#and as you do I tried forcing total drama into the mold

[starryluminary]

Dating sim where Noah’s the playable main character and the goal is to get with one of a wide variety of campers on the island (to his protest)

[misaerabl]

She Won't Go Away...

CONTENT: wc… 8.2k ✦ sub!ellie,dom!reader, ellie is readers ex, reader get’s off on ellie’s misery, u make her beg, dry humping, fingering e!receiving, oral sex e!receiving, overstimulation, cheating, lowkey pathetic ellie, no use of y/n, PLOT W SMUT/SMUT W PLOT (totally not proofread!) SUMMARY: Months after your messy breakup, Ellie pretends she’s moved on—but the cracks are showing. She’s got a new girlfriend, a doe-eyed freshman trailing after her like a puppy, but one rainy night, she shows up at your door, desperate and drenched. She’s begging for just one night—to feel what she’s been missing since you. Will you give in, or is this your chance to turn the tables?

It’s been six months since she kicked you out—six months since your relationship with Ellie imploded. She had always been a storm waiting to happen, volatile and unpredictable, and that night was no different. You should’ve seen it coming, the way she turned everything upside down and left you stranded in the wreckage of your own life.

You blocked her on everything. Deleted her number, unfollowed her accounts, erased every trace of her from your digital world. But the real world wasn’t as simple. Your drama-loving friends, always hungry for the latest gossip, couldn’t help themselves from slipping in updates about her spiral.

And honestly? You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little satisfying. Hearing about Ellie’s downfall—how she’d moved back in with her parents, how her rebound was barely old enough to vote, how she was making a spectacle of herself downtown—was a strange kind of vindication. She’d kicked you out of your own apartment, thrown your life into chaos, and now the universe seemed to be paying her back.

You tried not to dwell on it, but the memories lingered, sharp and bitter. That night had been the culmination of weeks of fighting over something Ellie refused to own up to. She was in the wrong—clearly, unmistakably in the wrong—but you’d let her steamroll you anyway. Maybe it was pity, or maybe you’d just been too exhausted to keep fighting her battles for her.

Your phone buzzes relentlessly, teetering on the edge of the table as notifications pile up from your group chat. You need to see this, one of them says, accompanied by a link to Ellie’s latest post. You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, before giving in to curiosity—or maybe morbid fascination.

The image loads, and there she is: Ellie, arm slung around some girl who looks like she’s trying way too hard to keep up. Your chest tightens involuntarily, but it’s not jealousy. It’s something darker, sharper. Disbelief.

The girl—doe-eyed, awkward, and dressed in that painfully calculated way that screams I swear I’m cool—looks like she stumbled out of a thrift store with no clue what she was doing. You almost laugh, but it’s not funny. If Ellie thought this would get to you, it hasn’t. The only thing you feel is pity.

The longer you stare, the clearer it becomes: she’s a downgrade. Massive. The kind that makes you wonder if Ellie’s doing this to punish herself or to prove some kind of misguided point. The girl’s charm feels forced, like she’s trying to mold herself into something Ellie’s already lost.

And then it hits you. The girl isn’t just a downgrade—she’s a replica. Or at least, an attempt at one. The shaggy hair, the oversized flannel, the too-big grin—it’s like looking at a ghost of Ellie herself, back when you first met. Back when she still had that spark, that reckless, magnetic energy that pulled you in before it burned you alive.

Figures. Ellie’s always been in love with herself, even if she never admitted it. Or maybe this isn’t love at all. Maybe she’s chasing a memory, a version of herself that felt invincible—before the mess, before the break, before she lost you.

It’s almost poetic, in a way. Ellie, so desperate to reclaim what she had, clinging to something that’s already gone. And you? You’re here, watching it all unfold, the bitterness in your chest laced with the faintest trace of satisfaction.

It would be cruel to admit it out loud, but deep down, you knew the truth—you got off on Ellie’s misery. It wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t kind, but there it was, simmering under your skin like a guilty thrill.

Exhibit A: A month after your breakup, she moved back in with her parents. Jesse and Dina told you, of course, slipping it into conversation with cautious glances, like they were testing if you’d even want to hear it. They were your closest friends once—back when Ellie still held her shit together, back when you thought the two of you were untouchable.

Exhibit B: Just a week later, she was spotted at some party, bruised and beaten. She’d gotten into a fight, according to Sydney, a mutual friend who loved to keep tabs on everyone’s business. You could almost picture it: Ellie, fists flying, fueled by some combination of alcohol and self-destruction, still trying to prove she was untouchable.

Exhibit C: Her social media was practically a highlight reel of “I’m fine.” Carefully curated posts of nights out, new hobbies, and a string of new faces, all plastered with that same cocky grin. But you knew her too well. The cracks in her facade were glaringly obvious. The oversharing, the desperate attempts to prove she was thriving—it screamed the opposite.

And the list went on. Every new piece of information was like another point scored in some unspoken game. By some sick, twisted reason, you loved it. Watching her stumble and fall, knowing that she was unraveling—it gave you a satisfaction that felt both intoxicating and shameful.

Ellie thought she was the one who broke you. Maybe she did, for a while. But the real truth? She was the one breaking, piece by piece, and you couldn’t help but savor the view.

You were mid-sip of your coffee, half-listening to Dina ramble about her latest project, when she suddenly gasped, her eyes widening as she stared out the cafe window. “Oh my god,” she whispered, leaning closer like she’d just spotted a celebrity or a crime scene.

“What?” you asked, setting your cup down, already bracing for whatever drama she was about to unload.

Dina didn’t say anything, just tilted her head toward the window. You followed her gaze, and there she was—her. The fucking freshman Ellie was supposedly dating.

Your chest tightened, but not in the way it used to. This wasn’t jealousy. It was something colder, sharper, tinged with disbelief and a twisted sense of amusement. The girl was standing across the street, balancing an oversized tote bag and looking all of eighteen years old, fresh-faced and clueless.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you watched. “That’s her?” you asked, tone flat.

Dina nodded, her expression unreadable, but you could see the gears turning in her head. “Yep. That’s the one.”

The girl was painfully… average. Awkward, even. She had this overly eager energy, the kind that screamed pick me, with her oversized hoodie and the way she kept glancing around like she was lost. If Ellie thought this was an upgrade—or even a distraction—she was delusional.

“She’s…” Dina trailed off, struggling for the right word.

“A kid,” you finished for her, your voice laced with disdain.

Dina winced. “I mean, yeah, kind of.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your coffee, trying to pretend you didn’t care, but the sight of the girl lingered in your mind. It wasn’t jealousy—Ellie’s life was her own mess now—but seeing the girl in real life made it all the more ridiculous.

“She’s trying too hard,” Dina muttered, almost to herself. “Like she’s auditioning for something.”

You smirked, swirling your coffee absently. “Figures. Ellie always did like a good project.”

And as much as you hated to admit it, there was a small, dark part of you that couldn’t wait to see how this one would end.

A few minutes later, the door to the café swung open, and in came Jesse, his laughter ringing out before he’d even reached your table. His grin was wide, his energy electric, and you knew before he even said a word that he was about to deliver something chaotic.

“Did you see her?” he asked, barely getting the words out between fits of cackling. He plopped into the chair next to Dina, grabbing one of her fries without so much as a greeting.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference even as your stomach tightened. “See who?”

“The kid,” Jesse said, smirking. “Ellie’s little… whatever she is.”

Dina groaned, rubbing her temples. “Jesse, come on.”

“What? I’m just saying,” Jesse said, leaning back in his chair. “She looks like she wandered out of a high school open house. Please tell me you saw her.”

You kept your expression neutral, though the corners of your lips threatened to curl into a smirk. “Yeah, we saw her,” you said, taking a casual sip of your coffee.

Jesse snorted, shaking his head. “Man, I don’t know what Ellie’s thinking. It’s like she’s doing everything in her power to scream, ‘I’m totally fine, guys!’”

“She’s not,” Dina said, her voice soft but firm.

You glanced at her, but she didn’t elaborate. Jesse, however, didn’t seem to care. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at you.

“Tell me you’re at least enjoying the show,” he said, his grin sly.

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I’m just minding my business.”

“Bullshit,” Jesse said, laughing. “You love it.”

You didn’t respond, just leaned back in your chair and let the conversation flow around you. But deep down, you couldn’t deny the flicker of satisfaction Jesse’s words brought. Ellie’s mess was her own to deal with now, and you? You were just here for the coffee.

Finals week brought a brief, blissful silence. Everyone was too busy cramming and stressing over grades to care about the aftermath of your breakup or the whispers of Ellie’s spiraling life. For once, the campus drama machine took a breather, and you got to relish the peace.

But finals ended, and the parties began.

Celebrations cropped up everywhere, and your friends were relentless about dragging you out. At first, you resisted. Maybe you were still riding the exhaustion from finals, or maybe you just didn’t feel like pretending to enjoy yourself. But eventually, you caved. Blame it on the free drinks or the fact that Dina and Jesse had bailed to spend time together like the nauseating lovebirds they were.

The house buzzed with energy, bodies packed into every corner, and music so loud it felt like the floorboards might give out. Conversations competed with the bassline, creating a chaotic hum that filled the air. Laughter and shouts spilled out onto the front lawn, where clusters of people stood smoking or catching their breath. You hung near your group, drink in hand, soaking in the chaos without engaging too much. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either.

And then you saw her.

She was in the kitchen, beer in hand, laughing at something the guy next to her said. From a distance, she almost looked like her old self—confident, collected. But you knew better. The forced laugh, the way her eyes flickered around the room when she thought no one was watching, the tension in her shoulders—it all screamed try-hard.

And clinging to her arm, like some desperate groupie, was the freshman. You had to give her credit for persistence; not many people would still fawn over someone this obviously falling apart. Ellie threw her a smile, but it was hollow, like everything else about her these days.

You turned back to your drink, feigning disinterest, but one of your friends nudged you. “Isn’t that Ellie?”

“Yep,” you said flatly, not even glancing back.

You weren’t going to let her ruin your night. No, that privilege was yours alone now.

Still, Ellie had a way of making herself impossible to ignore. Everywhere you turned, there she was, laughing too loud or gesturing wildly like she was the life of the party. She wasn’t. She was flailing, and it was almost embarrassing to watch. Almost.

At one point, your group migrated to a quieter corner, gossiping over drinks. The conversation was mindless, but it passed the time. You were just starting to relax when one of your friends leaned in, smirking. “Yo, isn’t that your ex?”

You didn’t need to look to know who they meant.

“She looks like shit,” someone muttered, and you couldn’t help but agree.

Ellie was leaning against the wall now, beer bottle nearly empty, her grey hoodie rumpled like she’d pulled it from the bottom of a laundry basket. The jeans she wore hung loose, the way clothes did on someone who’d lost weight they couldn’t afford to lose. Her glasses sat perched on her nose, slightly askew, the way they used to always be—an effortless part of her polished appearance. Her hair, once perfectly messy, now just looked like she hadn’t bothered. She was a shadow of the person she used to be, and you loved it.

“She’s trying so hard,” another friend snickered, and you smiled into your drink.

It was true. Ellie was a disaster, and she didn’t even know it. Every movement, every laugh, was a performance meant to convince everyone—including herself—that she was okay. But the cracks were there, and you had a front-row seat to watch her crumble.

You caught her looking at you once, just for a second, before she quickly looked away. That single moment of eye contact was enough to tell you everything. She was spiraling, and she knew you knew.

You raised your glass in a mock toast, a smug grin tugging at your lips as her expression darkened.

God, it felt good to see her like this.

Every stumble, every fake smile, every awkward interaction was proof that she hadn’t moved on, and that knowledge was sweeter than any drink you could have had tonight. Ellie might’ve been the one to end things, but you were the one thriving now.

And as you watched her shrink further into herself, you couldn’t help but savor the irony. She’d thought she was better off without you, but now? She was the punchline to a joke only you truly understood.

Karma had never looked so good.

Eventually, you grew tired of your so-called friends and their endless gossip, their voices blending into a monotonous hum that felt more high school than college. Rolling your eyes, you muttered a half-hearted excuse and slipped away, heading outside for a smoke.

The night air hit you like a reset button, cool and sharp against your skin. Away from the suffocating noise of the party, you finally let yourself breathe.

You were halfway through your cigarette when the back door creaked open, the familiar sound of footsteps following immediately after. You didn't have to look to know who it was—Ellie’s presence was unmistakable, like a ripple in the air that made everything feel off-kilter.

She came into view, cigarette dangling between her fingers, the glow from the ember briefly lighting up her face in the dim backyard. She stood there, awkwardly shifting on her feet, her posture too stiff to be casual. The smoke from her cigarette curled into the air, but she didn’t take a drag immediately—she was eyeing you, as if deciding whether to approach.

You didn’t make any move, just took another slow drag from your own cigarette, watching her from the corner of your eye.

“Can I join?” Ellie’s voice was rough, a little too slow, but she made her way over, unceremoniously leaning against the brick wall beside you.

You exhaled, the smoke curling into the cold night. “It’s a free world,” you said flatly, not bothering to acknowledge her much beyond that.

She nodded, as if to herself, and then lit her cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating her face in a flickering moment of vulnerability. She dragged deeply, her eyes closing for a brief second as she exhaled, the cloud of smoke mixing with the night air.

You couldn’t help but glance at her—she was wearing the same loose grey hoodie, her glasses perched just so, like they had always been a part of her signature style. The jeans she wore hung too loosely on her frame, the sign of someone who had lost more than just weight. The way her hands shook slightly as she took another drag was a stark contrast to her usual confident facade.

The quiet stretched between you both as she smoked, and you weren’t sure if it was the booze or just the weight of everything, but Ellie spoke up again, her voice softer now, too soft.

“Sometimes I think I fucked up more than I thought,” she said, her gaze fixed on the ground.

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you took another drag, letting the silence hang, thick and heavy. She had this way of saying things she didn’t really want to say—things she thought she could bury under the weight of her act, but here she was, practically inviting you to take the shot.

Ellie looked back at you, meeting your eyes briefly before quickly looking away, uncomfortable again. "I didn't mean for it to go this way," she muttered.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smirking. “No one ever means it,” you said coldly, flicking the ash from your cigarette into the grass.

Ellie’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. She just took another drag, trying to keep it together, though it was clear her mind was somewhere else entirely.

You couldn’t help the satisfaction that crept through you as you watched her like this—so far from the confident, untouchable girl who used to walk around like she owned every room. Watching her crumble, piece by piece, had always been more satisfying than you'd ever care to admit.

“Well,” you said, voice almost light, “at least you’re consistent in how much of a mess you are.”

She flinched at that, but didn’t retaliate. Instead, she just stared at her cigarette, the smoke curling upward, her shoulders slumping a little more with each breath. You didn’t care to pretend you cared about her sadness. It was better this way. She’d made her choice.

You finished your cigarette first, tapping it out and flicking it into the yard. "Have fun with that," you said with a sneer, before turning on your heel and walking back toward the house, the sound of the door closing behind you louder than any of the bullshit you’d just walked away from.

You didn’t see her again at the party, at least not until later when you were waiting for a cab, conveniently she was too. You were standing near the curb, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, ready to call it a night. The air had cooled further, and the sounds of the party were slowly becoming a distant hum. That’s when you spotted her—Ellie, standing just a few feet away, looking like she was trying to make herself small despite being too tall and noticeable.

She didn’t see you at first, and you almost considered pretending you hadn’t noticed her. But then, as if the universe had other plans, she glanced in your direction. Her eyes flickered for a moment, just a brief flash of recognition before she looked away.

You started to turn your attention back to your phone when the cab you’d called pulled up, but then Ellie surprised you. She was already walking toward it, the same cab, as if fate had decided to throw one last curveball.

Her eyes met yours again as she reached the door, and she hesitated for just a moment before saying, “You waiting for a ride too?” Her voice had a touch of awkwardness, like she wasn’t quite sure if she should even ask.

You paused for a second, then shrugged, stepping closer to the cab. “Guess so,” you replied, your tone flat but not unkind. You didn’t really feel like arguing, and she clearly wasn’t going to back down.

