently at another waiter who was handing her paper towels to try wipe up the mess on her dress. While watching, Katniss listened intently to what Rue was saying, “People weren’t surprised when she quit. Glimmer is quite literally the epitome of a toxic work environment.”

“Oh well, this just makes me all the more glad that I left,” Katniss said. Annie had emailed her when she’d quit, but hadn’t given a reason why. At the time, Katniss had just assumed it was because both Johanna and herself had already left, but this must have been the breaking point for her. 

“Oh, she’s not even the worst of it,” Rue said, a cynical smile touching her lips as they watched another woman with jet black hair and pinched features walk up to Glimmer, she took the paper towels from the waitress and threw them down to the floor, yelling something unintelligible, “That’s Clove. As you can see, she’s got quite a temper on her. She’s the one who replaced Johanna as DJ. The two of them together are quite… formidable.”

Katniss turned in her seat to grab her drink from the table so she could drink and watch this scene unfold in front of her. She would be lying if she said that it wasn’t just a teeny bit entertaining. Taking a sip from her mellowing beer, she almost choked when she saw who was joining the show. Blond ashen curls, broad shoulders, and a slight limp from a rugby injury that had never quite healed. It was Peeta. Her Peeta, consoling this shallow, pitiful, blonde bimbo. 

She could feel Rue’s eyes on her, watching for a reaction. Katniss swallowed painfully, oblivious to the taste, eyes glued to what was happening in front of her very eyes. Maybe it wasn’t him. It couldn’t possibly be him. There was no way, absolutely no fucking way, that the Peeta Mellark that she had known all throughout secondary school, was even remotely affiliated with such a cow. Deep down, Katniss knew that she was possibly being a little harsh, but jealousy, lots of it, was rearing its ugly green head, skewing her opinions.

“Yeah, and then there’s that,” Rue uttered, “reason number fuck knows what as to why I ‘strongly dislike’ Glimmer.”

Katniss breathed deeply, shoving down the irrational, possessive anger that was overcoming her. She cleared her throat, which had become exceptionally tight in the last two minutes, “Are they… an item?”

“I wouldn’t say so,” Rue said, turning around to face the other way again, “as far as I know, they’re just fuck buddies. Who knows, though, maybe he does the wine and dining as well.”

Katniss, following suit, also turned around, sitting stoically, and taking slow sips from her sweating drink. “So he’s fucking her.”

Rue nodded, sighing a little as she did so, “I know it might not be my place to comment-”

“It probably isn’t then,” Katniss interrupted, wanting very much to go back to her hotel room now.

  “But,” Rue continued, “you were really fucking dense to let that man walk away from you. I have no idea what happened between the two of you, but even I can appreciate that ass, and oh my god those shoulders,” she pretended to fan herself, before turning incredulous, “and he’s not even my type.”

Katniss snorted at this, turning around for a quick second, to survey the specimen that was now patting down an incensed Glimmer. She couldn’t deny that he still looked sexy as fuck. He definitely seemed to have fared this year a little better than her. Turning back around, she looked down at what she was wearing. A simple dress that she’d bought from a charity shop when she was sixteen, it was light blue and the material was soft and light, perfect for the humid weather that London summers were, but it did look as if it might be on its last legs. Her hair was loose for once, and hung in ebony waves down her back, but otherwise she hadn’t made much of an effort, as could be seen by her scruffy trainers and mismatched socks. She didn’t need to impress these people anyway. 

“Yeah, stupid indeed,” Katniss muttered. 

They sat there then, silence washing over them, until the unmistakable sound of a speaker system being plugged in echoed throughout the crowded room. Katniss looked up to see her friend climbing up onto the bar, a little wobbly on her feet, but her voice was commanding no less.

“Alrighty, I’ve been asked to do a little set tonight, but because I forgot to set up a good playlist that will please all of you old folk, I’ll be taking requests,” she made to get off the bar, but paused mid-step hollering across the room, “And if I think your song request is shit I won’t play it, feel free to take it personally.”

Katniss didn’t really care much for the offer to request music, she was just relieved to know that Johanna had, in fact, shown up. She had been wondering whether either of her ex-work-colleagues had actually bothered. Knowing that Johanna was here, though where she’d been all night was something Katniss would like to know, meant that Annie was probably here as well. 

Rue, on the other hand, immediately got up. Kissing Katniss on the cheek, she proclaimed, “Oh, I have a song that Jo simply must play.” 

She walked off into the crowd, but abruptly turned back, looking down at Katniss, who was still cocooned in the soft leather of the sofa, “Also, if you get any interesting job offers don’t be scared to recommend me,” with a wink, she waltzed off again.

Alone once again, and trying desperately to distract herself from the ‘pat down’ Peeta was assuredly still giving Glimmer, Katniss gulped down the rest of her pint, before standing to go get another. 

Waiting at the bar for the barmaid to get to her drink, she tapped out a rhythm on the polished wood. Distracted, she almost didn’t notice the familiar opening chords to a song she hadn’t let herself listen to in a year. 

Johanna’s voice sounded over the speaker system, “For all you lovesick idiots here tonight, Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey.”

Katniss’ breath stilled in her chest, this must have been some sick joke the universe was playing on her. Despite herself, Katniss searched the room for the familiar face that she had once danced to this with at prom. Scanning the crowd, her eyes finally landed on a seemingly just as stunned Peeta Mellark, his face so pale and pinched he looked like he was about to throw up. He, too, looked to be scanning the crowd. He couldn’t know that she was here, could he? She knew  that she should probably shrink back into the shadows, or, better yet, vacate the premises and head back to her hotel room, to avoid any unnecessary drama that she most certainly did not need. Yet, against her better judgement, she stood her ground, not actively looking to be seen, but not hiding from sight either. 

Her eyes stayed on him, noticing with a missed beat of her heart that Glimmer and Clove were both conspicuously absent. The song had already passed the first verse when Peeta’s eyes finally locked on hers. His eyes widened in surprise, but beneath it was still the same warmth and affection that had always been. Her sharp intake of breath told her all she needed to know, those baby blues could still make her knees weak, could still make her feel like she was adrift and untethered in a desolate ocean, with him being the only tether to reality. Their gazes locked on one another as the second verse began;

A singer in a smoky room

The smell of wine and cheap perfume

Peeta’s eyes stared holes into her, and for a moment it was as if no time had passed, as if he was standing on the other side of the school’s assembly hall as an entire year group of nervous sweaty eighteen year olds danced the evening away to overplayed 80’s tracks. Katniss was even greeted with the familiar erratic beating of her heart, wishing and hoping that he’d just bottle up the nerve and ask her already!

That night, she had been the one to walk across the dance floor to ask him to dance, but tonight, it seemed it would be Peeta who would take the first tentative steps towards her.

For a smile they can share the night

It goes on and on, and on, and on

 Drink forgotten, Katniss stepped away from the bar, walking towards the people already congregating to dance on a small open space on the floor. The first chorus sounded through the room;

Strangers, waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

They met in the middle, and Katniss looked up at him through her lashes. 

“For old times sake,” Peeta murmured down to her, offering his hand.

She tried not to let his remark sting, that their relationship is in fact in the past. That he had moved on from her, that she should too. But falling into his arms, head resting over his breast bone listening to his heart thumping away, letting him sway them to the music, felt so natural and familiar. The tears stung behind her eyes, and she bit her lip to stop herself from sobbing out loud. She didn’t want to be sad, to mar this song with her regrets, when it was accompanied by so many good and happy memories. Of the two of them messing around in his kitchen, or her bedroom. 

So, she swallowed down her tears, and let herself fall back in time to when things were simpler. Letting the music and words wash over her, rejuvenating her weary soul.

Workin’ hard to get my fill

Everybody wants a thrill

Payin’ anything to roll the dice

Just one more time

Some will win

Some will lose

Some were born to sing the blues

Oh, the movie never ends

It goes on and on, and on, and on

She laughed when he spun her, then recaptured her in his arms. He swooped low, before lifting them back up and spinning them in slow circles. 

Strangers waitin’

Up and down the boulevard

Their shadows

Searchin’ in the night

Streetlights, people

Livin’ just to find emotion

Hidin’ somewhere in the night

She took the lead, moving them faster, along to the tune of the song. Pulling away from his embrace, but holding on to his hands, as she spun herself to lean her back against his chest with his arms crossed protectively over her.

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people

Don’t stop, believin’

Hold on

Streetlights, people

As the song began to slow again, and Steve Perry ad-libbed his way through the end of the song, Peeta turned her again so that they were pressed chest to chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and their steps became so minuscule they could do it on a pie plate if they wished to do so. She stared up into his bottomless blue eyes, a genuine smile lighting up her face for the first time this evening. 

“I missed you,” he whispered.

Her smile faltered slightly, and she looked down, ashamed at how easily she had let herself fall back into his arms. The moment of magic had ended, and she was thrown back into the icy cold reality of her life. For christ’s sake they hadn’t spoken in a year, and now suddenly they were dancing and laughing on the dance floor!

Don’t stop believin’

Hold on to that feelin’

Streetlight, people 

He turned them one last time. He leant his cheek on the top of her head, sighing quietly as if knowing about the beratement Katniss was giving herself in her head. He swayed them as the song faded out. She pulled away, chancing a glance up at his face. The pain she had inflicted onto him shone through his eyes, and though it killed her to do it, she could only pull further out of his arms, backing away. He watched after her, arms limp at his sides, and she turned, pushing through the crowd.

“Oi, watch it!” Someone called after her as she shoved past people. 

Finally, after stepping on numerous toes and elbowing a few people in the sides, she made it over to the makeshift DJ table. Johanna was leaning against it, chewing on a toothpick as she announced in a lazy drawl the next song. Behind her shoulder she could see Annie leaning heavily into some guy with bronzed curls and tanned skin, Katniss thought that she had seen him before in a couple of Annie’s instagram posts. 

“Ahhh, Brainless,” Johanna called out when she spotted a breathless Katniss standing before the table, “here to make a song request? Maybe another one that you can dance to with lover boy.”

“What the fuck, Jo?” Katniss cried out, “Did you put that song on just to mess with my head? ‘Cause it sure as hell worked.” Katniss ran her shaking hands through her hair, not caring if she messed it up, or if it got tangled. 

Johanna raised her eyebrows in surprise, “Wait, you don’t actually believe I put that song on, do you?”

“Well, who else, Johanna?!” 

“I didn’t even know you were here up until five minutes ago, let alone him!” Johanna spat out, incredulity lacing her voice, “And besides, I’m only taking requests this evening. I did let everyone know,” she sniffed, rolling her eyes.

“Ok fine, if it wasn’t you, then who?” Katniss hissed, “Because I will start throwing arms if I have to, Jo.”

“Jeez, don’t get your knickers all in a twist, it was only a little dancey,” Johanna teased. Looking at Katniss’ bemused face, she relented, “If you promise to not beat the living lights out of her, I’ll tell.”

“‘Kay fine, I promise,” Katniss said, her anger subsiding a little. Whoever it was, it wasn’t their fault that she couldn’t just leave when she definitely should have, “Just tell me who.”

Johanna nodded her head in the direction of the bar, Katniss followed her gaze, eyes greeted with an apologetic looking Rue. Rue grimaced a little, apparently having watched Katniss’ outburst. At least she looked sorry, Katniss thought. 

Her anger having dissipated, the feeling of regret and sadness settled cold and heavy in her stomach. She deflated against the table, feeling very tired all of a sudden, “I need a smoke,” she muttered, “Lighter,” she held out her hand.

Johanna grumbled under her breath, fishing through her pockets for a lighter. “Give it back after,” she warned, slapping it into Katniss’ outstretched palm.

Katniss weaved her way through the crowds once more, being a little more careful to not piss off so many people this time, until she got to the coat rack next to the door. The coat rack itself was leaning over under the weight of all the coats draped over the top of it. After some digging around, Katniss found her light jean jacket and pulled it out from underneath the mountain of others piled up on top of it. Pulling it on, she pushed open the door to the pub and stepped out into the night. 

It looked like the sun had just gone down, streaks of orange fading into the sky as dusk settled over the stinking, sweltering city. It had cooled off quite a bit from earlier, and Katniss huddled herself further into her jacket, trying to leech off any residual warmth from it. She walked down the shallow stone steps,  found herself a place to light her cigarette. Leaning against the cold brick wall behind her, not caring if she got her coat or dress dirty. She fished a loose cigarette out of her coat pocket, and lit the fag, taking a long drag from it, breathing it back out into the cooling air.

“Those things kill, you know,” A voice sounded from behind her. She scowled at how it made her heart leap hopefully in her chest. 

“I know,” she almost growled, wanting him to fuck off back to Glimmer already. She couldn’t deal with having him thrust back into her life, pretending like nothing happened between them. Like she hadn’t irreparably fucked up their entire relationship, just because she felt ‘claustrophobic’.

“I thought you were quitting?” Peeta asked, walking to stand next to her and pulling out his own cigarette. 

She passed him Johanna’s lighter, “You can’t talk,” she snorted as she watched him light his, “And anyway, I am. I just keep emergency ones in all of my coats, and in a few of my trousers.”

Peeta laughed at this, “Yeah, sure does sound like you’re quitting.”

“Hey,” she protested, “I never keep a lighter on me, that way I have to ask someone, and then they’re also accountable for my inevitable lung cancer.”

Peeta’s eyebrows rose at this, and he took a puff from his own cancer stick, “Oh yeah, and how long did it take you do that mental gymnastics.”

Katniss only rolled her eyes, and they both stood next to each other staring out at the street. They watched as a bus pulled up at the stop, and an old man stumbled out, hobbling into the Ladbrokes opposite. A siren blared somewhere in the distance. Two extremely drunk men sat on the steps a good ten metres away from them, but were loud enough for their slurred words to reach the two.

“Listen Katniss, about before,” Peeta started, breaking their comfortable silence, “I didn’t mean to make you feel crowded or guilty, or anything like that.” He looked to her, but she stared resolutely ahead, taking slow small puffs from her cigarette.

“It’s fine,” she finally said, “forget about it. I probably shouldn’t have even danced with you in the first place, what with you being with Glimmer and all.”

“Ah, shit,” Peeta breathed out, “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

“Yeah well, I do,” Katniss snapped. 

Peeta looked as if he wanted to say something, but Katniss cut him off before he could, “I really don’t want to know.”

Peeta nodded his head. They were quiet for a moment.

“I mean, it’s not like you’re not allowed anyway,” Katniss said, scuffing the toe of her already scruffy trainer against the cracked pavement.

Peeta huffed out a bemused, short-lived laugh, “Care to explain that, whilst we’re out here talking civilly?”

“What?” Katniss asked, “Are you asking why I broke up with you?”

Peeta nodded his head once more.

Katniss sighed, “I feel like I’ve told myself and everyone around me the same explanation about a million times, but standing here it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Well, that’s convenient,” Peeta whispered.

Katniss sighed, trying not to sound too exasperated. What’s it to him anyway, she thought. “Look Peeta, I told you before, and I’ll say it again. It wasn’t you.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop asking myself if I did something,” Peeta said.

Katniss finally turned to look up at him, as he stared up at the darkening sky, searching it for the few visible stars, “We’re not even thirty yet, Peeta, I’m not ready to settle. I wasn’t last year, and I definitely am not this year. And I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if you told me you weren’t ready yet either, and you’re allowed to be with whoever you want, even if it is someone as silly and shallow as Glimmer. I guess it’s better to get your mid-life crisis out the way now,” she said with a smirk, before sobering and adding quietly, “I’m not completely oblivious Peeta, it’s not like I don’t see her appeal.”

Peeta looked down at her, opening his mouth, she was sure, to deny that Glimmer’s big boobs were the reason. She held up her hand to stop him, “Who knows though, maybe someone’ll convince me to come to this thing again next year, and I’ll see you again. Hopefully with someone other than Glimmer. And just like this year, I’ll steal you for a dance, and then lure you outside for a smoke, and we’ll catch up,” she paused for dramatic affect, stealing herself for what she was going to say next, “After that, you’ll kiss me, right up against the cold brick wall,” she watched as Peeta’s eyes widened at her bold statement.

  Maybe it was her pint of beer that had made her so free and uncaring with her sentiments. Though Katniss would never describe herself as a lightweight, she admitted to herself that it had been a good six weeks since she’d had a proper drink. On second thought, she remembered the last time she drank before tonight being a little over a week ago, and it had been a cider. She grimaced at the thought. Fuck, she mused, when did I become a lightweight? Peeta cleared his throat uncomfortably, prompting her to continue, but unsure of whether she was finished or not. Katniss mentally shook herself before finishing in a low, sultry voice, “Just like you’re going to do this year.”

 “Fuck,” Peeta breathed out, and Katniss watched him visibly struggle to swallow. She tried, and failed, to suppress her smug little smirk, that she could still affect him like this. It eased the green beast within her, the one that had wanted to stamp her foot and cry out earlier when she had witnessed Peeta wiping down the front of Glimmer’s dress. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think of Glimmer, Peeta was out here with her now, that must count for something, right?

“Are you, umm - being serious?” Peeta stuttered, and despite herself Katniss grinned at how flustered he was getting, the pink staining his cheeks betraying how agitated he really was, “Or are you just pulling my leg?”

Katniss took a long drag from her fag, sucking on it until it was down to the stub, “Do I look like I’m joking, Mellark?” 

She watched as his pupils dilated even more in the darkening night, until the blue of his irises were only thin rings around the black pits of his desire. She reveled in being able to do this to him still, after all this time. It comforted her, in a weird, possessive, unhealthy sort of way.

 “No,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible. He dropped his cigarette on the floor, not even bothering to stamp it out before stepping forwards. Large hands came to a rest on her waist, pushing her further back against the wall. She bit back a slight moan at the way he seemed to shelter her, the stark contrast of the cold wall behind her, nipping at the backs of her legs, and the heat that enmantend from his body and radiated onto her. She took a deep shuddering breath, pushing her chest upwards against his. Her hand shook slightly as she stubbed out the remnants of her cigarette against the wall next to her, before letting it fall to the ground as well. 

Their faces were so close now, their mouths only a hair’s breadth apart, all it would take is for one of them to lean in, to close the tantalisingly small space between them. “Tell me you want me to,” Peeta uttered, breath fanning her face. She bit her lip, a sly grin gracing her features.

She leant up on her tiptoes, tracing a path to his ear lobe with her breath, “Peeta Mellark, I want you to kiss me up against this brick wall, until I’m breathless and my knees are weak.” 

 He groaned loudly, and she was about to tell him to be quiet when his lips descended greedily on hers. Knocking the breath right out of her, as he sucked and bit tenderly against first her top and then her bottom lip. She whimpered, admitting to herself that she had missed the way it felt to be kissed by someone who cared. Who didn’t just do it as a way to get into her underwear. 

It was his turn to smile smugly, he pulled away from her, and she chased his lips with her own. Wanting them back, wanting him to plunge and plunder. She huffed out a frustrated growl when he moved even further away. She opened her eyes, taking in his face that grinned with feigned innocence down at her, “What’s the matter Everdeen?” He asked teasingly, “Knees not weak enough yet?”

She glared at him, he knew exactly what he was doing, and she wasn’t having any of it, not tonight. Lifting her hands to his hair, she played with the blond locks, smiling up at him demurely. She would tell him what she wanted step by step if necessary, but she didn’t think it would be. Cocking her head to the side, she mirrored his look of feigned innocence, before tangling her fingers into the shorter hairs at the back of his head, and pulling his lips back down to hers. He grunted against her, and she opened her mouth ever so slightly in invitation. 

It took her all of two seconds to lose all inhibitions, Peeta’s hands moved up from their resting spot on her waist, one cradling the back of her neck and one stroking up and down her back in a motion that made Katniss giddy with desire. Their tongues met in a dance, reacquainting themselves. Peeta’s dove into her mouth, rediscovering everything he already knew about her. 

Peeta placed his leg in between her own, which had opened a little of their own accord, bringing it upwards slightly, daring her to grind up against it. Stubborn as ever, though, Katniss refused to take the bait. Knowing him, he would probably tease her, pull away before she could really get going. But when he tugged on her bottom lip with his teeth, she relented. She could feel her knees turning into jelly, forcing her to slump down onto his leg. She ground down on it experimentally, the rough material of his jeans rubbing up against her boy shorts. Katniss swore into his mouth, and did it again, letting the motion stimulate her throbbing center. She was almost glad that he couldn’t feel the intensity of the heat that seemed to be pouring from her core, but another part of her needed him to know that he could still do this to her. Could still drive her to do halfway insane things, like letting him ravage her up against a wall with all of her ex colleagues a mere few metres away. Pulling his head down further, she held him there, desperate to drink more of him in. 

“Katniss,” he whispered against her mouth, before diving right back in. 

It was her turn to grunt at the power in which he started almost devouring her mouth, she could only cling to the locks of hair wrapped around her fingers, in hopes that she wouldn’t just crumple to the floor. She was rocking against his leg in a steady rhythm, each stroke of his rough denim trousers against her center making her more frantic, desperate for more. Her nerve endings felt frayed, threatening to short circuit and send her spiralling through the abyss. Peeta continued to busy himself with her mouth, pulling away before delving back in, more thorough and rough each time, so that she could only whimper helplessly into his mouth.

It was when the hand that had been stroking leisurely circles into her spine crept towards her front before meandering downwards, that Katniss came somewhat to her senses. She stopped his hand with one of her own, before it could get to the hemline of the skirt to her dress. She pulled away from his lips that had been stroking soft sublime on hers, and looked at him. Eyes blown wide, lips swollen and red from kissing, blond hair tousled and mussed from all her incessant tugging. She was sure she was mirroring this disheveled appearance back at him. He lowered his leg from where it had stayed resting against her, but his hand stayed trapped between their two bodies. If it weren’t so painfully obvious how much they had missed each other, it would be comical how fast and hard they’d fallen back into heated touches and frantic kisses. 

She took a deep breath, wondering if she should apologise, or at least explain, but her brain was still fogged with arousal, and she was finding it very hard to look him in the eye. Instead, she got back on to her tip toes and brought her arms up around his neck, pulling him close to her for a hug. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he slowly brought his arms around her waist, holding her to him as well.

“One day, Peeta,” she began, talking into his neck, “one day…”

“But not today,” he finished for her.

She nodded and squeezed him tighter, a hundred memories of them together flooding her mind, and for the second time this evening she had to fight back the urge to sob. She could only be relieved that he had understood, understood why she couldn’t let him do that, not now, and certainly not here. 

He squeezed her back, and she swore she felt him inhaling her smell, at any other time this would have turned her on beyond reason, but now it only saddened her. How had she managed to fuck it up again? He pressed a quick kiss into the juncture of where her neck met her shoulder, before releasing her from his grasp. 

She wobbled, still a little unsteady on her feet, but managed to start walking in the direction of her bus stop. As she walked past the two drunk men that were still sitting on the stone steps to the pub, she heard one of them call out to her.

“Is the show over, sweetheart?” he asked, sarcasm along with whatever he’d had to drink lacing his voice, “That’s a shame, me an’ Chaff here were really startin’ to ge’ into it.” 

Katniss turned to look at the man who had said it, scathing reply waiting at the tip of her tongue, but before she could say anything, the other man, Chaff she assumed, slurred out;

“Won’t you give an ol’ man a kiss before you go?” The two men guffawed as he made kissy faces at her.

“Arseholes,” Katniss muttered under her breath.

The man with salt and pepper hair down to his shoulders called after her again, though all traces of amusement were gone from his voice. He sounded surprisingly sober when he told her, “I see the way you have him wrapped around your finger, sweetheart, you could live a hundred lifetimes and still not deserve what he gave you tonight,” he burped loudly and continued, “One day he’ll realise that, he’ll realise that he’s better than tha’, be’er than you.” 