It was too late to back out now, so you both climbed into the backseat, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud. The car started moving, and for a moment, the silence was just as thick as it had been when you were standing outside.

The ride was quiet, the kind of silence that felt thick with unspoken words. Ellie sat beside you, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face illuminated only by the dim glow of the streetlights passing by. You could feel her tension, the way she fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie sleeve, clearly trying to fight off whatever thoughts were eating at her. You didn’t bother to break the silence, letting the hum of the car’s engine fill the space between you both.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of your new apartment building, you were already reaching for the door handle, ready to escape the awkwardness. But before you could step out, Ellie surprised you again. She unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed the door open too, stepping out of the cab at the same time you did.

You blinked in confusion as she closed the door behind her and walked toward you, her pace slow but determined. “I’ll walk you to your apartment,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. It almost sounded like a statement rather than a suggestion, like it was something she had already decided in her head.

You stared at her for a moment, trying to process what she was saying. It wasn’t like Ellie to make such an offer, not after everything that had happened. You were about to ask her what she was doing when she tilted her head slightly, looking at you with a mix of resolve and something else—vulnerability, maybe.

She didn’t wait for your response, already starting to walk toward your building. You found yourself following her without thinking. There was something about the way she was acting tonight, something different than the reckless, unbothered Ellie you were used to. You couldn’t quite place it, but for some reason, you didn’t protest.

It felt almost like a routine, walking beside her in the quiet of the night. The distance between you wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to feel the strange tension in the air, the unspoken words hanging between the two of you.

The elevator ride up to your floor felt like an eternity, the space between you both growing with each passing second. Ellie was unusually quiet, her hands shoved deep in her hoodie pockets as she stared ahead, her lips pressed together in a line. You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or something else, but she seemed more... guarded, like she was holding herself together by a thread.

You were about to say something when she spoke, her voice low but pointed. “You know, you’re not as over this as you act.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face. You snapped your head toward her, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, but the edge in her voice was unmistakable. “Just saying. You act like you don’t care, but I’ve seen you watching me tonight. You don’t fool anyone.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, but neither of you moved immediately. You could feel your heart beating faster, your temper flaring. “I don’t care? You think you know me? You’re the one who left, Ellie. You don’t get to make assumptions about me now.”

She rolled her eyes, her usual sarcastic smirk creeping onto her face. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you didn’t move on. I saw you at that party, having the time of your life with your little friends.”

That did it. You stepped toward her, your voice rising. “You don’t get to act like I’m the one who moved on too quickly. You don’t know what it’s been like for me, and frankly, I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Ellie’s expression shifted, and for the first time that night, you saw something softer in her eyes. But before you could process it, her tone sharpened again. “I never said you owed me anything, but I didn’t expect you to throw it all away like I meant nothing.”

“Stop acting like this is all my fault,” you shot back, your voice barely controlled now. “You pushed me away. I had no choice but to move on, Ellie. You made sure of that.”

The argument hung in the air, thick and tense. But before you could say another word, Ellie closed the distance between you, her breath warm against your skin. In one swift motion, she cupped your face, pulling you in. You didn’t fight it. The anger, the hurt, all of it seemed to melt away in the heat of the kiss.

It was raw—desperate even. Her lips were hungry against yours, and you kissed her back, your hands coming up to tangle in her messy hair. It felt like everything you’d been holding back, every word you hadn’t said, was pouring into that kiss.

But as quickly as it started, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your heart pounding in your chest. Ellie stood there, her face flushed, eyes wide with the same shock as yours.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “This... this doesn’t change anything, Ellie. Just go home.”

Her gaze softened, and you could see the disappointment in her eyes. But she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, turned, and walked away.

You stood in the cold, the echo of her footsteps fading down the hallway as you finally unlocked your door. The kiss lingered on your lips, but it wasn’t enough to make you forget why you had to push her away. Not now. Not like this.

A few days had passed since that night, but it felt like everything from then had been a twisted joke you were still trying to figure out. You weren't sad about the breakup; no, that ship had sailed. You were pissed that you’d ended up making out with her—Ellie, of all people—after everything.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. You weren’t supposed to let her back in. And yet, there you were, rolling around with her in the elevator like some lovesick idiot. You had to keep telling yourself it was a mistake—a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment. But you couldn’t deny the satisfaction that came with seeing Ellie in such a mess. The messy flannel, the loose jeans, the awkward way she was trying so hard to pretend she didn’t care. It was delicious.

You were in your room now, screaming into your pillow because, honestly, what the hell had you just done? Dina was on the bed, far too entertained by your complete frustration.

“So, you and Ellie kissed,” Dina said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Or should I say, ‘ate each other's face’?” She leaned forward, practically glowing with excitement. “How was it? Did she kiss like she still had a chance?”

You groaned into the pillow, the sound muffled. “I didn’t eat her face, Dina. It wasn’t anything like that.” You lifted your head just enough to glare at her. “She’s a disaster. She came on strong, and I was—ugh—I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

Dina was laughing so hard she almost fell off the bed. “Oh, come on. You’re so into her. I can tell. And you’re acting all annoyed, but I saw the way you kissed her. Don’t lie. It was intense.”

You sat up, scowling at her. “I’m not into her, Dina. I just... I don’t know, she pissed me off so much, and then bam—we're making out like idiots. But it’s not like it meant anything.”

Dina’s smirk didn’t fade. “Right, sure. Whatever you say, but I bet Ellie’s loving it right now, huh? She’s probably regretting her whole life choices while you’re sitting here getting off on her misery.”

That hit a little too close to home. You were enjoying the way she was falling apart. Seeing her so wrecked, so desperate to hold on to something that had already slipped through her fingers—it was delicious. Karma had never tasted so sweet.

You flopped back onto your bed, rolling onto your back with an exaggerated sigh. “She looked pathetic, Dina. But it’s like—ugh, I don’t know. Seeing her like that... It was so perfect, you know? She’s this whole mess, and I’m over here just... thriving.”

Dina raised an eyebrow at you, clearly enjoying the way you were reacting. “I get it. You love watching her self-destruct. It’s like everything she put you through is finally coming back around. But you’ve got to admit, kissing her like that—it’s got to mean something.”

You shot her a glare. “No. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m just enjoying the fact that she’s miserable now. She thought she could walk away, but now she’s the one suffering, and I’m just... here for it.”

Dina grinned, clearly not buying your act. “You can try to act all tough, but I see you, dude. You’re not as over her as you think.”

You groaned and buried your face back into the pillow. “Just drop it, okay? I don’t need to hear your analysis right now.”

Dina’s laugh rang through the room, making you just a little more annoyed. “Fine, fine. But you’re so into her. Don’t even try to deny it.”

The rain pounded relentlessly against the window as you stepped out of the shower, steam curling in the air around you. Dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and a matching top, you walked into your room, ready to collapse into bed and lose yourself in mindless scrolling or random videos.

But before you could settle in, a soft knock at your door froze you in place.

You sighed, already dreading who it could be. Opening the door, you found Ellie standing there, drenched from the rain. Her auburn hair stuck to her face, and her usual cocky confidence was replaced by an almost hesitant shuffle.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice low and thick with something unspoken.

You crossed your arms, glaring. “What do you want, Ellie?”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the floor before meeting yours. She looked out of place, like she didn’t belong here but couldn’t stay away. “Just... please.”

You stared her down, letting the silence linger until it became unbearable, then stepped aside reluctantly. Ellie walked in slowly, dripping water onto the floor as she fidgeted with her hands. She always did that when she was nervous.

Closing the door, you leaned against it and crossed your arms again. “Well? Spit it out.”

Ellie’s shoulders tensed. She avoided your gaze for a moment, exhaling sharply before finally looking at you. “I miss you,” she said, her voice quiet, almost trembling.

A laugh escaped you, sharp and cold. “Bullshit. You have a girlfriend, Ellie. Why the hell are you here?”

“I know,” she replied quickly, holding her hands up as if to defend herself. “I know, but… she’s not you. No one has ever made me feel like you do. I miss you. Please.”

Your heart clenched, but you buried it under your growing frustration. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice cutting. “You’re with her now. What’s her name again? Oh, right, the freshman who follows you around like a puppy on a leash. Does she know you’re here, begging me for crumbs?”

Ellie winced, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not like that,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“Isn’t it?” you shot back. “You’ve got her wrapped around your finger, Ellie, and now you want to come crawling back to me because you’re bored or because she can’t give you whatever it is you’re looking for. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!” Ellie snapped, her voice breaking. “She’s not you. She’ll never be you. I need—”

“You need to leave,” you interrupted, cutting her off. “Go back to your little puppy. Play house. Whatever it is you do with her.”

Ellie stepped closer, her hands trembling at her sides. “I don’t want her,” she said, her voice softening again. “I want you. Just… just one night. Please.”

You raised an eyebrow, a cruel smirk tugging at your lips. “You think one night is going to fix this? After everything? You’ve got some nerve, Ellie.”

“I don’t care,” she said, desperation lacing her words. “I don’t care how much you hate me right now. I just—please, I miss how we used to be. I miss you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer to her. “If you want me that badly, prove it,” you said, your voice sharp and unrelenting. “Beg for it, Ellie. Get on your knees and show me how much you miss me.”

Ellie’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock, but she didn’t hesitate for long. Slowly, she sank to her knees, her trembling hands resting on your thighs. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ll do anything. Just… let me stay. Just for tonight.”

You tilted your head, looking down at her with mock pity. “Is this what you do when things don’t go your way? Crawl back to me while your girlfriend waits at home, none the wiser? Pathetic.”

Ellie flinched but didn’t move, her grip on your thighs tightening. “Say whatever you want. I don’t care,” she said, her voice shaking. “Just… please, let me stay.”

For a moment, you let the silence hang heavy between you, the sound of rain pounding against the window filling the room. You could feel her desperation, her raw need, and—god help you—it made you feel powerful.

Finally, you leaned down, tilting her chin up with your fingers so she had no choice but to meet your gaze. “You don’t deserve it,” you said, your voice low and cruel. “But I’ll give you what you want. Just this once.”

Ellie’s breath hitched as you leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was rough, desperate, and laced with all the frustration, hurt, and longing that had been simmering between you for months.

Her hands slid up your legs, pulling you closer as she kissed you back with equal fervor. It was a mess of emotions—anger, desire, and something neither of you dared to name—but for now, it was enough.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathing hard, you stared down at her, a smirk playing on your lips. “Get up,” you said, your tone sharp but teasing.

Ellie stood, her eyes never leaving yours. The night was far from over, and you both knew it.

A sly grin tugs at Ellie’s lips as she watches you sink into the couch, legs splayed wide. Her hesitation lasts only a heartbeat before she steps forward, closing the space between you. Without breaking eye contact, she lowers herself onto your thigh, her breath hitching as she settles in, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.

Her body sinks into yours as if she’s trying to melt away the distance between you. Her arms coil around your neck, fingers threading through the hair at your nape. She starts to move, a slow, deliberate grind, her breaths hot against your skin. Her voice, soft and raw, spills into the hollow of your neck like a confession wrapped in velvet. “God… I missed you so much,” she murmurs, the words trembling with a teasing ache, her desperation weaving itself into every shift of her hips, every flicker of heat that blooms. 

She tries to press her knee against you, sliding between your legs with a boldness that only fuels your frustration. But you’re quicker, pushing her back with a firm hand. “No,” you bite out, your voice cold and unyielding. She doesn’t get to have this her way—not after everything. She doesn’t deserve to touch you, not until you decide she’s earned it.

When you shove her knee away, a soft whimper escapes her lips—fragile, pleading, yet laced with determination. She leans closer, her breath warm against your skin as she murmurs, “Let me touch you, baby.” Her voice trembles, a delicate mix of desperation and longing, as if she’s begging for permission to worship what she knows she doesn’t deserve.

You tilt your head, locking eyes with her, your expression cold and unyielding. Her desperation clings to the air between you like a suffocating fog. “You don’t deserve to touch me,” you say, your voice low but cutting, each word sharp enough to pierce through her resolve.

Her breath hitches, her hands faltering where they’ve dared to rest on your thighs. “Please,” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly, the word hanging in the silence like an offering.

You lean forward, closing the distance just enough for her to feel the weight of your presence without granting her the satisfaction she craves. “You don’t get to beg for what you threw away,” you add, your tone cruel, though the flicker of heat in her gaze tells you she doesn’t hate it. If anything, she leans into it, her fingers curling tighter against your legs.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she says, almost breathless, her voice trembling with urgency. “I’ll do anything. Just—”

“Anything?” you interrupt, your lips curling into a slow, taunting smile. “You really think anything will erase the mess you made? You want to earn this? Then prove it. Show me how pathetic you can be.”

Her cheeks flush, her eyes dropping to the space between you as though she’s already considering how far she’ll go. And when she looks up again, there’s a spark of something reckless in her gaze—something that says she’s willing to sink lower if it means she can have even a fraction of you.

She knelt on the ground, her hands bound behind her like a captured bird, the belt tight against her wrists. You moved around her slowly, like a predator circling its prey, the tension in the air thick enough to taste. Her eyes flickered to you, but her body remained still, the soft rustling of fabric the only sound as you drew near.

Every bone in your body screamed at you to walk away, to resist the urge, but seeing her—especially earlier, drenched in rain, her eyes pleading for your touch—was a temptation you couldn't ignore.

You’d moved past her. Moved past everything. She was a lousy girlfriend then, and nothing had changed. Now, she had a new girlfriend—if you could even call that wide-eyed freshman a girlfriend. More like a puppy, really. But seeing her, broken and desperate, begging for what you used to give her? You couldn’t help yourself. You were going to make her feel everything she did before—and then some.

It was a striking thing, seeing her so completely at your mercy. She used to be the one in control, always dominant, always pushing you around—and you, you let her. But not anymore. Not now. Now, the tables have turned. She needed you, not the other way around, and you made sure she understood that. With a sharp tug on her hair, you forced her gaze to meet yours.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you used your foot to spread her legs wide on the cold ground, ensuring her gaze stayed locked on you. 

Ellie's breath catches as you spread her legs, the motion bold, deliberate—sending a shudder through her that you can almost feel in your own chest. She glares up at you, but now there's something else in her eyes—something uncertain, a crack in the defiance. Ellie licks her lips nervously, her usual bravado slipping away like a mask, leaving her raw and exposed in a way that stirs something in you. This isn't the Ellie you once knew, and that makes everything so much more... thrilling.

Her heart races as she feels your foot firmly press against her center through her jeans. Her eyes widen in shock and humiliation, but she can't help the way her body responds. Her breath catches in her throat as you maintain eye contact, dominating her completely.

Her face burns with embarrassment and arousal, but even she can't deny the heat building between her legs. "Fuck-" she whispers harshly, trying to maintain some dignity despite her vulnerable position. Her legs want to close, but your foot presses harder, keeping them firmly apart.

"Please, let me touch you, baby... That’s all I need..." Her voice trembles, low and pleading.

You chuckle darkly, the sound low and dangerous, before replying, "I told you, Ellie... you don’t get to touch me."

Ellie's lips part in disbelief, a frustrated whimper escaping as she realizes the cruel game you're playing. Her body aches to touch you, but your cold words remind her of the power she's lost. She glare up at you, her eyes flashing with mingled fury and desperate need.

Ellie's teeth grind together as she fights back a groan, your cruel denial stoking the flames of her arousal higher. 

“Stand up.” You commanded

Her legs tremble slightly as your foot leaves its intimate position, leaving her feeling empty and aching. She struggles to stand on shaky legs, her pride demanding she maintain some semblance of dignity, despite the obvious effect you're having on her. 

She stumbles forward, her hands reaching out to steady herself on the couch. You push her down roughly, making her sit on the edge of the cushion. Before she can react, you grab the hem of her pants and yank them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but her boxers.

She gasps in surprise as you quickly remove her boxers, leaving her completely exposed. Before she can process what's happening, your face is between her legs, your tongue delving into her soaked pussy. Ellie's back arches off the couch, a loud moan escaping her lips as you devour her.

Her hands fist in your hair, pulling desperately as she tries to pull you closer. Her hips buck against your face, seeking more contact, more friction. "Dammit, dammit," she pants, her body tensing as she tries to hold back the release you're pushing her towards.