 Katniss tried to ignore his words as she waited at the traffic light for the little green man to pop up so she could cross the road, but they still made her blood run cold, because maybe he was right. She turned her head to the side, waiting impatiently for the cars to come to a slow at the T-junction, when the old man, who had since left the betting shop, added his own snarky comment to the fray. If she had known how many people were watching them, she wouldn’t have let it get that far, or go on for so long.

“When do you think he’ll notice the exact degree of your indifference?” He asked in a voice that was weathered and old, but still demanded her attention. He had posed his comment as a question, but he said it as if he already knew the answer. She wasn’t indifferent, she thought, but doubt coursed through her. Hadn’t she just used him to prove a point? A stupid petty point, that she was better than Glimmer. She shook her head at the notion, it had just been a drunken mistake, nothing more.

She turned her head to face the decrepit old man, biting out a response, “Those are some awfully big words for a filthy old beggar, let’s hope you don’t choke on ‘em.” 

The old man threw his head back and laughed, his cracked voice making it sound more like a cackle than anything. To her surprise the man actually did start choking, on his own blood. He bent forwards, crouching low as he spat blood to the floor. 

“Gross,” Katniss muttered, before hurrying across the road. To hell with the traffic, she thought, she just needed to get the fuck out of here.

 The shame and regret were already starting to curl themselves around her, and she felt almost sick with it. She was once again being reminded of how easily being around Peeta could fuck with her head, how it could make her do things that she otherwise wouldn’t do. That she’d sworn to herself wouldn’t happen again. Because, yes, her drink might have had something to do with it, but it was also him, he was intoxicating. The moment she had noticed he was in the room, she had wanted him, needed him. And it might be true that she could make him feel the same way, but people never seemed to see that he was just as good at it as she was. He was always the sweet golden boy, who had had the misfortune of falling in love with the likes of her.

She looked across the street when she arrived at the bus stop. The pub was pouring light from it’s windows and she heard the music playing. Peeta had already disappeared, and Katniss wondered how much he had heard. She hoped none of it. The old man was shuffling into the Tesco next door to the Ladbrokes, and the two men were still sat outside the pub, drinking from flasks. She looked up at the timetable that the bus stop provided, and cursed under her breath when she saw that her bus wouldn’t be arriving for another seven minutes. 

She was about to start walking down the highstreet, so that she wouldn’t have to stand, waiting like a sitting duck, when her phone vibrated in her coat pocket with an incoming message. 

Pulling it out of the pocket, she read what it said.

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:21pm]: Where are you? I’m hungry and bored, wanna get smth to eat?

Katniss considered ignoring the message, but her stomach rumbled in response to the thought of food.

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:22pm]: At the bus stop across the road. Don’t you have a set? 

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:22pm]: Ofc you are. Yh I do, but any moron can do this. These song requests are driving me insane tho, so… food?

Katniss Everdeen [Sent 10:23pm]: Yh alright, what tho?

Johanna Mason [Sent 10:24pm]: I could really go for a kebab… and a smoke. We’re leaving now.

Katniss looked up from her phone. Shit. Johanna’s lighter. Peeta still had it. She watched as Johanna banged open the doors to the pub. Trailing after her was a wobbly Annie and the man from earlier. Katniss looked around her, hoping one of the many corner shops littering the street were still open, but they were all depressingly closed. Katniss glared at the closed signs on all the shop doors as if their existence offended her eyes, because in that moment, they really did.

She’d get that lighter back - she turned and saw the group crossing the road - though, maybe not today.

[chalkrevelations]

OK, wow, Episode 29 of Word of Honor, and that was A LOT. There is just A LOT going on, and all of it is A LOT.

(Spoilers. Scroll on past and come back later if you need to.)

Well, you know where this is going to start: Both A-Xiang and I are resolutely NOT crying. Yet. But you know who is? Cao Weining. We literally get a single crystalline tear drop, and oh god, I can’t take this, the mood swing from their adorable forest stroll and the way she noms up her corn family and the way he tries to blow away misfortune from the well of her palms and the way she looks up at him as she realizes how much he wants to take care of her and protect her forever – to this poor cinnamon roll and his eyes filling up with tears as he realizes the enormity of who A-Xiang is, the enormity of what he’s potentially done bringing her back to his sect and giving the Ghost Valley a way in, the way she’s hidden something so important from him. That she could have been stringing him along this whole time? That Wen Kexing, who he knows, who he knows as a good guy, is apparently the terrifying leader of the Ghost Valley? Nothing he knows is real, none of it makes sense, and it kills me, the wordless communication between him and A-Xiang, after she finally says it, finally lets him know who she is, and he just looks at her for confirmation, because he can’t believe it, and she gives that tiny little nod, placing all of this knowledge and her fate in his hands, the hands she’s held as he’s promised to stay with her and protect her always, to not fail her. OK. I take it back. A little bit, I’m tearing up. And then he doesn’t. He doesn’t fail her. His shixiong can’t figure out what Cao Weining and A-Xiang are apparently fighting about, because apparently Cao Weining hasn’t told anyone who she is!

Also, I have to yell excitedly about something here for a minute, because OMG THE MIRRORING they continue to maintain between Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishu and Gu Xiang/Cao Weining. (!!!) I really want to point this one out, because it’s subtle but I think incredibly important, and you lose it if all you’re able to follow is the English subtitles. I have to give props to another Tumblr user (whose post I cannot for the life of me find again, and if anyone does, please let me know, so I can update this post), because I wouldn’t have caught it, with my Level 2 Duolingo Mandarin, if they hadn’t done a post a while back about the nuances of the use of “外人” (I think that’s correct) between ZZS and WKX in Ep 25 (and possibly Ep 26). In Ep 25 at 45:53, there’s a conversation about training Chengling – ZZS says something about getting WKX to do some of the training, WKX responds with something about letting “someone else” teach your disciple, per the English subtitles, and ZZS responds with “And you’re ‘someone else’?” Youku is using “someone else” here as a translation of 外人 (“wairen?” is maybe the transliteration of it?) which actually seems to mean “stranger” or more specifically “outsider” – someone who’s from “outside.” I presume in this context, specifically from outside your sect/family (which gives the whole conversation more layers, because by using this label for himself, Wen Kexing gives us another example of how he’s still resisting the idea of himself as a shidi of Four Seasons Manor, at that point, and is still unable to accept the full scope of his relationship with ZZS, even though he wants it so badly, because he is so terrified of getting it and then losing it). In Ep 26, 外人 comes up again, at 5:00, when ZZS finds WKX giving training advice to Chengling. SO, props to this currently unknown Tumblr user, because even though I kind of quickly scrolled past the post without fully reading it - because I hadn’t reached those eps yet, and I didn’t want to see too many spoilers -  the post did alert me to the word “outsider” as a meaning of 外人. And without that, I probably wouldn’t have twigged to A-Xiang’s use of “outsider” at the very end of this episode, when this shining, clever, fierce girl, who’s been taught to survive above all else, tells Cao Weining’s shixiong that he can’t just send her away for her own protection, that she’s going to stay and fight and die with the rest of them because he can’t take back his words about her being family and now treat her like an outsider. This time, the English subtitles actually use the word “outsider,” and yes, I checked the Mandarin subtitles, and she uses 外人 to claim her place as part of Cao Weining’s sect/family, the same word WKX uses – and ZZS challenges – to try to maintain his distance from ZZS’s sect/family. Ugh. My heart.

So, yeah, that’s a whole lot about A-Xiang in this ep, and it’s about 1/5 of everything that happened, so let me see if I can keep the rest of this from overwhelming anyone’s dash:

Han Ying. >: (  Show, gdi. It’s not like I haven’t said from the minute my dude gazed adoringly at ZZS, 20-something episodes ago, that he was a goner, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. This death and the scenes focused on it give us a LOT, though: Yikes on WKX’s desperation to save him, and flashback to the Four Sages of Anji – WKX knows he’s going to be out there digging another grave with a sword, and he really does not want that. Flashback to Eps 22 and 23 when Cao Weining told A-Xiang that he wanted her to be more careful because she would actually feel bad if she killed someone innocent, and ZZS told WKX he didn’t want him to have any more sins on his hands. Not to mention, literal flashback to the death of WKX’s parents, the most traumatic event of his life. Also, I noticed the difference here between WKX’s reaction to Han Ying the last time they met, which was pure vinegar, and his acceptance of him this time along with his desperation to save him, not even really for Han Ying, himself, so much as for ZZS.

Duan Pengju, omg, this asshole. Meanwhile, Chengling is getting to indulge his newfound bloodthirstiness, with the approval of his shifu. That’s right, Chengling, you should burn down his little battalion. Fucking superb, you funky little goldbean. Of course, then, we’re going to re-visit the most traumatic event of your life because everyone gets a little bit of PTSD triggering in this ep. As a treat. I … love? … that is maybe not the precisely correct word … how ZZS reassures Chengling that no, Tian Chuang will keep him alive - ZZS knows, like the rest of us, that creepster Prince Jin wants a piece of him. I do actually love how Chengling’s response is to try to wake up Wen Kexing, because he knows no one is laying a finger on ZZS if WKX is around to say anything about it. I also love the way ZZS sends Pengju scrambling backward just by stalking toward him. The minute he steps outside the Manor gate, ZZS is clearly the person in control of this faceoff, and the only reason he’s headed back to Jin in leg irons and a cage is because he’s allowing it to happen. I have a whole … thing about Zhang Zhehan’s physicality as an actor that I’m working on putting into words. Maybe next time. Also, just an aside, I cannot thank Zhang Zhehan enough for having his hair long during filming so that they’re able to integrate his hair into his wig and keep his natural hairline. It looks so much better than the typical wig sideburn look, and this scene is one of the places where it particularly strikes me, for some reason.

Last but not least, AAAHHHHHH. OH MY GOD. Stranger Danger in WKX’s dreams/memories was AWFUL YIFU. Zhao Jing, you really are THAT AWFUL.

[dr-imagines-modfuyuhiko]

hello again, mod fuyu !! and a nice to meet you to mod peko, sorry to be so late with my welcome !! could i rq a oneshot where the (GN!)reader breaks up with rantaro because they're afraid that he will leave them first and they don't want to get hurt again ? preferably ending with taro comforting them ? (loosely based off 31 - "You haven't lost me.", 34 - "Please don't do this.", and 40 - "I wasn't lying when I said that I loved you." from the fluff/angst prompt list) tysm in advance !! <3

Rantaro x GN!reader

who breaks up with him so he doesn’t leave them first

Hi!!! It’s so nice to meet you and thank you for the warm welcome!

I’m more than happy to fill out this request, enjoy!! There’s two endings because I didn’t really know whether to go for angsty or fluff, so have both!!

Category: Fluff/Angst imagine

Specifics: GN!reader, reader has no Ultimate but is called the Ultimate Heartbreaker • Prompt 31 - “You haven’t lost me.” • Prompt 34 - “Please don’t do this.” • Prompt 40 - “I wasn’t lying when you said I loved you.”

Warnings: Just..... sad :(

The Ultimate Heartbreaker.

Despite having no real talent to call your own, that’s what you had been jokingly referred to as by friends, family, even strangers you had never met in person.

Not always in a friendly way.

They said you left scores of broken hearts in your wake, that you toyed with innocent people and simply dumped them when you got bored with your playthings.

It seemed the whole world saw you as nothing more than a stone cold heartless sadist.

Any person who fell for you was destined to also fall into despair.

But that was fine.

It was fine, ideal for you. Let everyone think that way about you.

You were fine with putting up walls, fine with sealing your heart away deep inside your chest for no one to ever touch it again. Fine with entering superficial relationships to fulfill the basic human need for companionship.

Not after them.

Love made you weak. Love left you vulnerable. Love broke you.

They broke you.

You gave them your heart. They threw it to the ground and shattered it into millions of pieces, then disappeared without a trace.

It felt like the end of everything.

But you slowly picked up the shards and put your heart back together, swearing you’d never let yourself be hurt like that ever again.