As you continue to eat her out, you suddenly push two fingers inside her, stretching her open further. The sensation is too much, and Ellie's back arches off the couch as she screams in ecstasy. Her pussy clenches around your fingers, gushing with juice as you finger fuck her alongside your tongue.

Your fingers push inside her, stretching her tight pussy as you continue to lick and suck her clit. Ellie's legs shake violently, her whole body trembling as the dual sensations overwhelm her. She screams in ecstasy, her pussy clenching around your fingers as she cums hard, her juices flooding your mouth.

As she rides out her orgasm, you don't let up, continuing to eat her out and fuck her with your fingers. When she finally starts to come down, you add a third finger, scissoring them inside her to stretch her pussy even further.

The combination of your fingers and tongue becomes too much, overstimulating her. Ellie's vision starts to blur, her mind going blank as she's hit with an intense wave of pleasure. She screams again, her body convulsing as she experiences what feels like an endless orgasm.

“Mmm... you asked for this,” you murmur, a smirk tugging at your lips as you slowly withdraw your fingers, taking a deliberate step back. “You said you wanted me to make you feel good.”

You knew, deep down, that this wasn’t what she had in mind when she came to you, desperate for a ‘blast from the fucking past’. But that’s exactly what you intended to give her—whether she was ready for it or not.

The next day, the news came—she and her little freshman had broken up. You didn’t need the details; you already knew how it went down. It was always going to end like this. She’d come crawling back to you, driven by some half-baked nostalgia, thinking she could reclaim something that was long gone.

But she was foolish if she thought you’d take her back. That door had closed, and she had no one to blame but herself.

After class, you glance at your phone. A single message from Ellie: "Can we talk?"

You pause, the weight of her words settling in. She thought this was some simple conversation—someway to undo what had been done.

You don't rush to reply. Instead, you let the silence stretch. When you do finally respond, it's deliberate, cold: "What’s there to talk about?"

Her reply comes quick, desperate: "I need to explain..."

You smile to yourself, a small, satisfied thing. She needed to explain? There was nothing left to explain, but you knew what she wanted. She always did, didn’t she?

You meet her at the old usual spot, a dimly lit corner outside the café where you used to sit and talk—before everything went to shit. The air feels thick, charged with the weight of what happened, and Ellie stands there, fidgeting, her eyes on the ground.

You take your time walking toward her, letting the silence hang between you before you speak.

“I’m listening,” you say, your voice steady, almost too calm for the storm brewing beneath it.

Ellie looks up, her face flushed, eyes wide with that familiar desperation. She takes a step forward, her voice shaky but insistent. “There has to be something, right? After what happened… after that night… You made me feel something again. You made me feel so good. That has to mean something.”

Her words hang in the air, and you almost feel sorry for her, but the truth is, you don’t. Not anymore.

Ellie swallows, her gaze softening as if she’s trying to pull you back into the past. “You still love me. You have to. I know you do.”

You stare at her for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably before your lips curl into a cold, empty smile. “Love you?” you say, your voice low, almost mocking. “No, Ellie. I don’t love you.”

She flinches at the words, her eyes searching yours for something—anything—that would contradict what you just said. But there’s nothing there.

“You think I did this because I love you?” You shake your head, the laughter that follows bitter. “No. I did it because it felt good. Seeing you beneath me, broken, desperate—it gave me something I didn’t know I was missing.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, you almost feel the weight of her confusion, her shock, but you push it aside.

“You want to get back together?” you ask, the words dripping with disdain. “You’re pathetic, Ellie. You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

She tries to reach for your hand, but you step back, coldly rejecting her touch.

“No. You’ve had your chance. You don’t get to come back and rewrite what’s already been done.”

Low and behold, like the asshat she was, you'd heard from Dina how Ellie had been talking shit about you—spinning stories about how cruel you were, how you had used her, how you made her feel worthless. Typical Ellie, always turning herself into the martyr. Always blaming someone else for her own mess.

You hadn’t been surprised when Dina had spilled the details. You knew Ellie. She was the type who would do anything to make herself feel like she hadn’t been the one left behind, the one who hadn’t been able to make things work. The truth was, Ellie wasn’t strong enough to face what she had done, to admit that she had come crawling back to you, begging for something that she could never have again.

She couldn’t stand the thought of losing control over you. It was always about that. But now, that power was gone. She didn’t get to walk away from this with her head held high. No, she had made her bed. And you weren’t going to lie in it with her anymore.

You’d already heard her excuses, the things she’d said to Dina, how she made herself out to be the victim. And as much as it pissed you off, you weren’t surprised. This was Ellie’s game. It was always her way or no way. But you knew better than to get dragged back into her toxic cycle.

You remembered that night—the way she had begged, the way she had been so desperate for something, anything. But what had she really wanted? To feel wanted again? To feel like she still had some hold on you? To make herself feel better about all the times she’d walked away from you, played you like a fool?

Well, now, she was just another piece of your past. She wouldn’t go away. But you were done.

Even after everything, she kept finding ways to crawl back into your life—whether it was through casual texts, uninvited visits, or her half-hearted attempts to rekindle what was lost. She couldn’t just accept it. Couldn’t just walk away like she had all the power in the world. But you were done.

She kept telling herself that you’d come back. That you’d always come back. She couldn’t fathom that there was no room for her in your life anymore, no place for her desperate pleas to fit in. It didn’t matter how many times she tried to make herself the center of your world.

And yet, she wouldn’t go away. Not entirely.

Even now, you could feel her presence lingering, like some shadow that just wouldn’t dissipate. You weren’t sure what she expected from you, or why she kept thinking this twisted version of “us” could work, but there was no denying it. Ellie wouldn’t just let you move on. She had to cling to the past because, for her, it was all she knew.

But you? You were done. You weren’t going to chase after her anymore. You wouldn’t keep playing her game.

You couldn’t make her disappear, but you could walk away.

[heliads]

The Ex Friend (Part One)

Luke Patterson isn’t used to any part of life as a ghost, let alone trying to figure out the drama between Julie and Carrie’s friends. However, he has a feeling that there’s more to Y/N L/N, Julie’s old friend, than meets the eye.

masterlist / part two

When Luke Patterson first left school to pursue life in Sunset Curve, he didn’t really see himself ever coming back. It just didn’t seem like the place for him anymore, and it hadn’t been for a while. None of the teachers seemed to understand why music was so important to Luke, or why it was so hard for him to stay still longer than a few minutes, let alone focus enough to complete assignments. Eventually, when he’d realized that trying to force himself into the mold of a perfect student was only making things worse, he’d walked out.

Now he’s back in school again, but this time, he’s not here to be criticized or coerced into becoming someone he’s not. Instead, Luke is here to see Julie Molina perform on stage as planned. He can only hope that she’ll be able to go through with it, although judging by the way his friend’s hands are shaking, Luke might have to give a pep talk or two to help her go through with it.

All the same, it is certainly strange to be back. This isn’t the high school Luke attended and then left, and it’s certainly been renovated in the time since he’d died, but it still feels somehow familiar. Despite the different school colors and mascots, it’s still got the same sort of spirit around it. The halls still echo in the same way as always, voices distort around empty corners, and the occasionally flickering lights still wash over the rows of lockers like they had back at Luke’s school. If he tries hard enough, Luke thinks he might be able to delude himself into thinking that he’s still a student, that he could find old classmates of his around the corners.

But that’s long gone, and Luke knows it. It’s easier to remember when he accidentally walks through walls and finds his head poking out into a different room, or when someone stares directly through him as if Luke isn’t there at all. Technically, he isn’t, but Luke likes to feel important, so he keeps looking around as if he’ll find someone he knows.

Eventually, Luke, Alex, and Reggie find Julie standing with her friend, Flynn, along the inside of the gymnasium. Luke’s all ready to go, talking excitedly with Julie about how she’s definitely going to kill this, but when he looks to Alex and Reggie for backup, he realizes that they’re not paying attention at all. Instead, they’re more focused on the girl group currently performing in the center of the gym, the ones with pastel wigs and eye-catching choreography.

Luke fights the urge to groan. Sure, they’re good and all, but that’s totally not the point. He’s about to shake Alex by the shoulders to stop him from imitating the dance moves when someone new comes into the gym. Judging by the way the audience starts to cheer, and by the way she starts to sing once she enters the spotlight, she must be a part of the group, although she isn’t dressed like them.

The first thing Luke notices is that she can sing really well. The other girls had good harmony, even Luke has to admit it, but this girl is completely different. Her voice is strong, and her eyes are filled with this pure happiness as she sings, like she’s completely in control. Luke knows exactly what that feels like, because he’s seen that exact same look reflected on his own face in crowded clubs back before he died.

The other girls in the group join the new girl, and start to sing in harmony. Despite the pink-haired girl’s best attempts to stay in the lead, the new girl stands out effortlessly. Luke doesn’t realize he’s been staring until he catches himself, and manages to turn back to Julie as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. 

“Look, don’t worry about them. You’re great, and you’re going to do great.” 

Julie nods slowly. “Thanks, I think. Out of curiosity, were you staring at Y/N?” 

Luke shakes his head a little too quickly. “What, staring? I wouldn’t do that. I don’t even know who Y/N is.” 

Julie grins exasperatedly. “Y/N is the girl who just joined. She’s one of Carrie’s friends.”

Julie says ‘Carrie’ like it’s a vicious swear word, and Luke chuckles in spite of himself. 

“She’s pretty good.” 

The words slip out before he can catch himself, but Julie doesn’t look annoyed that he’s complimenting her supposed enemy. 

Instead, she nods wistfully. “She’s really good. We used to be friends, all four of us- Flynn, Y/N, Carrie, and me, before Carrie decided she had it out for me. Y/N’s incredible.”

Luke’s eyes find Y/N across the room again. “What happened to make you guys stop talking? She doesn’t seem that bad right now.” 

Julie shrugs. “Y/N’s fine, but Carrie isn’t. The issue is that she’s Carrie’s friend like Flynn is mine. We just chose our different sides.” 

Luke raises an eyebrow at that. “You describe it like it was some battle.” 

Julie grimaces. “It felt like it. There were a fair amount of fights. Even now, I’m surprised Y/N stuck with Carrie. Everyone knows that Y/N’s the better singer, and Carrie hates it. That’s why Y/N isn’t a permanent member of Sour Candy, because Carrie refuses to be outshone. They’re still friends, though, which is why Y/N gets to have her guest verse on big performances like this one.”

Luke whistles quietly. “The drama of girl group politics. I don’t think I could withstand it if I tried.” 

Julie moves to swat him on the shoulder, and Luke’s never been more grateful that her hand just passes through his arm uninterrupted. That swing looked like it would hurt. 

Julie’s performance goes superbly well, as expected. The only thing Luke didn’t expect was that the entire band became visible when they were singing, although the way he sees it, that’s only a plus. Also, there was this one moment when he was singing to the crowd that he looked out and locked eyes with that Y/N girl from before, and he swears that she smiled at him. He’s been over the moon ever since.

Now, the newly named Julie and the Phantoms are waiting in the wings of a jazz café, ready to perform live for the first time at a legitimate venue. As much fun as the high school was, Luke’s used to playing bigger things, and he certainly has high hopes for this place. 

He, Alex, and Reggie are currently standing with Julie and Flynn, just taking in the crowd. It’s not bad for a start, and he has a feeling that they’re going to take the place by storm. Speaking of which, the announcer just read out the name of the next performer, and it’s- Y/N L/N.

Surprised, Luke turns to the stage, and watches as Y/N walks up to the microphone. It’s just her and a guitar, but as she starts her performance, Luke quickly comes to realize that she doesn’t need anything more than that. Even though he can’t seem to take his eyes away from her for longer than a second, after the whole thing is over Luke doesn’t know whether the song was happy or sad, a love song or a dream or a hope for something new. All he knows is that he really, really likes this girl.

Once the song ends, Y/N waves to a cheering crowd, and walks offstage to thunderous applause. Luke had expected from Julie’s description of the great Julie-Carrie schism that Y/N would pay them no mind, but she actually stops by Julie and Flynn when she sees them. Y/N smiles happily at the two of them.

“Julie, it’s so good to see you! I heard you were performing. You were incredible at the school the other day, by the way. I don’t think I had a chance to tell you.” 

Julie smiles back at her, although something about it seems forced. “Thanks, Y/N. You were great too.” 

If Julie’s trying to keep up a pretense, though, Flynn seems less willing to go along with the whole thing.

“You should probably keep walking, Y/N. I don’t know that Carrie wants you to be seen with us.” 

Y/N’s smile falls away from her in a flash. “I’m just trying to be nice, Flynn.” 

Julie seems seconds from rolling her eyes. “I think Flynn means to say that we’re surprised you’d hang out with us. You haven’t in a while.”

This seems to be a sore subject between them, probably a result of the friendship breakup. Honestly, maybe Julie was right- from the way Carrie and Julie have talked earlier, they almost seem willing to engage in hand to hand combat. 

Y/N just sighs. “Look, if you don’t even want to hear me, don’t. I still thought you sounded good.” 

Flynn sniffs irritably. “Whatever makes you sleep better at night. Go find Carrie, at least she wants to talk to you.”

For a second, Y/N draws back as if she’s been slapped. Then she straightens her shoulders, nods politely at them, and leaves. 

Luke stares between Julie and Flynn. “What was that about? She was literally just being nice, and you attacked her.” 

Julie shakes her head, looking just as upset as Y/N had been. “You have no idea what it’s been like all of this time. Y/N has never defended me once, even when Carrie’s been awful to me. She’s no friend of mine.”

Luke frowns. “Have you ever defended her?” 

Something in the furrow between Julie’s brows tells Luke the answer. Alex, sensing the tension, quickly changes the subject to be about the song they’re writing. After a few moments, Luke looks around and realizes that he can’t find Y/N anywhere. They’ve got a few more performances before Julie and the Phantoms is up, so he quickly excuses himself and starts to wander around.

Luke finds Y/N after a few moments. She’s walked outside, and stands with her back to the door, hands rising to her face as she hurriedly brushes away a few stubborn tears. 

Luke winces. For a second, he forgets that he’s a ghost, and starts to speak. “Look, I’m sorry about them. You were good today.”

He’s not sure what he expected. Y/N is alive, he is not. There’s no way she could possibly hear him, but it feels good to say it anyway. 

For some reason, though, Y/N stiffens when he speaks, then addresses him with her back still turned. “You shouldn’t be here, you know.” 

Luke stares at her. “What?” 

Then he has that same uncomfortable, ghostlike feeling of something passing through him, and he realizes that Carrie has emerged from the club to walk right through him on her way to Y/N.

“What are you talking about?” Carrie speaks now, and Y/N responds. 

“Your performance is after the one playing now. You should be getting ready with the girls.” 

All of a sudden, Luke feels very, very stupid. For a moment there, he’d really thought that she heard him. He swore that she had. She’d almost turned around, and then Carrie had opened the door. Maybe he’s getting too used to talking to Julie that he forgets no one else can see him, even the ones he wants to see the most.

He should leave, now that the confusion has been cleared up, but something about the forced stiffness of Y/N’s shoulders makes him want to stay, even if she doesn’t know he’s there. 

A few feet in front of him, Carrie sighs. “You’re upset, I’m not going until I know everything’s alright. Was it Julie and Flynn again? I thought I saw you talking to them.”

Y/N grins wryly. “Don’t give me that tone. They’re nice, honestly, but I think I remind them of the fights a little too much. They didn’t mean it.” 

Carrie groans. “I told you they were bad news!” 

Y/N laughs now. “Yes, and I didn’t believe you. My bad. Now, come on, I’m better now. Truly. I want to see your show.” 

As they walk back inside the building, the strangest thing happens. For a second, Luke is certain that Y/N turns to look directly at him just before she opens the door. That couldn’t happen, because he is definitely still a ghost, but he really thought she saw him.

Luke talks to Julie again during Sour Candy’s performance. Even as he’s walking back through the club, he can tell that she feels bad about what she said, which is understandable. However, he doesn’t have time to think about it for long- it’s time for Julie and the Phantoms to perform, which means that Luke has to be at his top game to make this work.

In the end, he doesn’t have to worry. The show goes off without a hitch, and the audience loved it. There’s even some important-looking woman in a white suit who stands up to clap for them, something that didn’t even happen for Carrie. Luke couldn’t ask for anything more, or so he thought until he notices Y/N clapping for them as well from across the club.

Julie must see her too, because once the show ends, she makes a beeline for her former friend. Luke follows, even if he’s no longer visible to the public eye. 

Julie stops in front of Y/N, who regards her with a mixture of wariness and something like pride. “It looks like I was right. You were great tonight, Julie.”

Julie beams. “Thanks, Y/N. Honestly. And I’m really sorry for what we said earlier. It was dumb, and I shouldn’t let what happened with Carrie come between us.” 

Y/N smiles back at her. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t think either of us have been as nice as we could have been.” 

She glances over, noticing that the woman in the white suit is starting to approach Julie. “Looks like you’re going to have company. I’ll let you guys talk. Oh, and one more thing-”

For a fraction of a second, Luke swears that Y/N’s eyes flicker to him again, and then it’s gone. “Tell your friend that I was talking to him after all.” 

With that, she’s turned and left the group. Luke stares after her. Beside him, Reggie is tapping him on the shoulder and asking what that meant, but he can’t really find the frame of mind to answer him. If she was really looking about him, and Luke was the friend she was talking about, then that means-

That means she had seen him, and she wasn’t talking to Carrie at all. Luke brushes past his friends, then quickly poofs out into the street near the club. Y/N’s just left, still in the grassy area of the parking lot. 

Luke jogs up to her, half still expecting her to not be able to see him at all. “Were you- can you-”

He can’t quite finish the sentence, but as it turns out, he doesn’t have to. Y/N glances over at him with a grin, and she can actually see him. 

“Can I see you? Yeah, I can. Surprised?”

 Luke moves his arms around in general confusion. “Very much, yes. I’m a ghost, after all.” 

Y/N grimaces. “I thought so. Julie’s hologram excuse was good, but you’re not the first ghosts I’ve met. It all made sense after a while.”

Luke nods, taking this all in. “I am sorry for what happened, though. And you were really good. I don’t think she told you that, but I want to.”

 Y/N laughs. “I appreciate it. Yeah, the whole thing with Carrie kind of made a mess of things, but Julie and Flynn are good people. You are too, by the looks of things.”

For some reason, this makes Luke’s heart do a little loop in his chest. 

“I’m glad you think so.” He manages, and inwardly curses himself. Can’t he come up with something at least a little cooler?

Y/N considers him for a moment longer, then rummages around in a bag for a small scrap of paper, which she hands to Luke. On a moment’s consideration, Luke realizes that it’s got an address of a jazz club on it.

Y/N taps the paper with her finger. “I’ve got a show booked next Saturday at nine. If you want to show up, I’ve got the backstage all to myself. We can talk, if you want.”

Luke feels like he’s floating, and it’s not just because he’s a ghost. “I’d love that. Uh, it sounds really good.” 

Y/N smiles at him one last time, then waves goodbye and heads off again. Luke watches her go, tapping the paper in his hands. If he didn’t know better, he’d almost say that he might have a chance with her. Luke shakes his head slightly, grinning like a lunatic, then heads back to the club. He needs to make sure that Julie and the Phantoms doesn’t have any gigs booked next Saturday night- after all, he’s got a date.

jatp tag list: why hasn’t jatp been renewed yet @rogueanschel​, @lxncelot​, @caswinchester2000​, @lovesanimals0000​

[ysljoon]

Lunchbox Friends|Park Jimin x Reader

This fanfic is mature so please avoid if you are not 18+. This is also a yandere fic so there are sensitive topics.

Warnings: Drinking/mentions of alcohol, partying, oral sex (f receiving), assault (Jungkook gets punched by Jimin), choking, noncon sex, Jimin is a peeping tom, masturbation, creampie. threats, mentions of a knife

Jimin had been by your side since middle school and you guys have been stuck together by the hip since then and refuse to separate. You don’t ever plan on living your life without him as he has seen you at your highest highs and your lowest lows. He knows you inside and out and you wouldn’t want this any other way. It wasn’t until you guys went to college that you realized your friendship had overstepping boundaries. It wasn’t noticeable to you until your friends pointed it out to you and even then you were still in denial. Why would your best friend suddenly not look out for you? It just didn’t make sense to you and you wanted to push it out of your mind.

Tonight was Hoseok and Jungkook’s party and you felt the whole campus buzzing with excitement. You were never close with Hoseok, but you had a few run-ins with Jungkook since he was friends with Jimin and Jimin had introduced him to you. Jungkook seemed like a sweet person and you had your eye on him for a while so you thought tonight was the perfect night to make your move on him. Once your classes were done you took the shuttle to your shared apartment with Jimin to get your outfit ready for tonight. When you reached the apartment you saw Jimin on the couch just watching TV.

“Y/N! You’re back, come give me a hug I missed you!” You dropped your bag by the couch and collapsed in his lap. He attacked you with tight hugs and kisses on the top of your head. Your friendship is very close and touchy, but this is just what happens after years of friendship so boundaries were very few and far between. You snuggled in his lap and scrolled on your phone to kill time and he continued to watch some drama filled reality show that he constantly loved to watch.

As time passed you realized it was an hour before the party so you tried to get up from Jimin’s lap but he wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you down. “Y/N can’t we just stay here for the night you can have so much fun with just me! We don’t need to go to some dumb party to have fun on a Friday.” Jimin whined, but you pried yourself from his arms and made your way to the bathroom to shower. You stepped in the shower and played music to get you in a hype mood to be in the party mindset. You were singing your heart out and didn’t hear the bathroom door creak open to create a slight opening that allowed your body to be exposed to prying eyes. Those prying eyes belonged to Jimin and you were unsuspecting of the fact.

Jimin ogled your naked body in the shower through the steamy glass panes and it started to make his pants tighten. Jimin started to palm himself while admiring the curves of your ass and breasts. You were in the middle of shampooing your hair, your bottle of body wash fell off the shelf and you bent over to pick it up and that had Jimin groaning from pleasure. He unbuttoned his pants and slid his underwear down enough where he could fist his cock with ease. He filthily spit into his hand and rubbed his dick slowly to not build up to his orgasm too quickly. You started to sway your hips back and forth to the rhythm of the upbeat song in your playlist. This had you looking so sexy in Jimin’s eyes. He wasn’t only getting off on how good your soapy body looked in the shower, but also the thrill of knowing he’s jerking off to his best friend who doesn't know how much he wants to ruin her right on the spot. Jimin hurriedly came to his orgasm when he realized you were almost done with your shower and hurried to his room when he stroked out his high.

You finished getting ready and slipped on a tight dress. You slipped on your shoes and waited for Jimin on the couch. After 10 minutes of impatience you knocked on his door and he swung it open after the second knock. “It really surprises me how impatient you are, it’s a wonder how I’ve tolerated you for this long.” You just rolled your eyes in response and grabbed his hand to leave.

Once you enter the house party you notice both Hoseok and Jungkook talking in the kitchen. Just seeing Jungkook brought butterflies to your tummy. Before you made your way to the men you found the table filled with bottles of drinks and poured yourself about two shots worth of fireball and downed it in one big gulp. You needed liquid courage if you wanted to make any progress with Jungkook tonight. Jimin watched you with wide eyes at your sudden behavior and you just gave him a wide smile while you made your strides to the kitchen. Jimin stood in his spot dumbfounded on how easily you left him. It irked him and made him feel disposable. He tried to brush off the feeling but it loomed over him for the rest of the night. He followed the direction you traveled to and saw you talking to Jungkook. You were giggling to no end and your cheeks were so round from how much you were smiling. This whole night bothered Jimin as he expected to spend it with you and only true. He walked away from the scene and moped on the couch while watching the party go down. If he continued to watch you throw yourself at his friend he would end up doing something he would regret.

“Y/N I’m surprised we haven’t properly hung out, you’re so much fun outside of class!” You rolled your eyes at his comment and poured yourself another mixed drink. The drinks helped you and Jungkook start to get cozy with each other. Hoseok even left you two alone when he noticed the atmosphere start to change between you two. Somehow the two of you managed to get rid of any space between each other and were now in close enough proximity to be skin to skin. The two of you were drunk enough to be bold but also not drunk enough to forget what happens if your actions don’t work in your favor. You started to eye his lips and Jungkook noticed because he started to come closer to you and get rid of the already nonexistent space between you two. Slowly your lips started to mold together and your stomach felt like there were fireworks bursting inside you. The two of you pulled away and Jungkook kept his hand on the small of your back. “Y/N, I hope you take me up on this offer or I’ll feel like a total idiot, but do you want to go up to my room and continue?” You were quick to agree and fervently nodded. Jungkook gave you a grin and took your hand in his and you two were quick to go up the stairs to his room.

Jimin saw you two go up the stairs and now he was livid. His best friend ditched him to go get fucked by his friend. You were selfish and he was going to make you regret your decision of being such a whore in front of him. He downed his drink and rushed up the stairs to Jungkook’s room. He swung open the door to find you completely naked and Jungkook’s head between your thighs. Oh how he wishes it was him instead. You looked at JImin mortified and crawled under Jungkook’s bedsheet with haste. Jungkook came close to your side and held your shaking body. “J-Jimin you could’ve at least knocked or something!” You were borderline angry at this point as Jimin wasn’t taking any hint to leave. Jimin took it upon himself to invite himself further into the room and locked the door behind himself. Now Jungkook was starting to get agitated. “Bro you’re my friend and all, but I really think you should go right now. I wasn’t doing anything to your best friend that she doesn’t want.” Jimin was furious to hear Jungkook’s words and in a blind fit of rage he punched Jungkook out cold and watched his body drop to the floor with a loud thud. “Jimin! What on Earth are you doing?” Now you really were scared as you have never seen Jimin act out so violently.

“Y/N, you have no idea how much I want you and have fantasized about you. Now you’re going to see tonight how I’ll make you mine!” He grabbed you by your throat and threw you down on the bed. You started to strain yourself to get any chance to breathe, but any chance you got Jimin held onto your throat tighter. He had a sinister look on his face and you were scared for your life. When your vision started to go in and out from darkness Jimin released his grasp on you and you dry heaved for oxygen. He did that just to put you in a weakened state and he used it to his advantage. He crawled on the bed and loomed over your body and grabbed your legs to drag you closer to him. He tried to force his head between your thighs but you clamped them together but he managed to pry them open. He gave you a hard slap on the back of your thigh. “Princess you won’t like me if you disobey me and fight back so just please just let me love you.” Jimin tried to give you a soft look, but you can still see the darkness embedded into his eyes. You forced yourself to comply without making eye contact. The idea of your best friend was gone and you would do anything to have him back and not have this monster in front of you.

Jimin lowered his head down to your core and gave you kitten licks on your clit. You felt so much sensitivity and you clamped your legs around his head. You felt Jimin let out a light chuckle and you tried to block the sound out of your mind. You tried to make the situation better for yourself by imagining that it was just Jungkook above you instead of Jimin taking advantage of you. Once Jimin had his fill of eating you out he lifted himself up and freed himself from his pants. Once he had his cock out he shoved himself into your tight, wet cunt with no mercy and you gripped onto the sheets with a vice grip. “Kitten, don't you love how my fat cock feels in your hole? Don’t I make you feel so good.” You had your eyes shut trying to acclimatize to his cock, but the pain was taking too long to subside. Without even getting a chance to answer, Jimin grabbed your jaw to make you look at him. “Y/N, I want an answer. Tell me how good I make you feel.” You felt so embarrassed, but you just needed to give him an answer to please him. “Y-yes you make me feel so good! “ Jimin loved how his cock looked sliding in and out of your pussy and how your tits bounced and that it brought him close to his orgasm. You felt his grip get tighter on your hips and you felt his thrusts get rougher and his groans get louder. You knew he reached his high when you felt his hips stutter and his cum start to leak out from your hole. Once he was out of you he got dressed like what just happened was not troubling. You stared at the ceiling and felt the tears drip down your cheeks. Just when you thought it was all over Jimin’s body was above you again and this time he had a pocket knife pressed to your throat. “If you ever try to get with Jungkook or anyone else I will kill you. You are mine and only mine you need to know that.”

Notes: I hope you guys are currently enjoying the start of my yandere series! I will eventually get to all the members. I am also working on making a masterlist so in the mean time if you would like to find my other works you can find them under the tag ‘bts fanfiction’ or ‘bts fanfic’ if you search my page! Again if you liked what you read please leave a like and a reblog it really helps! You can also give me a Kofi if you would like to help support my work!

[1plus1kiyoomi]

Chapter 5: One Year

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“You’re 5 minutes late,” Kuroo speaks as soon as you near the gate of his mother’s house. Irritated by his words, you stop yourself from hitting him. Your lower body parts are hurting from running in heels and your whole body is aching due to being pushed around in the train and crowd.

“Sorry...” is all you could say. You are too tired to argue with him. He spares no more time and enters the house so you have no other choice than to follow him. As you take off your heeled shoes you sigh in satisfaction, finally free from the pain it’s giving you.

“Tetsuro! (Y/N)!” His cousin, Fumiko, greets the two of you as you enter the house. You spot his older sister Tomi in the living room, so you greet her with a friendly kiss on the cheek.

“Where’s mom?” Kuroo asks his sister.

“Bathroom,” Tomi answers. She and Fumiko pulls you to the hallway leading to bedroom, as she smiles at her younger brother cockily. “We’re going to borrow your wife tonight, okay?”

“Huh?” You ask confusingly. Tomi doesn’t wait for his answer and pushes you to what you think is her room. “We’re not having dinner?”

“We, girls, are going to go out and drink tonight!” Fumiko and Tomi cheers. You can’t help but give out a displeased look.

“What’s with the look? Is Tetsuro the type of husband that doesn’t allow you to go out?” Tomi questions and you shake your head immediately. If only she knows what’s actually going on between the two of you... “Tonight you will forget about the pain and stress my brother is giving you. Tonight is about you!”

“Are you up to something?” The two of them ignore you. Tomi shoves a silk red dress to your chest. “I have to wear this?”

After the three of you dress up, you leave Tomi’s room. “Oh, you look very beautiful (Y/N)!” Their mother compliments you so you thank her and greet her with a bow. “Where are the three of you going?”

“Girls night out!” Fumiko does a peace sign and Kuroo snickers.

“Aren’t you too old to be going out?” Kuroo teases Fumiko and Tomi, the older girls smacking the back of his head in unison.

“Aren’t you going to compliment your wife or something? Look at her all dolled up!” Fumiko huffs as she changes the topic. Kuroo glances at you and fakes a loving stare. He doesn’t think you look attractive at all. You’re just another girl he’s so used to.

“You look good, love,” Kuroo compliments half-heartedly, so you just smile at him.

“Whatever love birds,” Tomi rolls her eyes. “Enjoy dinner with mom. We’re leaving now!”

“Bye, mom...” You bid goodbye shyly, kissing your mother-in-law on the cheek. Kuroo also leans in to give you a kiss on your cheek. Instead of feeling happy about it, you become even more discouraged about your relationship. You only act like a couple when your family is around. It’s so hard for you not to get carried away by his sweet actions.

“Bye, love.”

——————————————————————————

Kuroo is not sure if it’s stress that is clouding his mind in anger or if he’s actually jealous. He just wanted to fetch you and go home so none of his family members will see you flirting with another guy. He doesn’t anymore drama in his life, but you were stubborn and drunk and totally forgot that you were supposed to meet him outside of the club.

After waiting for you for half an hour, Kuroo entered the club and looked for you. He saw you on the dance floor with your “boyfriend” dancing as if you were the only ones in the place. Kuroo’s blood boiled. First, you’ll get caught. Second, you disobeyed him. Third, you looked so attractive under the blinding lights. He hated the thought of being of attracted to you.

The way your dresses perfectly molded your body was making him hot. Your hips swayed along to the rhythm precisely and how he hoped he was the one behind you instead. His eyes wandered and observed your whole body in awe. He didn’t feel like this when he first saw you a while ago. Why did he feel it now?