And then you had been caught up in a killing game of all things.

The universe really had it out for you, huh?

But in a way, the killing game was one of the best things that could have happened to you, as unbelievable as that sounded.

Because you met him.

Rantaro Amami, one of the Ultimates trapped in the game just like you. He couldn’t remember his Ultimate talent, but didn’t let that damper his spirits. An enigma, the only person who had an inkling of what was really going on behind the scenes.

He wasn’t a bad guy, he promised everyone. Rantaro was one of the only ones to not show much worry or shock about the situation. He supported Kaede’s beliefs and believed cooperation was key, yet claimed that he would end this Killing Game himself.

Was that what made you develop feelings for the green haired man?

Or was it his gentle manners, his good looks, or how sweetly he painted your nails along with Kaede? Could it be all that and more?

You weren’t sure anymore. Even in your bleak imprisonment, Rantaro was your light, your saving grace. He promised you that once he ended the killing game, you and him would be able to go back into the world and you wouldn’t be confined in the academy walls. You believed him. It was a casual relationship between the two of you, acknowledging the schoolgirl crush you had on him and Rantaro brushing off your “Ultimate title”.

Your relationship with Rantaro motivated you to have faith that you’d make it out of this nightmare. No one would have to die and you’d all escape together. You were happy with him.

But then in the greenhouse, he pulled you close with a blush coating his cheeks.

Then he told you he was head over heels in love with you.

And in that moment...you told him you loved him too.

He beamed, his smile nearly blinding you as he hugged you tight, whispering in your ear how he was so happy, that no matter what happened he’d keep you safe.

You listened but his words didn’t fully reach your ear. Fear creeped in. You tried to ignore it, to soak in this precious moment, but you couldn’t.

Just when you thought you had your feelings under control, they had burst forward, so fast they had slipped from your iron hold and rushed towards the man who had set them free.

It was gratifying. It was dangerous.

—————

“I think we should break up.”

You had called Rantaro to the greenhouse after everyone separated from the dining room. You told him that you two needed to talk. Ironic that this was the very spot you two had professed your love and would now be the place you dashed that love.

“Is everything ok? Did something happen?” he had asked, a concerned frown on his face as he gently took your hand in his.

Always so considerate. Always so caring. That’s what made it so hard seeing the crestfallen expression on his face.

“Wh...what? Break up? Is...is this a joke, Y/N?”

You didn’t answer, you retracted your hand from his and looked to the ground.

“It’s not… I think we should break up, Rantaro.”

“Can I at least know why you think that?”

You could feel the tears rushing to your eyes. Don’t cry. For fuck’s sake, don’t cry-

“...Why do you think? It was fun while it lasted, but I'm bored now. Besides, I might not even last that long before someone decides they have it out for me. It’s a killing game, remember? Why would I want to be tied down to someone who doesn’t even remember their own talent? You’re useless in the long run.”

The bile rose in your throat. These words felt so wrong coming from your mouth, but they wouldn’t stop. You had to stay strong, had to lie to not break down in front of him. You kept up the cruel smirk on your lips and tried your best to

“What more do you expect from someone like me-”

“Stop. This isn’t you. Stop lying to me, Y/N. You’re not that kind of person.”

“...” You gave a breathy chuckle, “You always could see right through me, huh?”

“Why are you really doing this? I need you to be honest with me.”

“Because...because this has all happened to me before. I told someone I loved them, gave them my heart and you know what they did? Threw it into the fucking trash. They left and you will too. Or worse, you’ll stab me in the back and leave me out to bleed. Literally.”

“Y/N, I would never do that to-”

“And how do I know that?! It’s a killing game for fuck’s sake, Rantaro. No one should be trusted, not even you or me.”

���That isn’t true,” A dead serious look on his face as he stepped closer to you. “You’re just saying that because you’re trying to find a reason to make this easier.”

“Of course I am!! I don’t want to love you, but I do!! I love you so fucking much, that I can’t stand the thought of you leaving!!”

“Then why-”

“Because I can’t go through that pain again. I won’t be able to handle it...it’ll kill me Rantaro, please. I can’t lose someone again-”

“You haven’t lost me,” He tried to embrace you but you stepped back, your arms wrapped tightly around your trembling form. He got the message and continued to try and reassure you, “I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you, Y/N.”

“...I wasn’t either.”

“Then, please...don't do this.” Looking into his eyes, you saw a glimmer of hope in them. “I’ll protect you. I won’t leave. We’ll escape together, I promise you. I love you so much. So please…”

G•d, you wanted to run into his arms. To hold him close and never let him go. He wouldn’t let you go, would he? He wouldn’t leave you, would he? He’d keep his promises.

Didn’t you deserve to be happy?

Ending 1

But then their face flashed before your eyes. The same honey coated words they gave you. The same empty promises.

And in that moment...

“I’m sorry...but I just can’t.”

“Y/N-”

You ran, tears rushing down your face, Rantaro’s desperate cries as he shouted your name over and over until it had faded away in the distance.

They were right about you after all. You really were the Ultimate Heartbreaker. And you had never hated that name more than now.

Ending 2

“Ok… I believe you.”

You practically tackled him in a bone crushing hug. Yet he reciprocated the same amount of force. Rantaro pressed his lips to the crown of your head, quietly cooing as the tears flowed.

“Thank you. I mean every word. I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

[naivesilver]

What's your fave/least fave versions of Mangiafuoco? The dude seems kinda ambiguous but Disney really did him dirty...

Stepping into the den of the beast, uh, anon? Well, thank you for giving me a chance to rant once again. I'll put everything under the cut because I don't want to clog everyone's dashes with my delirium.

So, the problem with Mangiafuoco is that contrary to other characters I don't necessarily mind seeing him used as a villain. His role is that of the merciful tyrant, the mood swing riddled man, the ogre who is not truly evil, but if you're making a movie about the story of Pinocchio and don't have the time to pack every scene into it, or if you need to cut some corners, then he is the easiest character to erase the duality of. No time for the Gorilla Judge plot? It's fine, Mangiafuoco can lock Pinocchio up. Coachman seems unnecessary? Well, the dude SHOULD be able to drive a carriage, right?

As such, even if not every adaptation gave him the justice he needed, there are only two versions of him that I actually despise - Puppettino from Emperor of the Night, and Disney's Stromboli. And while Puppettino was terrible because HIS MOVIE was terrible, Stromboli's flaws went far beyond quality. It was a matter of principle.

Imagine, if you will, that a well-renowned studio finally makes a movie about a story that is pivotal to your culture. You watch it, expecting to finally see some representation about your life experience...and it turns out everything that made that story yours has been americanized, mixed and mashed with neighboring countries' lore and costumes because who gives a fuck, and the only slightly faithful character is a) a villain b) a heavily-accented stereotype and c) part of that long-standing tradition of flamboyantly ambiguous evil characters that nowadays Disney would happily call "their first gay character". And to top it all off, this is the only version of the tale everyone ends up remembering, often being dismissive of its true origins.

What I've said might ring familiar to many, especially members of minorities that have grown up with mainstream media (and in fact, if you have examples of similar situations about cultures that don't belong to me, feel free to send them over - I will gladly give those warnings a boost), and it's EXACTLY what Disney did to Pinocchio, and to Stromboli, specifically. The movie could have been salvageable - decent, even. If not for him.

(And Jiminy Cricket, but I can't spend every Pinocchio post complaining about Jiminy, now, can I?)

But thankfully, the Disney movie is now 81 years old, we can put it well behind us, and there are way better Mangiafuoco interpretations to draw from in what has been published since then. I'll gladly list a few, in no particular order, because these are all genuinely good.

Pinocchio (2019)

One of Gigi Proietti's last performances, and one that allowed him to both flex his theater acting muscles and express his unbelievably charming and positive aura. There's a softness to his scenes with Pinocchio that fits perfectly with the atmosphere of the movie, and if Garrone's Pinocchio was already a whimsical, comforting experience, the actor's passing fits another layer of nostalgia over Mangiafuoco's appearances. Thank you for this, Gigi. Truly. You will be missed.

Le Avventure di Pinocchio (1972)

What Mangiafuoco should be - he was an arsehole to everyone, but he gave Pinocchio mercy, food AND clothes, which is exactly what a child living in poverty would need first (also the golden coins, but those didn't go that well). Comencini's miniseries' peculiarity is that it's constantly a bit rough around the edges, far from polished perfection, and what's rougher than a giant of a man bellowing at teeny tiny puppets? A+.

The Adventures of Buratino/Buratino and the Golden Key

I want to know what the fuck was the deal with him SO BAD...Why hide a key in the house of a man like Papa Carlo Geppetto? Especially a key that important? I so wish the Italian dub could be found somewhere, because I can't keep track of the stuff happening if I have subs and I don't know shit in Russian. I only know he was balls to the walls and thriving, and that anyone employing the likes of Pierrot must have had an iron patience. Definitely would watch him conspire in a language I don't understand again.

Pinocchio (2009)

Every time I make one of these posts I think back to this miniseries and EVERY TIME I forgot how utterly ridiculous this Mangiafuoco is. A mixture of Stromboli, an aged rockstar and a bondage enthusiast, with such ridiculous sound effects given to his voice it's a wonder Rai didn't laugh the director out of the room. At least they realized they could only do so much with the terrible CGI Italy is infamous for and made a miniature set for him to traipse around instead of trying to fake a giant man. Best Mangiafuoco if you want to laugh for a solid ten minutes.

And that's it! I hope I exhausted all you needed to know, anon!

[fnf-brain-rot]

the grief between two powers

Note: This story is based off of the scenario of CosmicCove's "I didn't think it would end this way" on A03 where Pico goes through with killing Boyfriend. This is my spin on how they would handle it. It's kinda sad.

________________________________________________________________________________

Unbelievable..

Her parents had the audacity to actually go through with killing the one being on this god-forsaken planet that made her so unconditionally happy. She almost couldn't process the rage building up in her chest from the mere thought of ever seeing their faces again.

And they won't.

A snarl rested permanently on her face as she replayed the scene over and over again in her head. Boyfriend dropping onto the cold concrete, his blood splattering against it from the hole in his chest. All because he was so caring. So sweet.

"Hey Pico! Long time no see! What are you doing here man?"

Pico...

"Pico.." The name seeped between Girlfriend's teeth like venom from a snake. The anger she felt was so intense that she couldn't even hide her purple skin and sharp claws. So what if someone saw her like this? It didn't matter. Not anymore.

For them to know each other, most likely knowing what person he was taking out of this world, and to still go through with it. And for what? Money?

She found herself stumbling aimlessly through the city, but not so much so. Her surroundings showed the train tracks they were waiting for.. Pico... at.

That bastard..

The gleam of her red irises cut through the darkness of the empty lot, and she walked over to her.. deceased Boyfriend's blood spatter. Her anger almost faltered. She almost dropped to her knees and sobbed like she had before, overwhelmed with grief.

Then she smelled it.

It wafted up to her nose, subtly, but she quickly sniffed it out again.

His scent.

Pico's scent.

It hit her like a truck, the sudden desire for bloodshed. For revenge. She followed the path between the dark alley it came from, making her way to him. She was going to make him regret even stepping foot of his house this night. She was going to make him hurt.

________________________________________________________________________________

He wasn't faring much better himself.

Pico felt the regret. He knew what he did was wrong, but shit, most of what he did was wrong. It wasn't wrong in the normal sense though. Boyfriend.. He didn't even hesitate. He shot him almost automatically.

He figured if he didn't think about it, it wouldn't haunt him as much, as if Cassandra's voice wasn't already taunting him from beyond the grave.

He just tried to relax on his worn down couch, in his empty, lonely little apartment. He tried to avoid looking at the gun he set on the table. The same gun used to take Bee's life. The same gun sworn to protect his own.

Pico clasped his hands on either side of his head, staring blankly at his sock covered feet pulled onto the couch.

Ha.. He shot him and didn't even say hi. Barely even looked at him.