His feet dragged him to where you and Yuji were, and he yanked you off of him. “Who- Kuroo? Shit! I forgot!” He pulled you out of the club aggressively so Yuji followed you two out. The blonde saw the anger in Kuroo’s eyes so he got worried. Alisa who was just sitting near the bar saw the whole thing and also got out because of curiosity.

“Kuroo! Let go! It hurts!” You tried to pull your arm away from him, but he wasn’t giving any signs of letting go of you.

“What if you got caught, huh?!” Kuroo scolded you as you stopped in front of his car. He parked far away from the club so no one was around. Yuji and Alisa finally caught up with the two of you. “What would our parents say if they find out?! You really want them to know how much of a slut you are?”

Slap.

“You’re a fucking asshole! I can’t believe I love you!” You screamed before running away. Kuroo was glued to the ground, too shocked about your words.

You love him? But why?

Yuji was furious. He knew he shouldn’t meddle in between the two of you but Kuroo was going too far. “You’re really calling her a slut when you’re the one who’s hitting on other girls? What a prick.”

“And you know she’s married to me but you’re still dating her? Doesn’t that make you a prick as well?” Kuroo replied, grabbing Yuji’s collar in frustration.

“She’s married to you but I’m the one fucking her, so I guess I’m at better place than you,” Yuji mocked, so Kuroo threw a punch at his face that caused the blonde’s lips to bleed.

‘What is this cocky idiot talking about? He’s a virgin!’ Alisa thought as she messaged Kenma and Matsukawa in panic.

Not long after, Kenma finally shows up and helps in calming Kuroo down. He and Alisa manages to pull the two tall boys apart. Kenma forces Kuroo to get into his car while Alisa pushes Yuji back into the club.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re not the type to start a fight,” Kenma starts the conversation as Kuroo seems to calm down. The taller guy groans in anger.

“I’m just stressed from everything and let frustration over me. I’ll apologize to Yuji tomorrow,” Kuroo says as he finally relaxed himself.

“You’re not going to say sorry to (Y/N)? Alisa said you made her cry,” Kenma states in his usual tone. Kuroo leans his head on his seat and sighs.

“She said she loves me...” Kuroo says in a confused matter. Your words replay in his head and the more he repeats it, the more confused he got. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does she love me? I haven’t treated her well ever since we’ve met. I made sure she knew that I hated her. I thought she not like being married to me too, because she moved out last year and then we never saw each other after that. Then when she returned, she offered to help me with Alisa. I don’t get how she can say that she loves me,” Kuroo explains and Kenma just nods.

“How do you feel about it?” Kenma pushes the topic. Kuroo looks out of the window, thinking deeply.

“It makes me rethink of our whole marriage and relationship. I feel sorry that I treated her like that while she had feelings for me the whole time.”

Kuroo honestly doesn’t know what to do. It’s not everyday he finds out that the woman who has hated since who knows when is in love with him. He takes in a deep breath and remembers what matters at the moment: your safety.

“I have to go home and check if she’s there. Do you want me to drive you home?” Kuroo changes the topic and Kenma shakes his head no.

“I drove here so go and talk to (Y/N),” Kenma tells Kuroo before leaving his car. Kuroo thanks him and drives quickly to your place.

What if you didn’t come home? What if you passed out on the streets? You were drunk after all. Kuroo suddenly regrets his choice of words. He should not have called you a slut. His words are eating him up and the more he thinks about it, the more sorry he feels towards you.

Kuroo enters the passcode to your shared flat and relief washes over him when he sees your heels on the doorway. He takes his shoes off and gets inside. He doesn’t go to his room, but knocks on yours first.

“(Y/N). Please open the door. Let’s talk.” Kuroo says loudly so you can hear it at the other side of the wooden barrier. And of course you hear him. You’re sitting on the floor, leaning on the door. You’ve stopped crying but you’re spacing out.

You can’t believe you confessed to him. You even dropped the L-word bomb. You don’t care about how he insulted you, you are too preoccupied by the thought of what’s going to happen now. It’s better if he didn’t know of your feelings but he already does.

“(Y/N). Let’s talk.” Kuroo continues to knock. Not in your right mind due to crying and alcohol, you got up from the floor and opened your door.

Even before he can speak up, you bowed apologetically. “I’m sorry for not coming out of club when you said so. I apologize for risking our front. I’ll be more careful next time. It won’t happen again.” You tried to close the door but he placed his hand in between the frame and door so his fingers get injured.

“Ouch!” Kuroo hisses. Worry takes over you and as if on instinct, you grab his hand and take a look at it.

“I’m sorry! Let me grab ice!” You step away from him but he tugs your hand back and pins your body on the wall in ease. His damaged hand is still entwined with yours while the other is on the wall at the side of your head. Kabedon. “Kuroo...”

“Look, I know you’re trying to avoid the topic but you can’t take back what you said. And don’t reason that you’re drunk because I’m sure you aren’t. So please listen to what I’m going to say. I don’t love you back.”

“I know. So please stop. You’re hurting me,” you lower your head, stopping your tears from falling.

“Let me finish. I don’t love you back right now but I’m willing to take a chance at our relationship. One year. Let’s try working our relationship out for one year. If I end up falling in love with you, then good for us. But if I don’t, then let’s end all of this,” Kuroo proposes, cupping your cheek. You let your facade go and start to cry.

You hate yourself because you’ll allow him to do this. You hate yourself so much be ause you’ll let him get away with everything he said. You hate yourself because you’ll let him act as if he hasn’t treated you badly for the past years. You hate that you love him so much that you’ll let your toxic relationship go on for another more year. You hate that you love him so much you’re willing to get intoxicated and hurt.

“Okay...” you reply, your hand holding his that is own your cheek. “In that one year, can you pretend that you love me even if you don’t?” You’re going to get hurt anyways, so why not inflict more pain?

“I won’t just pretend. I’ll actually try to.”

This is where your love story (hopefully) begins.

——————————————————————————

Facts:

Mattsun and company’s plan goes on. It’s only 5% complete.

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[green-blue-heller]

Look What You Made Me Do (Cockles FanFic)

Title: Look What You Made Me Do

Pairing: Cockles (Jensen x Misha)

Fandom: Supernatural RPF

Rating: GA

A/N: Part of my 500 follower celebration. This was based off a prompt by @dolphindiluna.

If you want to send me a prompt based on the theme, coming out, check out my pinned post.

Words: 2729

Read on AO3

Jensen stood on the stage, Robbie and the boys of Louden Swain behind him, music pumping into his earbuds as he smiled at the roaring crowd. A wave of panic filled him as the opening notes of his intro music sent the crowd into a frenzy, and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

In the back of his mind, there was a voice screaming at him to turn around and leave the stage as quickly as he could. That would be the smart thing to do. Especially since his stunt was about to lead to career suicide.

But as he glanced to his right, he caught sight of Misha and the smile on the other man’s face took his breath away. With a shy smile, he looked down at his feet for a moment.

You can do this, Jackles.

It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision that brought him up on stage during the con’s Saturday Night Special.

It started out as something he wanted to do for Misha. Which was totally the wrong reason to want to do this. But he’d had such a hard time after the show ended.

Truthfully, he’d been having a hard time the last couple of years, and Jensen knew he hadn’t made things easier. Misha had never shied away from his sexuality, while Jensen had still very much been in the closet except for a few close friends.

But the whole Destiel thing had been like watching a trainwreck you just couldn’t look away from. The network and studio handled things badly and forced Misha to take the brunt of it, even though it wasn’t anywhere near the scope of his responsibility.

But he did it.

And Jensen hated it.

There had been a few bigwigs in charge who hadn't known but highly suspected that Jensen and Misha had been an item. It wasn’t like they really hid it on set, but they didn’t flaunt it either.

Misha called their remarks whenever they were on set or at a con, a microaggression.

Jensen took his word for it, as he really had no clue, other than that Misha meant it was homophobic, even if they didn’t seem to be on the surface.

So, he wanted to do something for Misha. To show him that he was loved and appreciated. And that he was committed to him, even with the show being over.

Misha and Danneel were his forever. And he never wanted either of them to forget it.

He had spent long hours over the last couple of weeks leading up to Vegas Con, talking it out with not just Misha, but with Danneel and even Vicki. They, along with the kids, were his life. And he would never make a rash decision, especially a possibly life-altering one, without consulting them first.

But they understood what he wanted. And what it could mean for all of them.

And they were all ready to stand by his side, no matter what he chose.

So, two months after he first got that cursed idea, he found himself on stage, in Vegas for the first time since the show wrapped up.

What a clusterfuck that had been. He knew it was bad as soon as it had been pitched. There were too many ways that things could go wrong by the time they got to the finale. And boy, did they ever go wrong.

Not that he was against Dean and Cas ending up together.

Jensen snuck another peek at Misha and smiled to himself. No, he definitely did not mind Dean and Cas ending up together. They deserved to be as happy as he and Misha.

The only problem was that, as he suspected, by the time push came to shove, no one was able to pull the trigger.

They’d cocked the gun and pointed it, had Cas confess, but then the execs at the studio were on edge over the dailies they’d been sent. With a global pandemic knocking on their door, they were afraid to go with anything but sticking to the status quo.

Except the show had been anything but status quo for quite some time. They were just too slow to realize.

He knew some of it was personal bias but that most of it was business. Though they managed to screw up even that.

But he was at the con, and he was going to do what he could. For everyone involved who deserved some vindication. They deserved to know they weren’t crazy.

Jensen took a deep breath and looked out at the crowd and gave them the most charming Dean Winchester smile he could manage.

And it sent them wild.

“Hey, guys!” When the crowd cheered their own greeting back at him, Jensen grinned.

With another deep breath, he steeled his nerves and mentally nudged himself forward. This had been his idea, and he still knew and agreed that it was the best idea, but that didn’t make him any less nervous.

Especially since he knew he was about to piss off the studio execs who were footing a large portion of the bill for his and Danneel’s production company.

He was almost certain he could kiss that goodbye.

“Look, I know there has been a lot of discourse since the show ended, and even more questions. I wish I could give you all the answers you’re looking for, but I hope that tonight, we can clear some things up.”

He knew it wasn’t a lot, but he wanted to be able to give the fans as much as he could, as much as he was comfortable with.

“Wow,” he said with a chuckle. “I haven’t been this nervous up on stage in a long time.”

He grinned at Rob as the music morphed and the opening bars to a Taylor Swift song kicked into his ears.

Part of him felt stupid. This was a stupid song for him to sing. But it was fitting.

He didn’t like to be backed into a corner, nor did he like his loved ones to be put into uncomfortable positions. And that had happened with most of them since their twelve-to-fifteen-year tenure on Supernatural ended.

Jensen knew he made a lot of mistakes in the last decade, and tonight he planned on correcting some of them.

A cleansing breath went through his lungs as he caught sight of Misha again, who flashed him a grin and a thumbs up.

He could do it.

He needed to do it.

Misha deserved it.

Jensen deserved it.

Their wives deserved it.

He opened his mouth and as soon as he started to croon out the first line, his voice low and smooth like a fine whiskey, the fans erupted into such a frenzy. Jensen thought might never stop grinning.

“I don't like your little games

Don't like your tilted stage

The role you made me play of the fool

No, I don't like you

I don't like your perfect crime

How you laugh when you lie

You said the gun was mine

Isn't cool, no, I don't like you”

As Jensen finished the first verse of the song, he felt his confidence grow. He’d practiced - a lot. He knew what he was doing and he trusted the band to be there for him and back him up as they’d rehearsed.

They’d smoothed out some of the music, made it more fitting to his vocal style, and the crowd erupted as the music morphed into what was more likely to resemble a 90’s rock ballad than a Taylor Swift song.

In the back of his mind, he thought it was a little sacrilege, but he’d never admit it out loud.

“But I got smarter, I got harder in the nick of time

Honey, I rose up from the dead, I do it all the time

I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined

I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me-

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me do”

Jensen soon found himself bopping his head along with the crowd.

With a grin, he turned and strode over to Rob, who shook his head with a hearty laugh.

“I don't like your kingdom keys

They once belonged to me

You asked me for a place to sleep

Locked me out and threw a feast (what?)”

This was it.

His moment.

Their moment.

Jensen is no longer looking at the crowd. He’s all but forgotten there is even anyone else there as he continues to sing without even thinking about it.

How could he think, when he found himself lost in the perfect storm of those blue eyes that stared back into his green ones?

He moved with purpose as he marched across the stage.

“The world moves on, another day another drama, drama

But not for me, not for me, all I think about is karma

And then the world moves on, but one thing's for sure

Maybe I got mine, but you'll all get yours”

And in one swift motion, he pulled Misha, who had taken his outstretched hand, and pulled him out on the stage and Rob picked up the vocals and sang the chorus.

They had taken a few steps back when they let go and Jensen’s hand reached up to cup Misha’s face while his left hand, which still had his microphone, snaked its way under his boyfriend’s arm and wrapped around his back.

Jensen gently pulled Misha against him, who complied, putting both his hands on Jensen’s hips as their lips met and lazily molded together.

They fit perfectly.

Kissing Misha wasn’t even something Jensen had to think about, it just came as naturally as kissing Danneel.

He was sure the crowd was going crazy, but all he could hear was the whimper he elicited from his boyfriend as their lips parted and Jensen’s tongue caressed Misha’s.

“But I got smarter

I got harder in the nick of time (nick of time)

Honey, I rose up from the dead

I do it all the time (I do it all the time)

I got a list of names, and yours is in red, underlined

I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!”

Jensen pulled away, hand sliding down to Misha’s shoulder, breathless as always when Misha is near.

“I love you, babe,” Jensen whispered as he looked into Misha’s shining eyes that threatened to spill tears. Because even though he knew what Jensen was planning, it was real, at that moment, and Jensen could see that it was hitting Misha harder than he could have imagined.

His heart swelled as he moved his hand from cupping Misha’s shoulder to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him into a hug.

As he turned their bodies to face toward the crowd, Jensen smiled, his own teary eyes taking in the crowd that had gone wild, and dropped a soft kiss onto the top of Misha’s head.

With a grin, he stepped back and glanced over his shoulder to see Rob grinning at him. He threw the other man a wink as he gave a nod of appreciation for all his support and love not only given to him, but to Misha.

As he turned his gaze back to the crowd, a wicked grin spread across his face as he tilted his head at Misha, who was still securely snuggled into his side, and brought the microphone back to his mouth.

“Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me-

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me do”

Jensen couldn’t help but chuckle into the microphone as he caught Misha’s eye roll. Of course, the older man thought he was being over the top and more protective than he needed to be. But he also knew how much it meant to him.

The look in his eyes, at the unshed tears and the smile that went on for miles, was all Jensen needed at that moment.

He knew he made the right decision. His family was more important than some job. There were plenty of things he could do besides acting or having a production company, if it actually came to that.

There was the Family Business Beer Company, there was Radio Company, not to mention the profits they turned from renovating houses and flipping them. And it wasn’t like the studio or network could now retroactively go back and undo the contract he already had for residuals from the show.

Jensen tried to swoop in and steal a kiss, but Misha let out a shy laugh and playfully pushed his face away as he gave one of his patented not-so-subtle winks. He immediately found himself letting out a chuckle as he let his arm fall from Misha’s shoulder and took a step forward, really paying attention to the crowd for the first time.

They were on their feet still, and going wild. All the bright lights from the cameras snapping pictures was a little much, especially since there wasn’t supposed to be flash photography, but he couldn’t find it in him to complain about anything at the moment.

As the bridge was about to kick in, he motioned with his hand for the crowd to join him.

“I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actor starring in your bad dreams

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actor starring in your bad dreams

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actor starring in your bad dreams

I don't trust nobody and nobody trusts me

I'll be the actor starring in your bad dreams”

He was grinning like a loon as he dropped his arm to his side, but he really didn’t care. Especially as he made his way back over to Misha and slid his hand home within Misha’s. They were a perfect fit.

“(Ooh, look what you made me do)

(Look what you made me do)

(Look what you just made me do)

I'm sorry

But the old Jensen can't come to the phone right now

Why? Oh, 'cause he's dead (oh)”

He knew he’d get in trouble for it later, but with a dramatic flourish, Jensen held his arm out in front of him and let the mic fall to the stage.

What were they going to do? Fire him?

As Jensen stared into the endless pools of Misha’s blue eyes, he didn’t really care what they did anymore.

He was going to do what he wanted, what felt right . And not let anyone else tell him differently.

And at that moment, all he wanted to do was kiss Misha.

His movement caught the other man by surprise, as he reached over and put one hand behind his back, and one behind his head, and gave him a slight dip before he leaned down and claimed his lips.

When they came up for air, they didn’t even realize there was anyone else in the room. They only had eyes for each other as they reached for each other at the same time, took each other’s hand, and walked off the stage as Rob and the band finished out the song.

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me-

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me do

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me-

Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

Look what you just made me do

Look what you just made me do

If you want to be added or taken off my tag list, please let me know either in the comments or via a DM.

@dolphindiluna @kristina710

[amidst-thestcrs]

8 Facts about my Muse(s).

Tagged by: Someone at Summer’s old blog 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ Tagging: @feralspace-bitch / @speck-of-stardust, @fightan0therday, @tr0ubled-s0uls, @starrys0nder, @hiemaleyes, @implausiblynaive, @defactomatriarch, and anyone else interested!! (You guys totally don’t have to do this if you don’t want to either ofc!) 😌👌❤❤

Morti

1) Despite having “freedom” while living with Gary, Morti actually missed out on quite a bit of typical things that other kids genuinely experience around her age. This doesn’t really bother her until other people start making her feel like it’s a problem though. Gary always had a convenient excuse for everything: they didn’t have enough money to afford cable so they only had a dvd player; most of his family had either died or lived far away so they didn’t ever visit extended family; they lived too far away from signal towers to get wifi so they didn’t have internet; etc.. Due to this, I imagine she missed out on quite a lot of normal things and probably hasn’t even done something as simple as been in a car before.

2) Morti responds well to kindness and doesn’t comprehend mean or abrupt people as she doesn’t understand why someone would be that.

3) Her favorite animal is a frog! She adores frogs so much and used to adore the little pond by their house when she lived with Gary. He actually caught one for Morti as a pet which she still has and named Henry! It’s her most prized possession and best friend. ❤

4) I think if Morti wasn’t able to form a strong bond with the Smith family when/if she goes back home, Morti would 100% be willing to go back and live with Gary again if that ever became an option, even despite all the lies. 

5) Despite living with Gary for most of her life, Morti was still a “Morty” underneath it all as she’s always had a fascination with space even as a kid. She owned many astronomy books and even Gary brought her home a telescope for her that she used all the time to see the stars at night.

6) Morti has no memory of the Smith family whatsoever. She doesn’t remember any of them and will always feel bad for this especially since she feels like she’s probably supposed to remember them.

7) I think she puts up with the name Morti cause she doesn’t think anyone really cares enough to call her otherwise, but if given the choice, Morti would much rather go by the name September/Ember as it’s the name she’s used to and the one that feels most like her to her.

8) The Ricks have given Morti a card to stick in her pocket when she goes off on her own in the citadel. It’s basically just a little business card of sorts that she’s suppose to hand out and get back that literally says, “Hi, I’m an identity confused Morticia/Morty (not September/Ember or any other weird shit she says) from dimension C-323. I’m not lost or abandoned, I’m just annoying but they’re looking for my Rick so don’t take me. Okay, now fuck off. Scram!”. As you can tell, she did not write this note herself. 

Rick

1) Rick’s been alone most of his life. After his parents died in the crash, he never really had any friends and was never able to marry so no other family either. Really since they died he’s been on his own.

2) In truth, I imagine Doofus Rick really wanted/wants a family like how all the other Ricks have, but it just never happened for him. The Diane (or other versions of Rick’s ex-wife) in his universe just wasn’t interested in him and honestly just felt like he was beneath her-- something she actually admitted to his face when they were in college and he tried to ask her out. Mostly any other time he tried to ask someone out since has had the same result anyways.

3) Medical science has always been more his area of expertise than other kinds of science which is the main reason why he was able to cure cancer in his dimension among other forms of awful diseases. I think he’s well known in his universe as medical genius and hero, but really he just considers himself just a regular person, nothing special.

4) He probably owns way more books than he’ll ever read in his life, most old science books and such.

5) My Rick never got a Morty like in the tv show, I imagine he tried once and the council laughed in his face. Due to this, he instead simply tries his best to help any other Morty in need that he can.

6) Rick occasionally volunteers at the Morty Daycare Center when he has free time.

7) If it wasn’t for his lack of time, Rick would most likely get a pet to help out with how lonely his life can be at times but I think he genuinely worries about not being home a lot to be able to take care of it. If he was home more, I could totally see him getting a rescue from a shelter somewhere, but he doesn’t want to burden an animal with lack of human interaction.

8) Rick’s not as stupid as everyone believes him to be, he’s actually fairly smart and can hold conversations really well. The thing with him is just mainly anxiety that makes him extremely awkward. If he didn’t worry so much about what others thought of him he’d probably have the confidence of a regular Rick but still way nicer than a typical Rick.

Summer

1) It’s common knowledge to everyone at this point that Beth turned into an absolute disaster of a mother after Jerry died which is the main reason why Summer and Beth have such an explosive and abusive relationship. Pretty much everyone in their neighborhood, their extended family, and at Summer’s school knew about the bad blood between those two but everyone just stays quiet about it tbh, even after Summer started showing up to school with bruises. Everyone assumes these two have always hated each other, but something that isn’t really known by others is that Summer actually loved Beth a lot when she was very little despite the abuse her mother constantly took out on her. She was young and trusted the only adult in her life even if she didn’t love her back, this is something Beth sometimes brings up in arguments to either annoy Summer or in attempts to guilt trip her. Usually it’s something along the lines of “I remember when you used to love me! You thought the world of me back then!”.

2) One sure-fire way to get Summer to shut up/get under her skin is to tell her she’s exactly like her mother or even looks like her. Summer wants absolutely nothing to do with Beth and even though the two of them are very similar in looks, she does not want to be associated in any way to her mom. She heard Beth say too many times that the two of them were way too similar that even the notation of that coming from someone else, especially someone Summer considers close, will immediately struck her silent and it will bother her immensely. 

3) Summer absolutely loves astrology and knows a lot on the different zodiac signs. She’ll sometimes even guess someone’s zodiac before even knowing it and will even point it out all the time just to mess with people-- for example: “That’s such a Gemini thing to do too, you really are one, huh?”.

4) Although Summer’s attitude is a big reason why it’s hard to get close to her, that’s not the main reason why. It’s actually Summer’s trust issues that prevent her from having close relationships with people outside of her inner circle. Summer is very particular about who she trusts and lets into her life. Her trust is very hard to earn and very easy to lose. If she feels her trust has been broken, she’s very quick to immediately discontinue a friendship/relationship with someone and back away. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice shame on me.” as the saying goes. Now with that said, it is possible to gain Summer’s trust back again depending on the person, but just know it’s gonna be ten times harder to gain back the second time than it already was the first time. So good luck!

5) Summer started smoking at the age of fourteen due to it being an appetite suppressant. Since Beth spent most, if not all, of her unemployment check on alcohol, there wasn’t really ever food in the house for them to eat, at least not food that was safe to consume. On the rare times they did have groceries, Beth would sometimes hide food when she was drunk then forget where she put it, eventually leading to it going molded. However instead of throwing any expired food away, she’d always save it and then serve it to herself and Summer at a later date. Due to this, Summer often had a lot of food poisoning growing up and got most of her meals from school or a friend’s house. Smoking helped her not feel hungry on times when food wasn’t available to her so she actually was a much heavier smoker as a teenager compared to now. Being out on her own now, Summer has cut back quite a bit, going from about a pack or so a day to smoking maybe four cigarettes a day. She doesn’t really smoke in her house much either, always goes outside when she wants to have a smoke.

6) Despite not being religious in the slightest, Summer went to church with Tricia ( @tr0ubled-s0uls​ ) on the occasional Sunday just to cause drama with her friend. The two of them would often talk/giggle really loud, take turns “coughing” while not-so-subtly stating “God’s not real”, and in general doing whatever to interrupt church service. The two of them would often find a way to leave early to go smoke out in the parking lot or bathrooms and would get breakfast after service. The main reason they’d do this is because Tricia’s dad often times forced her to attend his church services as he was a pastor. Needless to say, Tricia’s dad did not like Summer, for more reasons than just one.

7) Summer still visits Jerry’s grave from time to time and leaves fresh flowers on his tombstone. She’ll never admit it cause she thinks it sounds stupid, but sometimes she just vents to his graves or talks to him like he’s actually there even though she doesn’t believe in ghosts.

8) Speaking of which, Jerry is the one who actually named Summer! The only reason why she knows this is primarily because of her grandparents, but also because she has a vague memory of him proudly boosting about that when she was little. The reason why he named her was because shortly after Summer’s birth, the doctors asked Beth to hold her and feed her in attempts of bonding with her child but she wanted nothing to do with her. Instead Jerry did these things for Summer and when asked what she wanted to name her child she claimed she didn’t care. This in turn left the responsibility on Jerry in which he chose the name Summer because she was born during the summertime and he thought “Summer Elise Smith” sounded beautiful.

[twilightofthe]

For the fanfic writer ask meme: E, N & W. Thanks 🙂.

Thanks for the ask, anon! (sorry for responding so late aaaa)  Questions from this writing ask game

E: What character do you identify with most?  Is there a certain fic of yours that captures these qualities particularly well?

C-3PO, I too am loud, over-talkative, anxious, like linguistics, and tend to bother people.  Lol but for real?  Ok, I know I’ve made this joke before, but minus the evil and the murder, I really do relate to Anakin in a way, like I’ve got this entire [post] on why I think he’s ADHD like I am, and his anxiety and general tendency to be a disaster socially resonates with me too, like, I get that.  I’m also a massive drama queen who’s really smart about like one or two particular things so yea.  I’d say overall tho, I’m probably the most like Luke, a little whiny and awkward, a little dramatic, little reckless, love my friends and family a LOT, want to explore.  As to fics that capture similar qualities, I’d definitely say Pas de Deux, the way I write Anakin in it has a LOT of my anxiety and my worst headspace involved and wrapped up in his character, I very much projected a bit while writing it.

N: Any fic ideas brewing that you’d care to share?

Ohhhh honey you’ve got a storm coming….  besides the obvious other two books in walk the (family) line, I’ve got an entire list on a separate document of different stories I want to write, ideas including:

A oneshot fic I’m actually kinda working on right now.  It’s another modern!AU Obikin romcom and I won’t spoil it, but it involves parkour, R2 the parrot, Obi Wan may or may not be James Bond, and Anakin accidentally becomes Twitter famous

An epistolary style fic set during Obi Wan’s time on Tatooine where nine year old Leia finds the emergency comm Bail has to contact him, and both the lonely, kind of awkward young princess and the tired old hermit who should know better but is also lonely and misses both of her parents dearly set up a penpal relationship.  End goal is to establish a relationship that gives Leia a proper reason to name her son “Ben”.

A semi-crackfic where the Jedi Council gets some sort of Clue From The Force™ about the identity of the Secret Sith Lord, that clue being that the Sith Lord is: a politician with close ties to Anakin Skywalker, and also had very specific motives to send Darth Maul to Naboo.  Alllll the wrong conclusions are drawn from that, and the next day, Padmé Amidala is arrested for treason.  Obi Wan is the only Council member who’s like “y’all she’s innocent, it’s clearly the fucking Chancellor”, Sidious tries to manipulate the situation to remove the only two people in his way at once, and poor Anakin spends the entire fic in a state of “UH HI YEAH WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON”  Shenanigans ensue

A 5+1 times they kissed Obikin alternate canon shortfic, because I’m hopeless and want to write shmoop.

A Sadmé (Satine/Padme) Ocean’s 8 AU that came about entirely over me yelling over Cate Blanchett and wanting to write a heist fic starring all of the SW Prequels/TCW ladies being total badasses

This absolutely BONKERS Rebels AU fic where S4 Ezra accidentally pulls both Ahsoka AND Kanan into the World Between Worlds during the Vader fight in S2.  Vader recognizes what happened and promptly kidnaps S2 Ezra who’s there by himself— as well as Maul who’s established a bond with Ezra over the Sith holocron —in hopes of discovering the secret of time travel.  While S2 Ezra has to somehow survive the Crazy Murder Roadtrip with Maul and Vader, now S4 Ezra, Kanan, and Ahsoka have to race to A: Find and rescue S2 Ezra before one of the Sith kill him— and therefore also kill S4 Ezra, B: Make sure Maul and Vader’s tentative alliance doesn’t lead to them finding Obi Wan for obvious reasons, and C: Make sure neither Maul nor especially Vader find the Lothal Temple World Between Worlds entrance and risk unleashing either into a past they both desperately want to change

A fic detailing different little neuroses and traits and attitudes passed down through the Yoda-Dooku-Jinn-Kenobi-Skywalker-Tano line.

Cross generational shortfic focusing on the desert children— Anakin, Luke, and Rey — and their first experiences with water and rain

A ficlet where Yoda somehow gets babified and basically just all of the Jedi Order having to deal with the cuteness overload that is Baby Yoda.

A post-TROS political drama where Leia’s Force Ghost realizes that once again, a new government is gonna need to be built in the aftermath of the First Order’s nonsense and that there are almost no good remaining politicians in the galaxy.  Finn is unfortunate enough to know how command works, how to take charge, how to deal with FO remnants, and is Force Sensitive enough to see ghosts, so Leia takes it upon herself to mold Finn into the next leader of the GFFA.  Would focus on rebuilding, family legacy, be very very Jedistormpilot, and so on.  I feel like I’m not really invested enough in the ST but I reeeeally want to see this idea in fic form, so I might end up giving this idea away at some point.

This one fic that’s been going through my head for YEARS but have always felt scared of actually writing because I know right now that it’s gonna get LONG, like over 200k (lol and look what’s happening with Mutuals ahahAHAHA—) where Anakin flat out dies.  Just, during TCW season 5, he fights Dooku and in the process of killing him, goes down with him and dies.  Padmé will have just became about a month pregnant at this time, and part of the fic will focus on her and Obi Wan and Ahsoka dealing with the aftermath of Anakin’s death, as Sidious is forced to jumpstart his plans and execute Order 66 early now that he’s not waiting on Anakin anymore.  The other part of the fic will focus on Anakin’s ghost, unable to communicate with Obi Wan or Ahsoka and having to watch them and Padmé and the surviving Jedi form the Rebellion themselves and his children being born and growing up without him, even though Luke and Leia will end up being the only ones who can see him.  It’ll go right up through the 20 years of the Empire and have a gigantic cast and I just don’t know if I can do it.

Now, I hate to say it, but I need to let it be known that these are still MY IDEAS, and I have not given anyone permission to use them, so please do not be that person.  Do not steal these ideas for yourself.  I will be VERY upset if someone does.  If you really like an idea, DM me and ask, but I don’t plan to give any of them away at the moment.

W: What is your favorite pairing to write?  Favorite pairing to read?

Hmm, to write?  That’s tough!  There’s so many different complex relationships in Star Wars that I’ve really found myself enjoying exploring, and it’s hard to find a particular one that I like best.  I’m open to at least sampling most pairings for reading, but my favorite has to be Obikin.  It just makes me happy!!!!! :D

Thanks again for asking, and y’all should tell me in the notes if any of the fic ideas sound like something you’d read!!!!!

[ariadnelives]

Chapter 29 -- The Hypocritical Oath

[Missed earlier chapters? Go catch up here! Otherwise, welcome back! Oh, and make sure to join our discord server! Chapter can also be found @ ao3”]

Several minutes earlier, Pilar and Sasha had just severed every wire they could see coming out of the transmitter, causing some truly abrasive alarms to ring through the facility.