Moments of the past flashed in his mind, like a flickering slide show of old memories. When they dated back in middle school. Sure it was a long time ago, and middle school was ass. But who helped him through it? Boyfriend.

Bee would purposefully make himself look stupid if Pico did anything of equal value, so he would never deal with anything alone. He would always come over to hang. Nene and Darnell.. They loved him like a brother. They laughed together, cried together, fought together.

They would have graduated together.

Probably even live together.

if not for...

Pico's thoughts were cut short by the abrupt sound of shattering glass. He shot up from the couch, grabbing his uzi off the table without a second thought. He pointed it toward the door of his bedroom, his blank eyes focusing on the open door.

He could see the silhouette of a woman.. It looked non human. Not the first time he dealt with monsters, however the aura of this one.. It was so intense, like he could suffocate in it.

He cocked his gun at the sound of creaking floor boards, watching the purple demon slowly reveal herself. He damn there had a heart attack.

"You.."

As if they could read each other's minds, they both spoke, but he could feel the malice in her stare alone. "You.. You're.. " He was flabbergasted, taking a couple steps back, though his leg hit his broken coffee table. Girlfriend began to advance, clenching her clawed fingers into fists. "You son of a bitch." Her voice was low, almost in a whisper. "You fucking knew him!!"Her voice came around quickly, bouncing against the thin walls in projection.

"Look I.." Pico began to speak, but lost his words. He did know him. He knew him so well. "I.. I know." He breathed out, slowly lowering his uzi. He looked away, but quickly looked back as he heard her boom with laughter. "I'm sure you know why I'm here then?" She smiled a little. She had teeth that could easily tear flesh apart, and he was sure that's what she wanted to do to him.

"Listen, I'on wanna fight you, jus-'"

"Too fucking bad!" Girlfriend spared not another moment talking if it meant she could have the head of her Boyfriend's killer. She rushed at him with a speed he hadn't seen in a while. Pico quickly kicked out the leg of his coffee table, causing it to topple over, and giving him an easier way to jump over to get behind it.

He could try talking to her, but he was sure she wouldn't stop until she's claimed his life. The gun was knocked from his hand in a blur, and he felt a pain against his chest. She scratched him. He grit his teeth and made more space between them, but the apartment was only so big. "So you can murder but you won't fight, huh??" Her growl assaulted his ears, and he tried his best to pin point her. She came up on his right, lunging at him full force. He grabbed both of her wrists, his back pressing against the rotting wall behind him. She snarled and bit at the air, as if trying to bite his nose off, but he managed to push her off, kicking her in the leg. She buckled from the force, and he slipped out from under her.

Fine, she won't stop. He'll just make this easier for himself. He slid back over to the coffee table, snagging his gun and hopping back up in one swift movement, making a dash for the bedroom. He doesn't do well in small spaces, so he'd just make more room. He dove feet first out of the window, almost not catching the loud thumping of Girlfriend chasing him.

he made sure to grab the emergency ladder on the side of the building to lessen his impact, rolling and stumbling into the dirt. It was only three stories, he's jumped from higher. She launched herself out the window after him. She damn there flew. "Shit.." He took a moment to breath. he couldn't call Nene or Darnell, his phone was inside.

He ran through the trees behind the complex, using the darkness to mask his presence as he usually would for a hit. "Oh Pico! Why delay the inevitable?" She rolled into the dirt under the trees herself, ignoring the ache from such a hard fall. Pico hid behind one of the trees as she scanned the area, then hopped out and fired a shot into her leg, specifically her calf.

She roared out in pain, gripping her dirtied dress with one hand, but she continued fairly well, using her less dominant leg to move in the direction it came from. Pico held his breath, quickly shifting around the trees. She was so sensitive to the sounds, the rustle of leaves, ruffle of sweatpants. before she knew it she was shot again. her other leg. they buckled under her weight, but she refused to fall. Pico ran at her from behind, using this opportune moment to subdue her, but without warning, she turned and grabbed him by the neck.

She moved him so he was in front of her, and slammed him into the dirt below him. "Figured you would be sharper than that.." He choked against her strong hold, gasping desperately for the air she deprived from him. She squeezed so hard he was convinced his neck was about to snap. Without another option, he fired two shots in her stomach, which made her gasp and let go.

She scooted off to the side, clutching a hand to the wound, black ooze pouring out of the holes. Pico took this moment to regain his breath, rubbing a hand along his already bruising neck. He coughed and sputtered, and she did the same. "I...I'm sorry.." His voiced rasped through their moment of silence. She could only let out a growl in response. "Sorry won't bring him back." She scoffed, beginning to move again, crawling back over to Pico. She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, and punched him right in the jaw. he deserved that.

She punched him again. He deserved that. Again. he deserved that too.

the taste of iron flooded his mouth. "You fucking.." He felt wetness against his shirt. He couldn't tell if it was from her tears or his. She dropped him back on the ground. He could only let out shallow, uneven breaths when she collapsed against his chest, beginning to sob quietly.

He allowed her to. He even let some tears of his own fall.

She wanted to kill him, consume his soul, damn him to Hell for eternity. She couldn't. All she could do was cry. It wouldn't bring him back. Nothing could bring him back.

[ghostly-cabbage]

Frigid (Chapter 5)

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends (to maybe more??? ohoho) 

Chapter Rating: T (Language, Canon Typical Violence, Brief Mention of Underage Drug Use) 

Word Count: 6,554

AO3 FFN

<<Previous | Next>>

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The black and white dashed pavement was all Wes saw. It moved underneath his clumsy feet in slow motion. 

Someone was holding his hand; he could feel the heat of their palm enveloping his. His hand was small in theirs. His shoulders were heavy, weighed down by a backpack. 

He wrung the padded red strap with his free hand. The person leading him tugged him along after them, insistent, but not unkind. When he looked up, he couldn’t see who it was. The sun was too bright, glinting in his eyes and allowing nothing but the dark impression of a silhouette. 

He had to get home, Wes remembered faintly. They had to get home or they’d be in trouble. An odd feeling crept up his legs, and he stumbled over an untied shoelace. The person with him made sure he didn’t fall, pulling up on his arm. 

“Silly Wesley, I thought you said you knew how to tie your shoes?” The person said. Their voice sounded muffled, like he was underwater. It sounded… familiar. Somehow. Like Wes should recognize it. 

They kept walking across the street, the far side growing no closer.

Wes swallowed, his throat dry. 

“Something’s wrong,” he said. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. He tried to look up at the person guiding him. They weren’t looking at him, and the sun drove his gaze away again. He looked back at the road, then over his shoulder where the blurry shape of school became more distant with every step.

 “Please listen to me this time, something isn’t right,” he tried again. His voice was small in his throat. His chaperone ignored him, or maybe they just couldn’t hear him. 

Cold panic seeped into him and he tried to resist against the person guiding him. He dug his heels into the rough hot pavement. He twisted and pulled at his hand, gripping the person's wrist in hopes he could slow them down. 

“It’s okay, Wessie! Your friends will be there when you come back,” came the voice, happy and completely oblivious. “I know it’s sad, but you’ll see your friends again, you’ll see.” 

“No,” he protested, the fear condensing into a lump in his throat. “No, we can’t keep going.” He didn’t know why. He just knew they had to stop. 

They had to stop before it happened. 

It ached deep in his bones, the dread and the sirens. His vision swirled and he blinked furiously against the tears. 

“Please,” he pleaded. “Please, stop, you have to.” He yanked on them, but they showed no sign of being inconvenienced. A wail rose in his throat. 

Why were they not listening?

“Maybe your Mom will let us have some fruit snacks when we get there, how’s that sound?” 

And then it was too late. 

His guardian gasped, and yanked him back. It sent a painful jolt through his arm. He stumbled backwards and hit the ground so hard it rattled his brain. 

The sound he could never push from his memories filled the world. The squeal of tires and a wet crunch. A squeal: high pitched and girlish. The solid thunk and crack of a body hitting the pavement, skidding and rolling and breaking and—

Wes sat bolt upright, strangling back a scream. 

Panic tingled over his skin and he clutched at his chest, fingers curling into the cotton of his nightshirt. His breath came in rapid gulps and his eyes darted around his room. Like he was expecting to see— 

He screwed his eyes shut and bit into his bottom lip until he tasted blood. God… He hadn’t had one that bad— that vivid in a long time. He focused on the beat of his heart for several long seconds, forcing his breathing to slow. 

God. He hated nightmares. 

He opened his eyes, taking in the dimly illuminated shapes of his dresser, desk and footboard. His curtains were drawn, and the weak light of morning tried in vain to worm it’s way into the room from behind the fabric. 

Wes reached for his phone on his bedside table. He unplugged it from the charger and winced against the light of the screen, 6:31 a.m. Friday. 

They’d had the last two days off from school due to damages to the plumbing system, but apparently it was all fixed up because school hadn’t been cancelled today. 

After that, going back to sleep was a lost cause. 

He shook his head and peeled his covers back. Might as well get an early start on getting ready for school. With a yawn he opened his door and glanced down the hall. 

Kyle’s door wasn’t open yet, which wasn’t surprising. Kyle was late most mornings; he liked sleeping in about as much as he liked weed… he slept in so much because of the weed more specifically. 

The house was chilly and quiet. 

That was until Wes heard footsteps and the sounds of drawers opening and closing in the kitchen. 

His right hand slid along the guide rail, the polished wood still smelling of lemon. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he poked his head around the corner of the wall and into the kitchen. He blinked. 

It was his dad. He was standing at the toaster, a butter knife held in his hand. Neatly ironed suit already on. 

Wes walked in without announcing himself and went to the cupboard. His dad jumped, catching a glimpse of him over his shoulder. 

“Oh, Wesley.” He cleared his throat and shifted towards him. “You’re up early.” 

“Yep.” 

He got a box of cereal and closed the cupboard. He turned his back to his father to get a clean bowl. 

“Right. Uhm. Did you… want toast?”

Wes nudged the cupboard door closed with an elbow. 

“No, I don’t want toast.” He put his bowl on the dining table and filled it with cereal. His dad watched him. 

“There’s eggs in the fridge too if you—” 

“Dad, it’s fine.” Wes didn’t look at him, and put the cereal box away. He got the jug of milk from the fridge and poured it over the sugary monstrosity that had the audacity to call itself a balanced breakfast. Other than the sound of the milk glugging, the kitchen was tense and silent. Wes screwed the cap back on the milk and put it back in the fridge, getting a spoon next from the silverware drawer. 

The toaster popped, and his Dad startled. 

Under different circumstances Wes might have laughed. 

He pulled out a seat at the table, its legs scraping over the hardwood floor. He sank down into the cold chair and started eating. He pulled his phone out from his sweatpant pocket and scrolled without really paying attention to the images and text that slid past. 

“Aren’t you late for work or something?” he said. His dad stopped scraping the butter on his toast. 

“Now that I’m finally settled into the office a bit more I don’t have to be in till seven.” 

Wes clicked his tongue. “Oh. Joy.” He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. His dad sighed, and he could see his shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye. 

“Your uh, tryouts are today, right?” 

“Why’s it matter? Not like you ever have time to come to my games anyway.” He said it hoping it would hurt. It was childish, Wes knew it was, but he just wanted his dad to get it for once.

“Wesley, kiddo... I know this has been hard on you and your brother—” Wes snorted. His Dad pressed on. “But this job was an amazing opportunity, I really think it could do a lot of good for us.” 

“We were fine with the job you had.”

“I thought a change of environment would help after everything that happened. I’m only doing what’s best for the two of you. For all of us, as a family.”

Wes laughed. It was empty and brittle. 

“Well, that’s news to me. We’re hardly even a family anymore.” 

“Wesley,” his dad’s voice took on a stern edge. 

“You didn’t care about us, if you did you would have asked what we wanted.” 

“And this is exactly why I didn’t.” His Dad gestured jerkily towards him with the butter knife.

“What’s that mean?” Wes slapped his phone down and glared up at his dad.

“It’s clear that you’re still too immature to deal with this like an adult. I’m doing this with your futures in mind, Wesley.” 

“By ripping us away from home? From all our friends? From Grandma and Grandpa? Uncle Ronnie?” Wes’ heart was thumping in his ears and he wanted to scream, flip the table over, something to make the pressure in his chest go away. 

His dad scoffed. 

“Don’t raise your voice at me. I told you when we moved that we would visit for the holidays.” 

“That just makes it all better. Doesn’t it?” he pushed through grit teeth. He squeezed the handle of his spoon in his fist, the cool metal pressing indentions into his skin. 

“The world doesn’t revolve around you and what you want. It’s no one's fault but your own that you’re choosing to learn it the hard way.” 

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite.” 

“Wesley!” his dad snapped. “One thing you won’t do is speak to me like that under my roof, you understand me?”

Wes held his dad’s gaze, not backing down.

“After tryouts you come right home and stay here for the weekend.” 

“What? Seriously?!” 

“Yes, seriously.”

Rage whirled in his throat and he bit down on his tongue. He stood up, his chair skidding backwards. Fucking bullshit. It was fucking bullshit. 

He threw his spoon down onto the table. It clattered and bounced off the side of his bowl. He snatched his phone and stormed away from the table and back up to his room. He slammed his door behind him and stood there seething, his hands balled into fists. 

He stood there as the seconds ticked by, eyes roaming over his room for something he wouldn’t mind breaking. The buzz of his phone distracted him, and he looked down, turning on the screen.

If it was from Dad he was gonna—

Alien Fucker: ? 

Oh. Right. 

It made sense that he’d probably woken up Kyle. He typed a message back into their chat. 

Basketball Freak: Nothing

Alien Fucker: Didn’t sound like nothing 

Basketball Freak: Dad grounded me again 

...

it’s whatever at this point  

Alien Fucker: F in the chat

…

want me to talk to him?  

Basketball Freak: no, its fine 

Alien Fucker: K just lemme know 

Kyle always felt like he had to be the mediator. In the year leading up to the divorce he was the middle man between Mom and Dad, despite Wes telling him that it was ridiculous. Their parents were grown-ass adults. They shouldn’t have fucking needed their seventeen-year-old-son to deliver messages back and forth because they couldn’t stand to talk to each other. And Dad called him immature. 

Kyle hated the tension, he took on the peacekeeper role like a job, trying to hold them all together in vain as the family crumbled around him. Wes probably hadn’t helped any, looking back. 

He picked fights with Dad like it was his job. 

And Mom… He still didn’t talk to Mom. 

He tried to get where Kyle was coming from, he really did. But pretending that shit wasn't fucked wasn’t going to unfuck it. 

Their parents deserved to know what they'd done was wrong. And if hating them was what it took, then goddamnit, Wes was going to do it.  

Wes tossed his phone onto his bed and started getting dressed for school. 

***

The school day passed by uneventful. Mia had the scoop about some couple that had broken up over the two day break that Wes hardly paid attention to. He helped her set her shutter speed and they took pictures of fast moving objects outside. 

At lunch he sat with Kyle and his stoner friends. 

In chemistry, Wes got there after Danny. He set his stuff down, scooting his stool away from him. They ignored each other the best they could as people got settled for class. 

 Wes bounced his leg on the stool’s rung and kept an eye on the clock. Two more classes until tryouts. 

Mrs. Merriweather erased the notes on the board from last class and once the bell rang her iron gaze flicked over the class to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be. 

“Once I take roll, you’ll work on writing your findings from the last lab in a short essay.” An unenthused murmur filtered through the class. Wes glanced sideways to see Danny grimacing. 

Hah. Served him right. 

“Mr. Fenton. You can make up for your absence last class in an hour's detention after school today.”

Some of their classmates turned to look at Danny, half smiles and shared glances. Nothing was more unifying in a classroom than someone who wasn't you getting in trouble. 

Danny hunched his shoulders and sighed.

“Yes, Mrs. Merriweather,” he said.     

Sucked for him, but really, what did he expect? Skipping class was a risk he decided to take. 

Wes used his notes from the lab he’d done by himself, and started writing his short essay. The class quieted and the only sound was the occasional whisper and the shuffle of papers. 

Danny was quiet, fiddling with a pencil and looking at his phone under the table when Mrs. Merriweather wasn’t watching. Wes couldn’t tell who Danny was messaging, but if he had to guess it’d be the other two-thirds of his friend group. Eventually, Danny pulled out papers from a beat up binder and started working on it. From the corner of his eye he’d guess it was history homework.  

All Wes cared about was that Danny didn’t bother him. He wrote his essay with his mind half on the words and half on the growing excitement of hitting the court. Finally, finally he’d be able to do one of the only things he was good at. The minutes dragged past and around the fiftieth time he’d glanced up at the clock Danny shifted next to him. 

“Dude, chill out, you’re making me nervous,” he said quietly. He didn’t even look up from his homework when he said it. 

Wes lifted his head from his partially done essay and narrowed his eyes. 

“Mind your own business, Fenton.” 

Fenton rolled his eyes but said no more. 

Class wrapped up twenty minutes later, Wes turned in his sloppily written essay and bolted out of the room. The hallways swelled with students as they poured from their classrooms. Econ was all that stood between Wes and tryouts. He swung by his locker, grabbing his books. 

He was about to turn to leave when he bumped into someone. They both stumbled back and Wes recognized the pungent smell coming off the other person. 

“Whoa man, sorry ‘bout that.” Said a guy with blond hair and a beanie slouched over his head. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Wes said, trying to get around him. 

“Hey wait, you’re Wesley, right? Kyle’s lil bro.” 

Well, that explained the smell. 

“Uh, yeah that’s me. Sorry, but I’ve gotta—” 

“Dude, sweet. Name’s Robbie, I’m pretty chill with your brother,” he said. 

“That’s nice. Well, nice to meet you and stuff.” Wes stepped around the stoner and headed towards his class. 

“Yeah, totally! I wasn’t here for lunch but Kyle said you hung out with the group today—” Robbie said, following after Wes. 

He pushed a breath between his teeth. Great, guess this was happening now. 

“—but like Kyle’s told me a lot about you, man.” 

“Cool?” Seriously, why was this guy talking to him? 

“Yeah, I just wanted to say the group’s mega on your side.” 

“Uh-huh. Cool.” 

Wait. 

“On my side about what?” Wes slowed his pace.

“The ghosts, bro!” 

“What about them?” 

“Pf, bruh. We’ve lived in Amity Park for like, ever? We’re trying to convince him that this ghost stuff is legit.” 

Wes scoffed. “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying since I was like six.” 

Robbie shook his head. “I know what’cha mean, bro. Dude’s like a steel trap... or however that saying goes.” Robbie shrugged. 

Wes chuckled. “Let me know if you guys make any progress with him,” he said. He’d meant it as a joke, but Robbie nodded seriously. 

“Hell yeah, dude, that’s what’s up. You can count on me.” He held out a closed fist to Wes. 

He rolled his eyes but didn’t hide his grin. He fist bumped Robbie. 

“Okay, well… I’m going to class now.” 

Robbie held up his hands. “Oh, yeah, totes. I should probably do that too, now that I think about it.”

“Probably.” 

Robbie turned and walked away in the opposite direction, a single textbook swinging in his grasp. Kyle’s friends were always friendly. Even if they were a bit annoying. 

Wes was almost late for Econ, thanks to the fact the class was on the other side of the building. He slipped into the room and sat down, letting out a breath when the last bell rang thirty seconds later. 

Mr. Brown took his place at the front of the class, voice as monotonous as ever. His button-up was wrinkled around his midsection, and he ran his hands over it like that would help.

“Alright class, we’re going to start talking about the stock market today,” he said, pulling up Google on the projector.    

Wes hardly absorbed a word from Mr. Brown’s lecture, which was a total snooze-fest. The stock market wasn’t exactly riveting stuff. He bounced his leg under his desk, watching the clock.

Mr. Brown was in the middle of describing the homework: picking three stocks and tracking their ups and downs through-out the weekend, when the bell rang. Wes had been about ready to start pulling his hair out. 

He shot up from his seat and was first out the door.  

Wes made a beeline for his locker. Or at least he tried. He got stuck behind kids walking at a snail's pace three times. He got a few dirty looks for pushing past people loitering in their groups. 

Eventually, he made it to his locker and fumbled with the lock. Once open, he stuffed his books and notes anywhere they’d fit. Papers crumpled and his notebook creaseed down the center. He pulled his bag from the hook and slung it over his shoulder. He headed to the locker rooms at a jog, back to bobbing and weaving around people in the halls.  

“Mr. Weston, no running in the halls!” He heard Mr. Lancer call after him as he went past the English room. He slowed down to a power walk, not caring that he looked stupid. 

He got to the locker room and got his gym clothes out. He changed quickly, ripping his shirt off and almost tripping over his jeans. 

There were other guys in the room, some he recognized and others he didn’t. Before he put his phone away he checked it, the screen lighting up. At the very top of the lock screen was a message notification. 

Mom: How was the first week of school?

His fingers tightened around his phone, pushing the blood away from his fingertips and leaving them pale. He stared at it until the screen dimmed. 

He didn’t want to think about it, not now—not at all. He tossed his phone into his bag and zipped it up. 

Out of sight out of mind. 

He locked up the rest of his stuff and left the locker room. He followed a few other guys into the gym. 

The overhead lights reflected in bright streaks on the polished wood floor. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of cleaners and old set in sweat. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the floor. The high pitched sound echoed around the room; it felt like home. 

Mrs. Tetslaff was standing by the bleachers, writing something on a clipboard. A few students that looked like freshmen were wheeling out a wire cart heaped with basketballs. 

Wes walked towards Tetslaff, coming to stop a ways away. He shifted from foot to foot in anticipation. Within a minute or two there was a loose ring of guys waiting around. A majority were talking amongst themselves, joking around. Clearly they were last year’s team, bonded by hours of blood, sweat, and tears. Wes was on the outside. He felt a sour twinge in his stomach watching them. He wondered how his old team was doing… None of them had messaged him since he left. Not even Cole or Adam.

“Ay, new kid!” 

Wes turned to see a guy with short black hair and olive brown skin. The guy was a bit taller than him. He came up and clapped Wes on the back so hard it stung his skin. He stumbled forward a bit before catching himself. 

“I hear you played point in Cali.” 

Wes tapped the toe of his shoe against the ground a few times. “Yeah?” 

The guy smiled, dark eyes sparkling. He had a nicely structured face, the stubble on his chin making it a reasonable guess that he was a senior. 

“I’m José. Wesley, right? ” He crossed his arms over his chest. Wes didn’t know if he was intending to show off his biceps or not, but it certainly seemed like he was. “I was point-guard last year, and ain’t no way in hell some lanky California kid is gonna yoink my spot.” 

Wes carefully gaged for any hostility, but there was none. José was all smiles. A friendly challenge? 

“I guess we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” He smirked back. 

Somehow José’s smile got bigger. He laughed, his posture breaking into something more casual. 

“I like you already, Wesley.” He stuck out his hand for a handshake. Wes obliged. José grabbed his hand without mercy and shook so vigorously Wes thought he’d lose his arm.

“Just ‘Wes’ is fine,” he said with a wince. José released his hand. “Ow,” he muttered, shaking his hand out. 

“C’mon, you can hang with us, save you the embarrassment of mingling with the Freshmen.” José slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him into the inner circle of guys. He followed, mostly because he didn’t have much of a choice. As they got close the group looked up, varying levels of welcoming. 

“Wes, this is Mark,” he pointed to the dude the farthest from them. He was shorter than Wes, long brown hair tied behind his head. 

“‘Sup.” 

“Next we got Joseph.” José motioned to a guy with terrible posture, it made it hard to tell how tall he was. He looked familiar and it took a few seconds for the light bulb to come on. It clicked and Wes remembered he had Homeroom with him. “We just call him Jo or Joey though.” The guy in question threw up a peace sign. He had light grey hair, obviously the product of a good chunk of money and some bleach. 