Elsewhere in the facility, there were several dozen fanatically devoted men with guns that had, up to this point, been occupied by the Whiptails. When the alarms sounded, they retreated immediately to seek out the cause of the alarm. Due to their fanatical devotion to Dr. Simon’s cause, to them, protecting Dr. Simon’s escape route was more important to them than their own lives, so they believed that many of them would likely be killed in the attempt to retreat. They were fine with this, so long as at least some of them made it to the transmitter to stop whatever sabotage had been inflicted upon it.

What they did not expect was that Spacebreather, by herself, was far more dangerous than the rest of the Whiptails put together. The majority of the Whiptails had been carefully trained to use only non-lethal force, while Spacebreather was more than willing to kill when necessary, and absolutely overqualified to do so for a person her age. They failed to understand that the men attempting to retreat would be the most likely to live another day, while the men attempting to stop Pilar had likely signed their own death warrant.

Inside the transmitter room, Sasha and Pilar were preparing to fight their way out. Both of them had the same job in this fight: keep the other alive. Sasha kept Pilar alive by immediately patching up any wounds she might receive, and Pilar kept Sasha alive by seriously injuring anyone who attempted to hurt Sasha before they managed to do so.

This was how they had functioned whenever they fought side by side in their pirate careers. This was the first time they’d ever been forced to break this mold.

Approximately 8 seconds after they’d cut the wire, as they prepared to descend from the platform, three dozen armed men stormed into the room. Pilar, having prepared for this possibility, flipped backwards over the ledge and, on the way to the ground, drew two short knives from the strap on her thigh.

She landed on top of one of the men, breaking his neck and killing him instantly. She ensured that the two knives landed directly in the top of two other goons’ skulls. Both of these men were carrying automatic weapons, both of which were in Pilar’s hands by the time her feet touched the ground. She was skilled at avoiding gunfire, having had a lot of practice. Her movements almost looked like a ballet, and none of the projectiles managed to touch her, yet.

She fired six shots from each of her weapons. Twelve headshots in less than a second, a new personal best for her. For a moment, she pondered that she would have to add a tally mark for each of these men to the tattoo on her arm, and hoped she never had so many tally marks that she ran out of space for them.

One of the goons took this moment as an opportunity to throw a plasma grenade in Pilar’s direction. It, unfortunately, would not prove to be the opportunity he expected it to be, as Pilar was fast enough to hit the grenade back at him with the barrel of her rifle. This was unfortunate for this particular henchman for obvious reasons, but since he was wearing a bandolier of other explosives across his chest, it was also unfortunate for the eight henchmen standing closest to him, as all the explosives detonated at once, bringing a quick end to nine more functionally identical henchmen.

“Pilar, catch!” Sasha called down from the ledge. Both sisters were hoping she wouldn’t have to leave her relatively safe cover in order to treat an injury. Both sisters would consequently shortly be disappointed.

Pilar instinctively reached a hand out to catch whatever Sasha had thrown without looking, a skill they’d developed over years of unexpectedly throwing things at each other for kicks. She caught something heavy and apparently made of metal, wrapped in leather.

“Is this…” Pilar asked, ducking behind a pillar to unsheath it, “Where did you find a machete?”

“It was on one of the guards we knocked out on the way in!”

They were only unconscious, but they had no intention of moving them out of the chamber before the failsafe went off, which by Pilar’s best guess was about three minutes and thirty seconds away, so she made a mental note to add two more tally marks to her tattoo.

“Why did he have a machete?” Pilar called back.

“I’m not his mom!” Sasha replied from the balcony, “I don’t really have any more information on that than you do!”

This was a satisfactory answer to Pilar. “Thanks, sis!” Pilar said, unsheathing the large blade and rustling in her pocket until she found a small, round object which she threw to the ground where it exploded with a snap, creating a dense cloud of thick, gray, pungent smoke. Before it cleared, she lunged towards the crowd of remaining henchmen and managed to cut eight throats in only two strokes.

Eight more tally marks.

She then managed to run three of them through with the machete before the smoke fully cleared.

Pilar quickly tried to count her kills, to see how many hostiles were remaining with her visibility impaired. She got through the following thought process in less than a second:

We took out two on the way in then there were thirty-six oh my god have I killed thirty-six people today no there were more I killed some of the guards on the surface this shouldn’t be this easy for me stay focused, thirty-eight hostiles total, two killed on the way in, three more on landing, twelve headshots, that’s seventeen total, then nine more with the grenades, that’s twenty-six, eight slit throats, thirty-four, skewered three more, so that’s thirty-sev—-

It was at this point that one of the rounds fired blindly by the lone remaining henchman managed to find its place, by pure random chance, in Spacebreather’s right shoulder.

“PILAR!” Sasha screamed, and bounded out from behind cover. Sasha had never been a particularly violent person, but when she saw Pilar go down from behind cover, her entire field of vision flashed red and when she came to a second later, she was holding a knife in her left hand, which was wet and warm. She opened her eyes and saw the knife in her hand was also embedded deep in the last henchman’s throat. Her hand was soaked with blood. She had no idea where she’d gotten the knife; she certainly didn’t have it on the balcony. There was an open wound on her right arm where a bullet had grazed her on the way down. This was the first person Sasha ever killed.

She didn’t have time to be traumatized yet, so she resolved to do that later and rushed to her sister’s side.

“You…” Pilar whimpered, “did you just… kill a guy?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there,” Sasha said calmly, “let’s focus on getting you out of here alive, okay?”

“S-serum,” Pilar sputtered.

“It’s not gonna work on this,” Sasha replied as calmly as her impending panic attack would allow, “not until we get that bullet out of you.”

‘Wh—” Pilar started.

“What kind of asshole uses a physical bullet in this day and age? Good question, I have no idea. Thankfully he has a knife in his throat now,” Sasha tried to keep pressure on the wound and get Pilar over her shoulder. “Come on, we just gotta get you out of here and I can dig that bullet out and then pump you full of serum.”

“Leave me,” Pilar gasped.

“Out of the question,” Sasha replied. “You’ve survived worse than this.”

“Two minutes,” Pilar coughed up blood. “No use in us both dying.”

Sasha looked her sister directly in the eyes as severely as she could. “Don’t be a drama queen,” she said, looking to Pilar as much like their father as she’d seen since the day they lost him, “I just got you back, and I’m not leaving you here.”

“No,” Pilar cried, “no, I won’t have you die because of me, just live your life, keep going strong, keep whatever it is that’s—”

Sasha didn’t need to glance at the clock to know there were only about 45 seconds left. “We don’t have time to argue. As your next of kin, I’m authorizing your doctor to make this decision on your behalf. You’re not allowed to die, so, I’m sorry. This is going to hurt.”

“It already—” Pilar was cut off mid-sentence by Sasha throwing her over her shoulder fireman-style with a roughness that was not by any stretch of the imagination medically advisable, but at this point Sasha felt having a living sister with treatable injuries was better than having a dead sister with only one injury.

They escaped the room approximately fifteen seconds before the failsafe went off, destroying the transmitter completely and wiping away any evidence of the thirty-eight henchmen who’d died attempting to kill them. Sasha and Pilar watched the blue glow eradicate everything in the room, just to be sure their task had been successful, and then they hobbled their way down to the room where they knew Ariadne and Sweettalk to be. Sasha held Pilar’s sidearm in her right hand. She was naturally left-handed, but her left arm was currently supporting someone who was surprisingly heavy for her thin frame.

Pilar noticed the gash on Sasha’s upper arm. “You’re hurt.”

“Just think of it as my first, and hopefully only, tally-mark.”

Pilar’s heart dropped. “You killed a guy,” she said sadly.

“You’re welcome, Sasha, for saving my life,” Sasha smirked sarcastically.

“Isn’t that, like, against the Hypocritical oath?”

“Heh,” Sasha replied.

“What?”

“It’s the Hippocratic oath.”

“Whatever oath,” Pilar groaned.

“‘First, do no harm,’” Sasha pondered, “I don’t remember taking any oath.”

Pilar laughed, which was painful. “What kind of crappy medical school did you go to?”

“Homeschooled,” Sasha laughed, “I said I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up and my sister’s nerdy girlfriend stole me a bunch of medical supplies and textbooks the next day.”

“She sounds hot,” Spacebreather chuckled as lightly as she could without disturbing the bullet lodged in her shoulder, “think you could introduce me?”

“She’s just down the hall,” Sasha could see the door from here, “just get down the hall… of course, you can’t just learn from textbook. My idiot big sister kept getting herself hurt so I had a lot of hands-on practice.”

They both laughed, and it had been a long time since they had really genuinely laughed together like this. It would have been a perfect moment had it not quickly devolved into a coughing fit from Pilar.

“You always took good care of me,” Pilar’s speech was sounding somewhat slurred.

“Hey, stay with me! Just a little bit longer,” Sasha said, “I’ve still gotta take care of you for a long time, okay? I gotta introduce you to that nerd I was telling you about.”

“I love her,” Pilar muttered, “I don’t tell her that enough.”

“Shut up,” Sasha said, “you tell her all the time You have a shirt that says ‘I love my girlfriend’ on it.”

Pilar groaned. “Half the people on the crew have that shirt.”

“Well, there’s a lot of love on our crew,” Sasha explained, “and if you can get like… 50 more feet, the girls we love are right through that door and you can tell her you love her all you want.”

“I’m gonna kiss her,” Pilar muttered.

“You’d better,” Sasha said, “she’ll kill me if she doesn’t get to kiss you again.”

“She’s an amazing kisser,” Pilar slurred.

“That’s really none of my business,” Sasha started.

“I’m proud of you,” Pilar was barely intelligible. “You… she’s really good for you… she really is…”

“Sweettalk?”

“Mgrmph,” Pilar agreed.

“I always thought you didn’t really like her.”

“I didn’t,” Pilar sounded drowsy. It was clear that even with the serum, she was going to need a blood transfusion, “because she was… cocky… smooth-talking… arrogant… I never would’ve gotten to know her if you two didn’t…”

“Stay with me, sis, we’re so close.”

“Now I could… we could be friends… I was wrong about her… She wasn’t… she…”

“She’ll be glad to hear you say that,” Sasha tried to pick up the pace a little, “but she’ll never believe me, so you’d better stay with me long enough to tell her yourself. Remember, you are not allowed to die.”

“Tell me…”

“What do you want to know?” Sasha asked, focusing only on the door.

“Tell me what… you love… why do you love her…”

“She’s smart,” Sasha said, “way too smart, and so fun.”

“Keep going…”

“And yes, she’s an amazing kisser,” Sasha said.

Pilar coughed again. “No… not that… something real…”

Sasha considered this “She’s thoughtful, she’s always getting me little gifts. This robe… well, you’re gonna see it in a few minutes… She’s deep, but she doesn’t like people to know that. And when we’re alone… she’s so sweet that I know she’ll never leave me, even when everyone else is convinced that she betrayed us to the cops to save her own skin, I know she’ll come back for me because…”

Pilar was fading fast. “Because…?”

“Because we can’t live without each other. With all both of us have been through, for me to meet the love of my life so young? I know God put us together for a reason.”

“Don’t let Ariadne hear you say that…”

“Ariadne is the only atheist I know who’s met two different gods,” Sasha rolled her eyes, “you landed the most stubborn girl in the universe.”

“God, I love her so much…”

They were perhaps ten feet from the door now, and Sasha seemed determined to keep talking so that Pilar could focus on her voice and stay conscious. “And I guess I’m not a very good Catholic, I’m pretty sure I just broke the first commandment saying that. And, uh, number five, back there in the, uh… wow, I am gonna need to do a lot of rosaries.”

Pilar chuckled without adding anything to this.

“What’s so funny?” Sasha asked.

“We’re pirates…”

“Yes, we’re pirates. Good memory.”

“No, we… I mean, number seven.”

“Thou shalt not steal? Yeah, I guess we do kinda break that one pretty often,” Sasha said with a great deal of guilt, something all too common amongst those raised Catholic, “I think we’re still good people, though.”

“You are,” Pilar mumbled. “Ariadne too. Sweettalk. Not me… I’m going to hell for sure.”

“I’m pretty sure God will let a few broken commandments go if we were doing it to save hungry and abused children, that’s… kinda his whole deal,” Sasha dropped the sidearm to the ground and struggled to open the door single-handed, “plus, you do a great job with number four.”

They entered the room as Ariadne, Sweettalk, and the Triplets were coming out of the virtual interface. With as much urgency as she could muster, Sasha called to them: “I need your help, she’s been shot!”

“You always have to prove me wrong!” Ariadne rushed over and immediately took Pilar onto her own shoulder so Sasha could get to work on digging the bullet out, “you are not allowed to die.”

“You two have been spending too much time together” Pilar sputtered.

Sasha took out a strip of black fabric and lay it over Pilar’s wound. The fabric swirled and shimmered silver and gold for a moment before the silver parts settled into the shape of the ribcage beneath the skin, and the gold settled into the shape of a bullet, lodged between two ribs, near the heart.

“Is that … the robe I got you?” Sweettalk asked. “You dork, I thought you were kidding about the medical applications of it!”

“Gimme your knife,” Sasha demanded, and Sweettalk complied immediately.

Two minutes later, with the help of their loved ones, the bullet was out. Another minute later, Pilar had taken a dose of the serum and the bullet wound had healed completely.

[romyshq-blog]

hello lovely people! i’m cathy and i’m super excited to be here with my trash bby, slater. she's messy, so i hope she fits in here!  if u need an enemy, messy ex situation or contemptuous ex-friendship connection, look no further than this bish right here. under the cut you can read about her (she’s a hot mess!!!) and visit her pinterest board here if u’d like (her name is usually rachel but i decided to go wildt and change it *sweats nervously because i actually hate change*). 

( MARGARET QUALLEY / CISFEMALE / SHE/HER ). [ ROMY SLATER ] is a [ TWENTY-ONE ] year old [ UNDERGRAD ] student studying [ JOURNALISM ]. they are known for being [ RESILIENT & PERCEPTIVE ], but also being [ CAPRICIOUS & CONTEMPTIBLE ]. if there was a song that described their life, it would be [ ACRYLIC BY FOG LAKE ].

first thing’s first, you should call her slater. in fact, unless you’re in one of her classes where they take attendance, you probably don’t know her real name is romy. she hates her name and has been going by her last name for as long as she can remember. 

she’s from new york. her dad is very demanding and tempered and her mom is carping, cold and judgmental. so she didn’t grow up in a great situation. 

her dad owns a bunch of properties in the city and in new jersey and they’ve made him very wealthy. they’re mostly crap apartments, motels & strip clubs. he has a lot of criminal ties and is pretty much just a creep.

he has a lot of cops, district attorneys, city council members, deputy mayors etc. on his payroll from bribery and/or blackmail stemming from his strip clubs and the dancers and prostitutes who work there. not to mention his mob affiliation. sooo basically he’s teflon. 

slater’s mom is a social climber who won’t leave her husband despite him being….Not Nice™ since she wants to live lavishly. she’s long island trash...very real housewives

her mom is very selfish and refuses to take any responsibility for the way her life choices have fucked up her daughter while also constantly criticizing slater and her behaviors as if slater just…made herself into the person she is today?? and wasn’t molded by her parents and environment, ya know??

anyway, slater’s mom used to pharmacy shop and put slater on drugs to curb her justified behaviors. like having anxiety due to growing up in a dysfunctional and abusive situation. but she also did it to have slater basically labeled as “mentally ill” and on meds to keep her quiet about their family secrets. so slater has always felt like she’s messed up, even as a kid :///

slater still sees her parents occasionally on breaks and holidays and you can expect her to act out in interesting ways after being forced to go home. 

personality; 

sO! if slater had a label or trope or whatever, she’d totally be the anti-heroine. ya know, the girl who does fucked up shit and can be amoral and you want to hate her but she’s also sympathetic in a way and good (deep down). 

warning: she’s a messy girl to be involved with. she’s got this emptiness inside of her. a hollowness. (hint; it’s depression). she uses anything she can to try and fill it up. drinking, drugs, sex. but she’s incredibly selfish & impulsive in her pursuits and ends up hurting people. a lot. and she always hates herself after but then just does it again.