Now that Wes thought of it, living in Amity Park, it was weird how many people didn’t have crazy bleached or dyed hair. Maybe it was more of a west coast thing? Or Amity was just behind on the times. Probably both.  

“This is Anthony,” José moved to the next guy. He was about Wes’ height and he had neatly cut and styled almond brown hair. He looked like he belonged in a boy band. His eyes were hazel green, and he looked Wes up and down. 

“Hey,” was all he said. Wes tried not to stare too long as José moved on. 

“Last but not least we got our boy Isaac.” He had black hair, shaved on the sides and longer on top with loose curls. He had dark skin like José. Isaac pointed finger guns at him. 

“Yo, man, pleasure to meet ya,” he said. He had more of a detectable latin accent than José.   

José broke away from Wes to clap hands with Isaac and pull him into a one armed hug. 

“This here our inner circle, Joey and Mark are Juniors like you, but the rest of us ’re Seniors.” 

“It’s nice to meet all you guys, God, you don’t know how long it feels like I’ve waited for today,” he said. He rubbed his upper arm.  

“I just hope you ain’t rusty. I heard you got game.” Isaac said.

Wes shrugged a shoulder. “I mean…” 

“Humble,” José nodded. “I like that about you, Wes. I’m ‘bouta smoke you, make sure you stay that way.” 

The rest of the group let out a chorus of “oh”s. The gauntlet had officially been thrown down in front of witnesses. Wes didn’t fight his smile as he sank into the familiar feeling. 

“Cool, dude. Just don’t cry when I dunk on your ass, okay?” 

The group oh’d louder this time. 

“Dammnn, new kid! You got spunk, never would have guessed from class,” Joseph laughed. “Seriously, in Homeroom he never talks to anyone,” he told the rest of the group. 

“Hey, no judgment, Anthony’s been needing another introvert to keep him company.” Mark grabbed Anthony by the shoulders and gave him a rattle. 

Anthony waved him off. “Shut up.” 

The sound of a whistle pierced through the gym. They all cringed and turned to look at the source of the noise.

Mrs. Testlaff had her hands on her hips. 

“What’re you all waiting around for? You know the drill, warm-ups first.” She clapped a palm against the back of her clipboard. Her voice boomed through the gym.  “Two laps around the gym, go!” 

***

The amount of drills they did had to be criminal. Wes’ muscles burned and his hair was spiked with sweat and water from the fountain down the hall. He’d forgotten his water bottle at home, which he wholeheartedly blamed on his dad.  

It took a while, shaking off the rust and sinking back into his comfort zone. It felt like the court snapped into focus and all that mattered was the squeak of shoes and the fleeting touch of the ball against the curve of his palm. His body moved the exact way he wanted it to. He spun and dodged, nailed three point shots more often than not, felt like he was riding a high.

They practiced individual skills before they moved onto mock games. José was no joke. He moved like he could read the offence’s mind. It was frustrating and exhilarating at the same time. 

The group’s synchronicity of their plays made their history together obvious. 

The practice games were intense and competitive. For every layup and three pointer Wes scored, José would score the same. The others weren’t pushovers either. Isaac would shut him out with a shit-eating grin and Anthony was way faster than he looked. 

José blew past his sophomore defender and jumped, slamming the ball through the basket and holding onto the rim for a few seconds before he dropped. He bounced into a jog, whooping in triumph. Isaac and Mark high-fived him while Joseph and Anthony, who were on Wes’s side, groaned.

Mrs. Tetslaff blew the whistle and everyone stopped, turning towards her. 

“Alright, gentlemen, good job today. Take a five minute break. Go get some water and then we’ll move into cool downs.” 

Wes sighed, his shoulders sagging. Admittedly, he was tired, but he didn’t want to stop. His new friend group walked towards the corner of the gym to a bench where they had water bottles and towels. Wes, who had neither, just went for the company. Issac grabbed his shoulder as he neared. 

“Shit, man, you can actually play,” he said, giving him a shake.

“So can you guys,” he breathed. Wes grabbed the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. “You didn’t take it easy on me that’s for sure.” 

“Mrs. Tetslaff was impressed, I could tell,” Joseph said, sprawling out on one of the benches. 

“You think so?” Wes glanced back at the stern woman who was in the middle of yelling at a pair of Freshmen across the gym.

“For sure, bro. The way you played you might jus’ make varsity,” José said, smacking the cap of his water bottle closed. 

“‘Might’?” Wes quirked a brow. 

“Homie, yer gonna have to get past us to make varsity,” Isaac pointed out, gesturing to the rest of the guys. Wes blinked, looking at the five of them. 

“Damn, guess you’re right.” 

“It’s okay, you can take Joey’s spot, he won’t miss it,” Mark said, snapping his hand towel at Joseph. He squawked and rolled off the bench onto the floor with a thud. 

“Asshole! And what the hell d’you mean I wouldn’t miss it?” He pushed himself up to glare up at Mark. 

“Bruh, all last season you cared more about flirting with Tiff than showing up to practice on time.” 

Joseph’s cheeks flushed pink. 

“So? I still got better stats than you did. Plus who doesn’t lose track of time when flirting with a cute girl?”

“I dunno, man. Sounds like a straight problem,” Anthony said from Wes’ other side. Wes looked over at him, a little surprised. 

Joseph pushed himself up. “Shut up, Anthony, as if you haven’t been late because you’re flirting with some guy.” 

Anthony snorted. “At this school? Gimme a break.” 

“Whatever, dude, at least I don’t wanna fuck a ghost.” 

That managed to get a reaction out of Anthony. He stiffened, cheeks tinting red. His gaze darted around the ground before his expression hardened.

“If I remember right, Joseph, you retweeted Dash’s ‘Its not gay if he’s dead’ tweet just like everybody else,” he shot back, lifting his chin.

Joseph’s eyes widened. 

Isaac, Mark and José spluttered from behind Joseph. Anthony smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Because it was funny! It was a meme, dude!”

“No need to get defensive now, it’s okay. You can admit that Phantom made you have a gay awakening.” Anthony had an evil twinkle in his eye, like a shark that’d caught the scent of blood.

“What? Dude, no I— Guys come on, help me out here.” 

Isaac stepped up next to Joseph and threw an arm around him, pulling him closer by his neck. 

“Homie, no cap, I wasn’t bi till I moved here. That probably ain’t no coincidence, know wha’m’sayin’?  

Joseph looked stricken, like he could feel himself losing the argument. 

“Oh come on—what about you, newbie?” 

All eyes turned to Wes and he swallowed. Oh, God. Why were people in Amity so goddamn weird? Attracted? To a ghost? 

“Uhm… I mean. Uh. I’ve only seen him once…” He twisted the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Also he’s technically dead, right? Isn’t that like, messed up?” 

Everyone who wasn’t Joseph just rolled their eyes or puffed out a breath. 

“He’s new, give him a while, he’ll come around,” Isaac said, sharing glances with the guys in support of literally thinking a ghost was hot. Wes tried to hide his bewilderment. He seriously doubted he’d “come around”. What was wrong with these people? 

Joseph shoved himself away from Isaac’s grip and interlocked his arm with Wes’. 

“Fuck you guys, Wes is my new bestfriend now.” 

“Boy, you literally out here with silver hair, who’da fuck you think you foolin?” José said, jabbing a flat hand towards him.

“...Elliot said it’d help me get girls’ numbers,” he said softly, lifting his hands to tend it with a frown.  

“You actually listened to that clown?” Anthony grimaced. 

“Bro, I thought you said you liked it?” 

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“Oof, Anthony hit his word limit, guys.” Mark said. The guys broke into laughter. For the first time since moving to Amity Park, Wes actually didn’t hate being there. 

But because it was in-fact Amity Park, of course that’s when shit went sideways. 

There was an explosion from above them. Wes flinched, whipping around towards the source of the sound. The overhead lights flickered, and debris rained down on the center of the court. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling of the gym, sunlight streaming through. A huge shape flew down through the hole, stopping to float thirty feet up. The being glowed unnaturally and had what looked like a mohawk of green flames. The thing looked around, and then flew straight towards Wes and the group. Wes stumbled back into Isaac, his brain short circuiting.

“What the hell—” 

“Ghost!” someone screamed, and that’s all it took for the gym to descend into chaos. People scattered, fleeting through the nearest exits. 

But Wes and his new friends had nowhere to go. They all backed up, pushed against each other in the corner.

“Oh shit,” José said, voice hushed. “It’s Skulker.” 

“What? Who?” Wes whispered back. 

“Dude, shut up! He’s coming closer,” Joseph hissed, slapping a hand over Wes’ mouth. He didn’t even have time to be pissed about it before the ghost was right on top of them.

It grinned. The air felt heavy and Wes’ heart kicked in his chest. Its body was grey and sleek like metal. Out of all the ghosts that they could have, of course Amity had a fucking cyborg ghost. 

The ghost loomed over them. “Have any of you feeble little humans seen the Ghost Child recently?” Its voice was gruff and low, echoing horribly against Wes’ ears. Its eyes were disks of solid green burning into them as it stared. It was still smiling, jagged metal teeth gleaming in the dim reflected light. 

Wes wanted to say “no”, maybe that would make it leave, but Joey’s hand was still firmly over his mouth. The ghost leaned closer, its glare narrowing. 

“Well? Speak, you sniveling humans,” it growled. 

There was a moment’s silence, then: “recently? No.” 

Wes, along with the rest of the group’s attention snapped over in dismay to Anthony. He looked nonchalant, or would have if not for the rigidness of his arms and the tension in his brow. Their gaze slowly craned back over to the ghost, terrified of its reaction.

But the ghost leaned back, demeanor doing a complete one-eighty. “Huh, you haven’t?” Its eyes went cartoonishly big. He looked at a panel that appeared on the back of his wrist. “My scanners say he’s in the area.” The ghost tapped in the scanner a few times, before he gave up and shrugged. 

“No matter.” The cruel smile spread over its face again. “All I have to do is stir up a bit more trouble and my prey will surely appear.” 

Wes watched in horror as long wicked green blades extended out from the ghost’s arms. It closed the small gap between them, a chuckle building up from its throat—or whatever ghosts had. 

“Why hasn’t someone hit the Ghost Alarm?” Mark whispered. 

“Shh,” José snapped. 

Wes swallowed, his mouth going dry and his knees shaking. 

Yeah, he absolutely hated it here again. 

The ghost lifted a blade, resting its tip just above his collarbone. Holy shit, holy shit, holy—

Wes caught the sight of movement from behind the ghost: a flash of black and white. 

“Skulker, leave them alone,” came another echoing voice. Instead of feeling hot and stuffy a chill spread over Wes’ skin as the temperature of the gym dropped. 

The metal ghost spun around, its absence opening up the group's line of sight enough to see none other than Phantom. He was floating some ten feet away, arms crossed over his chest. He paid them no attention, his eyes fully locked on the hulking metal ghost. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Joseph breathed, relaxing enough to release Wes. 

“There you are, Ghost Child,” the cyborg said, sounding pleased. “I was wondering when you’d decide to—” Phantom became a blur. The next thing Wes knew, the huge ghost was sent flying, crashing into a wall on the right side of the gym. 

Phantom was now occupying the space the cyborg ghost had just been. He shook out his hand before curling it back into a fist. “Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you not to drag people into our shit, Skulker?” There was a beat, and Phantom looked over at them, like he’d just remembered they were there in the first place. His eyes flicked over all of them, and Wes couldn’t suppress his shiver when the ghost looked at him. 

“Oh, ‘sup. You guys might wanna, ya’know...” He jerked his head towards the closest exit. And then Phantom was gone, reappearing across the gym. The group didn’t need to be told twice, the next second they were moving. They scrambled out of the corner, practically tripping over one another. 

Wes felt like he was frozen in place. He stared dumbly at where Phantom and the metal ghost were now locked in battle. 

“Dude, what’re you waiting for? Let’s go!” José said, grabbing Wes by the arm and hauling him towards the doors. 

“Wait—” he objected weakly. His legs felt like jelly as he moved. He wanted to see the fight, see Phantom. He didn’t know why, but something in the back of his mind was screaming at him. 

He had questions.

But his new friends didn’t stop until they’d dragged him out through the metal swinging doors of the gym and into the hallway. The door slowly swung back closed, and Wes caught a glimpse of green bolts streaking like comets through the air and Phantom colliding with the ground.  

[riverthunder]

The Stars in Our Skies

For @thespacecryptid for the @ironstrangehaven Gift Exchange ❤️

Link to AO3 Post: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625829

Notes:

Alrighty, so first I need to apologize to my giftee, TheSpaceCryptid. I tried to finish your gift early, and I want to say I had it done sometime between the 15th and the 20th? And after a lazy Christmas Day I went into my Google Drive to post this and it was just... gone. I have no idea what happened. So I had to redo the whole thing from scratch. In some ways I like this version a lot more, though- and in others I think the original was a little better? But overall I'm pleased with this.

You had a lot of ideas I absolutely adore- like Asexual Stephen (insert my heart eyes here), and stargazing dates, and these two being professors. Just. Mwah. Beautiful.

Also, I'm tagging this as Teen due to some discussions of sex- nothing graphic, though, obviously- since I headcanon ace Stephen as a sex-repulsed asexual like myself.

I hope you like the fic and your bonus artwork to make up for how late this ended up being! Apologies again!!

The Stars in Our Skies

Tony stared just a little bit as the new astronomy teacher strolled into the break room and began fixing himself a cup of oolong tea. He had a beautiful face, with sharp cheekbones and a well-defined jaw, as well as piercing, beautiful eyes. Tony also had a funny feeling that he’d met the astronomy teacher many times before, but he couldn’t put a finger on where.

He knew Professor Strange had been a surgeon back in the day, and he was sure he’d seen him at some of the galas he’d attended in his youth. But it felt like he’d seen Strange more recently than that.

He was very obviously distracted during his class, and he gave up on whatever physics explanation he’d been trying to give the poor engineering class he was clearly confusing, and told them to just go ahead and work on homework, giving them a bonus extra two days on his latest paper as well to top it off while he sat back down at his desk to think.

At the end of the period, two of his best students came to sit next to him.

“Everything okay, Professor Stark?” Peter asked while Harley gave him a knowing smile.

“Fine, boys, just a little off my rhythm is all,” Tony said, trying to look unconcerned.

“You sure?” Harley asked innocently. “Sure it’s not something else? A certain someone, maybe? Like… I dunno… the hot new astronomy professor?”

Tony had been taking a drink of coffee and choked on it at Harley’s words, which was decidedly not good, since the coffee was still piping hot thanks to his specially designed insulated mug. “I- you- what?” Tony spluttered.

“What?” Harley asked innocently. “He’s kinda like you, Professor. A silver fox. He’s smokin’.”

“Harley!” Peter said indignantly. “You can’t say that about a professor!”

Harley shrugged. “Too bad, it’s true, Pete. ‘Sides, Professor Stark should come to terms with the idea.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at Harley’s tone. “Oh really?” He asked. “Why?”

Harley shrugged innocently. “Because I wrote Professor Strange a note in your handwriting and hid it in his desk drawer asking him to go on a date with you tonight at 8:00.”

Tony stood up so quickly his coffee mug almost spilled all over the papers he’d collected from his first period, but before he could shout at Harley at the top of his lungs, a certain handsome professor was standing in his doorway.

“Oh,” Stephen said, looking from Tony to their students. “I’m sorry, are you busy? I could come back another time.”

He was holding a piece of paper that had obviously been folded a few times in one of his trembling hands.

“No, we were just leaving,” Harley said sweetly.

Peter felt himself blushing for some reason as he passed Professor Stark a quick note of his own. “Um, I just wanted to know if you’d please check my work on these chemistry notes,” he said.

Tony glanced down at them. A new web-fluid design. He nodded to Peter. “Yes. Yes. I’ll look them over and e-mail you with any necessary changes.”

“Thanks!”

Without another word, Peter seized Harley’s upper arm and dashed out of the room, while Harley laughed and tried to protest, clearly thrilled with watching Tony flounder in the presence of his crush. You could hardly blame him. Seeing Tony Stark, Iron Man, who was a professor for fun, flounder, was a rare and almost unheard of sight.

“Hello, Professor Stark,” Strange said politely, and Tony felt his face heating up. “Um- hi- I-”

“I am very sorry,” Stephen said, setting the note in his hand down on Tony’s desk. Tony caught a glimpse of the handwriting- fucking identical to his own. That damn Keener brat. When Tony got his hands on him-

“But I am afraid I must decline your invitation.”

Oh.

Tony hadn’t even known he was asking Stephen on a date a few minutes ago, but somehow Stephen’s words still stung.

“Oh,” he said out loud. “Uh… busy?”

“No,” Stephen replied.

Yeah, that definitely hurt.

“Oh.” Tony glanced at the note and quickly plucked it off the desk. “Okay. That’s fine, I understand. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable with this.”

“You didn’t,” Stephen told him. “It was actually very flattering. But I don’t think you would like to be in a relationship with me, so I am afraid I must decline.”

Wait, what?

“Uh… sorry, you lost me,” Tony said awkwardly.

Stephen chuckled. “I identify as asexual,” he explained. “Specifically, a sex-repulsed asexual. And from what I know of your past...er, love life, I think it’s better if I decline the invitation altogether. I don’t want to upset you because you want to have sex and I don’t.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “So it is an ace ring!” He said, pointing at the black ring on Stephen’s middle finger on his right hand. “Rhodey called me crazy and said it was a swinger’s ring!”

Stephen blinked in surprise and glanced down at his ring. “Er- yes, it is,” he agreed.

“Cool! Okay.” Tony shot him a smirk. “In that case- are you an ace of spades?”

Stephen looked shocked. “You- you know about the card suits?”

“Sure do,” Tony said proudly.

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Okay then- who uses the ace of diamonds?”

“Demisexuals and demiromantic asexuals,” Tony said. “Ace of clubs is for graysexual and grayromantic, ace of spades is for aromantic asexuals, and ace of hearts is for romantic asexuals.”

He grinned, and Stephen had to crack a smile. “Very impressive.”

“So, what’s your suit, Doc?” Tony asked, grinning at him, and Stephen had to resist the urge to let that smile widen.

“Ace of hearts. I’m a romantic asexual.”

Tony grinned. “I can work with that.”

Stephen allowed his face to fall into a small frown. “Tony, I-”

“Look, Doc, I don’t need sex to be happy,” Tony said. “I’ve had loads in my day, yeah, but I’m a big boy and frankly, I think it’s about time I had a relationship that wasn’t so focused on it. If you’re good with a romantic relationship, I can be happy with one, too.”

Stephen chuckled despite himself. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Tony said, a bit smugly.

Stephen chuckled. “Very well.” He wrote something on a small scrap of paper and offered it to Tony, taking back the note Harley had written. “You can pick me up there, at 8:00.”

“I’ll be there,” Tony said, snatching the fake letter back. “And I’ll give you something actually written by me then.”

~(*)~

Tony pulled up to the house on Bleecker Street. Huh… looked kinda like a museum, to be honest.

The elegant Professor Strange was already walking to meet the car. “Right on time,” he teased, climbing in. He looked like he was putting on a brave face as he entered, and Tony took note of the way Stephen’s hand reached for the cabinet handle on the inside of the door.

Tony bit his lip. “I just like to be on time to things,” he said casually, placing his right hand on the console if Stephen wanted to hold it too, or instead.

Stephen nodded. “Well, I appreciate it. So, what’s the plan for our date?”

“I think you told Professor Verity that you like ramen from Samurai Noodle, right?”

Stephen smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Great! Then we’re getting take-out,” Tony told him, grinning to himself. “And I have a great idea of where we can eat it.”

“Oh? And where is that, exactly?”

“It’s a secret,” Tony said, smirking. “Are you ready to go?”

Stephen nodded, looking amused as he took Tony’s free hand on the console. “That I am. Let’s go, Professor Stark.”

Tony snorted as he started the car. “Alright.”

He tried to sound cool, but he knew that he had started blushing.

~(*)~

“So what exactly are we doing in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night?” Stephen asked as Tony laid a large blanket out in one of the large fields near the Avengers Compound.

“Why?” Tony asked, smirking at him. “Don’t you trust me?”

Stephen chuckled. “Is that your way of saying you’re secretly an ax murderer about to eviscerate me in the middle of this field, free of any witnesses?”

“Ouch,” Tony complained. “You’re really good at wounding someone’s ego, you know that, Strange?”

“So what’s the real reason we’re out here, then?” Stephen asked, amused.

“Lay down,” Tony ordered, pointing to the blanket. “And look up.”

Stephen did so, and gasped in surprise. “The stars….” He breathed, sounding mesmerized.

“That’s right,” Tony said, smiling at him. “Not to easy to see them in the city. But I figured you’re the Astronomy Professor… maybe you’d like to see them more clearly? Maybe teach me something I don’t know?”

“Lay down,” Stephen ordered quietly. “There… Orion the Hunter. Can you see his belt? The three stars, just here.”

“Oh… right,” Tony said. “Isn’t he that dude everyone says Artemis loved?”

“A common misconception these days,” Stephen murmured. “In many of the myths, Artemis was actually the one to kill him, on purpose, for harassing her friends, the Pleiades, or she would encourage someone else to kill him for her, such as Apollo. He’d summon a giant scorpion to kill Orion, which many believe is Scorpio, as the two constellations aren’t around at the same time. When Scorpio rises, Orion vanishes.”

“Cool,” Tony said softly, staring up at the night sky with Stephen. “What else can you see?”

“Sirius, the Dog Star, Orion’s hunting dog,” Stephen said, pointing to the bright star. You can see the constellation Taurus there. Gemini there. Monoceros is there, very faint. You see? Look closely.”

“Beautiful,” Tony murmured, resting his head on Stephen’s chest as he gazed up at the sky.

Stephen smiled to himself and wrapped an arm around him. “Hmm. Not as beautiful as you,” he murmured in a thoughtful voice, making Tony blush.

~(*)~

“Was that an okay date?” Tony wondered as he drove Stephen back to Bleecker Street.

Stephen smiled at him. “You don’t know?”

“Not really,” Tony admitted. “And I kinda wanna… you know. Do this again.”

Stephen chuckled as they reached the museum door. Wait… how come even the building looked sort of familiar? And the street…?

“Well, in that case… it was a perfect date, Professor Stark.” Stephen leaned over, kissing his lips gently. “And I expect to go on another one with you very soon.”

“Sure,” Tony said, a little breathlessly, his eyes wide as he stared at Stephen. “Whatever you want….”

“Perfect.” Stephen smiled at him, and suddenly something long, red, and fluttering was at his throat, gently tugging him out of the car. “Alright, Levi, alright. I’m coming,” Stephen murmured, reaching out to stroke the red fabric.

Tony stared at it. A sentient cloak….

Wait- was he-?

Stephen was already disappearing inside the door when Tony found his voice, so he couldn’t ask him directly. He sat in the dark of his car, dumbfounded, and feeling his heart pounding. Was that the kiss, his sudden epiphany, or both?

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Boss?” Chirped the cool Irish accent.

“Am… am I dating the Sorcerer Supreme?”

Extra Notes:

To clarify the "Stephen is the Sorcerer Supreme but Tony doesn't recognize him but is sure he's met him before" thing- I headcanon that Stephen's magic acts as a sort of "barrier" to his identity- and just protects his identity for him. I got the idea from Cute High Earth Defense Club actually- where the villains and heroes can't really recognize each other as specific students when they meet due to "radio interference" almost- but in my Stephen headcanon, it's more that the magic puts a sort of veil over Stephen, so Tony is sure he's met him before, but he can't put his finger on where until he recognizes Cloakie and goes "oh shit, Stephen's the Sorcerer Supreme I've been battling monsters with???"