she’s not a sociopath or narcissist in a clinical sense. she’s actually an insecure, self-conscious ball of anxiety but pushes all that down and plays the Cool Girl role. she does things she knows are wrong and can be a manipulative bitch. then it all eventually bubbles over like a pot on a stove, and paired with the guilt she feels, it causes a few public and many private meltdowns. but she's usually always the source of her own interpersonal issues tbh.

like, you can confront her with receipts of shit she’s done and she’ll just nod and stare at the ground and walk away. but then go into the nearest public bathroom and sob and feel so bad. but then??? still?? never??? apologize???? she’s a trip. 

her aesthetic is uncombed hair, scuffed docs, flannels, torn jeans, tshirts from goodwill with moth holes. doesn’t shower or sleep often and chews her fingernails into stubs. like, she almost makes it a point to just look...Bad.

she gets really good grades because she can be very manic and intense. people in her high school used to tell her she had “crazy eyes” when she got like this because she gets very focused, perfectionistic, talks a mile a minute and you can practically see the gears turning in her brain. she works well under extreme stress, which is why most of her papers are typed up the night before their due date on five cups of coffee and a half pack of cigarettes. 

perceptive of others and can be manipulative and a liar to either a. get what she wants or b. hide her transgressions. she was raised by narcissists so....this is what ya get.

she’s complicated. because on one hand, she wants to be a good person but on the other hand, she fucks people over and betrays people a lot. 

i actually have a headcanon of how she lost her core group of high school friends that’s a good insight into her M.O. if you'd like to hear it:

so senior year slater got drunk and slept with her best friend alyssa’s boyfriend. she didn’t do it to be malicious. but she was too selfish, drunk & thinking about herself to care about how fucked up it was. she felt so bad about it but then caved and did it again and they had an affair. slater eventually broke it off, bottled up her guilt, continued the friendship with alyssa.

soon after, alyssa got pregnant by the same boyfriend. slater knew that alyssa’s bf was trash and supported her friend through an abortion.

but THEN, the boyfriend came clean and admitted the affair long after the fact. so alyssa thought slater supported her abortion for selfish gains because SHE wanted her boyfriend and (rightfully) felt betrayed. when in actuality, slater had long since stopped fucking him and only wanted what was best for alyssa when she supported her through the abortion. SO she did a bad thing in the past but still had good intentions. however, the past came back to bite her and she lost everything. don't get me wrong, she's not the victim in this situation. she fucked up. but not in the way her friends thought. so when she held her best friend's hand in the procedure, that came from a real place of love and she thought she was doing the right thing. however, she did do unforgivable things to the friend she loved. like i said, she's complicated because you can't outright say she's a soulless monster but you also can't justify or support her actions. 

YEAH! that’s my messy slater. she can never make it out of a situation as the good guy. she makes mistakes that are unjustifiable but she has a good heart and isn’t a horrible person inside. she doesn’t know why she is the way she is but she hates it tbh. she hates the things she does and the way she feels. but she just!!! keeps!!! fucking people over!!!! like, there’s no sugarcoating it: she’s done some terrible things for awful reasons and never apologized for any of it. but she regrets. she just can’t seem to break the cycle. (she's v much inspired by rachel goldberg from unreal as well as gretchen cutler from you're the worst, mickey dobbs from love, camille preaker from sharp objects and mavis gary from the film young adult!!)

plots;

i’m a HOE for drama, as you can probably tell my my angsty, messy character.

so maybe ex-boyfriends on bad terms or ex-friends. someone slater fucked over n won’t take responsibility for what she did

OR someone who fucked slater over for a change. taste of her own medicine tbh

maybe someone naive and innocent she can corrupt since misery loves company

childhood friends or enemies, family friends, a cousin maybe? characters with criminal connects who maybe know her dad??

fellow journalism majors that hate her for giving journalism a bad name cuz they’re actually dedicated to journalism and integrity n slater sleeps with sources and barely ever shows up or turns things in on time lmao

a professor she’s fucking lol idk 

someone who can see her at her worst. 

someone who’s innocent and good and slater actually tries to protect them, like a sisterly bond

trouble-maker, burnout friends. or toxic friendships

friends with benefits 

[afjakwritesarchive]

Title: Entranced (Part  2/2) Pairing: USUK Words: 4,050 Rating: T AU: Vampire Arthur/Human Alfred Genre: Romance/Drama/Comedy (Romdromedy?) Summary: Reclusive vampire Arthur Kirkland’s deal with a with a witty young man soon turns into much more than he’d bargained for. A/N: Hoo boy some stuff ahead! Part one can be found here! Hope y’all enjoy!! 

Soon, things between Alfred and Arthur fell into a simple routine. Though Arthur only needed to drink from Alfred every other week, Arthur required Alfred to come to his house twice a week in order to monitor his health. Each visit, he’d drink just enough to determine whether or not Alfred was maintaining healthy habits.

Alfred didn’t seem to mind the frequent visits. Despite Arthur’s consistently abrasive demeanor, he enjoyed the Brit’s company. He was amused by Arthur’s witty retorts and empty threats, finding the man’s commitment to the “big bad vampire” routine entertaining.

Before long, the pair were what Alfred considered to be friends. They’d moved from simple conversation and a quick blood tests to lengthy visits wherein long, personal conversations ensued, movies and television were watched on Arthur’s ancient television, Alfred tried to teach Arthur about modern culture, and takeout was brought for them to eat.

On this particular visit, though, Alfred was in a hurry. “Arthur, can we reschedule for tomorrow?” He called as he let himself into Arthur’s house—the Brit left the door unlocked for him—in a suit, which he was currently adjusting the tie of.

“What? Why are you so dressed up?” Arthur asked, frowning as he appeared in the foyer, a steaming mug of tea clasped in his hands.

“I have a date tonight. I would’ve called, but since you don’t have a phone…” Alfred said. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t wanna miss this. Can I come back tomorrow instead?”

Arthur didn’t know why, but the idea of Alfred on a date made him fume, and seeing Alfred all dressed up made him even angrier. He looked absolutely stunning, so gorgeous Arthur was surprised he hadn’t gone weak in the knees at the sight of him. The thought of someone else getting to see Alfred like this, of getting to spend a romantic evening alone with him while he looked so bloody fantastic, made Arthur want to scream. He was impossibly jealous.

Arthur gripped his mug tighter in his hands. “Who do you have a date with?”

“This girl I met in a coffee shop last week. She was real cute, so I chatted her up a little bit, and she asked me if I wanted to take her out sometime. Obviously I said yes, ‘cause she was so funny and seriously one of the smartest people ever, plus she had the most ahh-mazing body. She sent me a text a couple hours ago and said that if tonight goes well, I might be able to come home with her. And get this: she’s totally British, just like you!” Alfred explained with an excited grin.

The mug in Arthur’s hands, which the Brit had been squeezing tighter and tighter throughout Alfred’s reply, shattered. Hot tea cascaded over his hands and onto the floor, along with most of the mug, which was now in pieces. A few glass shards were embedded in the pale skin of Arthur’s palms, though it caused him no pain.

Alfred’s jaw dropped. “Woah, Arthur, are you okay?!” He cried, rushing forward with concern.

Arthur looked down at the glass in his hands and carefully plucked them out of his hands, allowing them to fall to the floor with the rest of the glass in the pile. Alfred stopped in front of him, allowing his black dress shoes to step into the puddle of green tea currently inching across the hardwood floor of Arthur’s foyer.

“Arthur? Dude, look at me. Are you alright?” Alfred asked again.

Arthur raised his head, meeting Alfred’s eyes without saying anything. Alfred opened his mouth to speak again, most likely to ask another question about his strange behavior, when Arthur opened his mouth.

“Sleep,” he commanded, opening his arms.

Alfred’s eyes fluttered and fell forward instantly, dropping against Arthur. The Brit easily lifted him off the ground, relishing in the feeling of holding the American. He brought him to the living room and set him down upon the couch. Alfred was totally still, completely entranced.

Arthur gulped, his mind whirring. The caring part of him was telling him to stop, that this was wrong, that he was going to ruin something that Alfred was excited for and jeopardize their friendship. A larger part of him, though—the part of him which had dominated his mind for the past several centuries, the selfish part of himself—was telling Arthur to take advantage of Alfred, to take as he pleased from him, to keep the young man all to himself.

Arthur gave in to his selfish impulses and leaned forward, hovering over Alfred. He took the blond’s jaw in his hand and guided his eyes to meet Arthur’s. As expected, the big blue eyes Arthur so loved were blank, devoid of emotion or recognition. Alfred was helpless and Arthur was consumed by his greed, eager to mold Alfred’s mind to suit his desires.

“Tell me, Alfred: Are you attracted to me?” Arthur murmured, looking deep into the American’s eyes, pulling him further under with each second that passed.

“Yes,” replied Alfred blankly.

“And do you care for me?”

“Yes,” again came Alfred’s simple reply in a tone lacking any emotion.

“More than the girl you’re supposed to meet tonight?”

“Yes.”

Arthur felt pride and triumph well up within him. He felt as though he had just won the most wonderful prize in all the world—Alfred’s admiration. Alfred cared for him. Alfred was attracted to him. That in itself was more than enough to fuel Arthur’s gluttony, to drive him further and further into his self-indulgence.

“Alfred, you are going to believe that your date has called and cancelled on you. You’ve decided you’d like to stay here with me tonight. And…” Arthur trailed off, hesitating momentarily. He wanted to do something terrible, something that he knew was wrong. Something he knew would shatter Alfred’s trust in him. And yet, one look into the American’s gorgeous face and all rationale fled Arthur and he continued. “You suddenly have an uncontrollable desire to kiss me. You want me more than you’ve ever wanted anything, so bad you can hardly stand it. But you’ll have no memory of this trance upon waking. You will remember my commands subconsciously, but carry them out without remembering anything of this consciously. Now, wake up.”

Alfred blinked himself awake, looking a bit surprised. He looked toward Arthur, blinking at the sight of the man sitting on the couch beside him. “…Hey,” he said, going red in the face at the sight of his friend.

Arthur stifled a smile, knowing very well what was going on in Alfred’s head and finding the American’s flustered reaction to it extremely amusing. “As I was saying, I think I’d like to watch a movie tonight. There are still a few classics I haven’t you yet. Does that sound alright?” Arthur asked.

Alfred stared at him, blinking rapidly. His expression gave away nothing of his thoughts, which surprised Arthur—Alfred was gazing at him as if he were an unsolvable equation, a puzzle he couldn’t work out.

“Alfred? You know, usually I can never get you to shut up, and now you choose to—mm!” Arthur’s voice was muffled by the sudden appearance of Alfred’s lips upon his, the American’s hands on either sides of his face and gripping it tightly as he kissed Arthur.

Thinking little, Arthur eagerly kissed back, leaning into Alfred and kissing the man with everything he had. Shocking him, Alfred crawled across the couch and closed in the distance between them, moving to straddle Arthur. He was still kissing him hotly, forcing the Brit back against the couch.

Arthur moaned into Alfred’s mouth, his hands finding Alfred’s hips and gripping them tightly. One of Alfred’s hands followed Arthur’s, grabbing the Brit’s wrist. Then, surprising Arthur, Alfred pulled the man’s hand off of him and pinned it down against the couch, restraining Arthur. Though the Brit was easily stronger than Alfred due to his vampire strength, he found himself weakening at the touch, growing submissive underneath Alfred.

Alfred shifted, maneuvering to push Arthur to lay down against the couch. Arthur fell onto the couch on his back, his free hand coming to grip the back of his neck as the pair continued to kiss. Arthur was jerking his hips upward, helplessly aroused by the American’s sudden dominance. In the next moment, Alfred had grabbed Arthur’s other wrist and pinned them both down above Arthur’s head.

Arthur moaned, unable to strain against Alfred. It had been so long since he had been touched, and even longer since he’d been kissed by someone who knew what they were doing as well as Alfred seemed to. The American had taken control without hesitation, and the way he kissed Arthur made the Brit absolutely mad with need. He wanted Alfred to have his way with him, to keep holding him down and controlling him forever.

“Alfred,” Arthur moaned around Alfred’s mouth, and the American parted momentarily in order to breathe.

“I want you, Arthur,” Alfred said breathlessly, gazing down at the man.

Arthur nodded quickly. “Take me, take me however you want.” He said feverishly.

Alfred grinned. “God, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything,” he said.

Arthur paused. That was what he’d told Alfred, wasn’t it? Those had been his exact words. Alfred didn’t really want this, did he? He’d been brainwashed into wanting it, that was all. Had Arthur not forced him to, Alfred would never have been doing this. He would have been back in town, on a date with a woman he really wanted, not on Arthur’s couch ravishing a dangerous, manipulative vampire.

Then, Alfred was ducking down and latching his lips to Arthur’s neck, trailing hot kisses down the length of it, and Arthur melted beneath him, putty in Alfred’s hands. His mind was urging him to stop this, to release Alfred from his spell, but Arthur’s mind was addled by the American’s lips on his neck and he let out a pathetic, needy whimper, desperate for the American.

“You are so fucking hot,” Alfred purred, his breath burning against Arthur’s cold skin. “Take your pants off, now.” He demanded, releasing Arthur’s wrists from his grip in order to begin undoing his own belt buckle.

Arthur moaned unabashedly, his hands jerking to do as Alfred said. Then, he stopped himself, shaking. “Alfred, wait,” he gasped.

Alfred paused, his fingers hooked in his belt loops. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice suddenly shifting from one of seduction to sincere concern.

Arthur’s heart ached at Alfred’s sincerity, knowing very well that the man atop him would have never taken advantage of him in the way Arthur just had. Even now, under the effects of Arthur’s spell and surely burning with desire for him, he restrained himself at Arthur’s request. He was too selfless, too good for Arthur in every way, and it hurt.

Arthur felt his eyes burning as he met Alfred’s gaze. “Sleep,” he said, and Alfred flopped down atop of him, nearly smothering Arthur as the full weight of his body collapsed atop of him.

“You have no memory of anything after I broke my mug, and you believe that I dropped it out of surprise for you having come early. Fix your belt and stand in front of me and the broken mug. Once I speak again, you will awaken with absolutely no memory of anything after me breaking the mug and our conversation will carry on normally.” Arthur commanded.

Alfred’s hands found his belt buckle and he quickly fixed it. Then, standing up, he walked mechanically to stand where he had been after Arthur dropped the mug. Arthur walked sadly over to it and spoke.

“Y-Yes, I’m fine, sorry. I was just a bit startled,” Arthur said.

Alfred blinked once, as if coming to. Then, thinking nothing of it, he shrugged his shoulders. “No worries, man. Lemme help you clean it up,” Alfred offered, already bending over to pick up the larger pieces of glass.

Arthur felt a pang of guilt in his chest and grabbed Alfred’s shoulder, stopping him. “No, I’ll get it. You have a date to get to.” He said.

Alfred straightened and beamed at Arthur. “Thanks,” he said, taking his phone from his pocket. At the sight of the time, his eyes bulged. “Holy shit! I could’ve sworn I left the house earlier! Shit, I left the roses at time 'cause I thought I had time—!” Alfred exclaimed.

Knowing that he was at fault for Alfred’s lateness, Arthur rushed into the kitchen and returned with a bouquet of red roses, grown in his garden and previously occupying a vase on the kitchen table.

“Here, take these.” He offered.

“Dude, thanks. You’re a lifesaver, Arthur,” Alfred said, beaming at his friend. “I’ll see you tomorrow, man!”

Arthur was surprised to return home the next day to the sound of voices in his living room. He’d gone into town earlier in the day to buy some food, wanting to repent for his behavior toward Alfred the previous night by buying his favorite snacks. Although Alfred was completely unaware of what had conspired between them, Arthur had been consumed with guilt for the rest of the night, and he was desperate to make it right in any way he could.

At the sound of Alfred’s voice speaking monotonously, Arthur dropped the grocery bag and sped toward the source of the voice, coming from the living room.

He was greeted with the sight of Alfred seated on his couch, completely still and speaking without inflection. He didn’t react when Arthur appeared, not even a slight turn of his head to acknowledge that he was aware of the Brit’s presence.

To Arthur’s horror, none other than his elder brother, Alistair, was looming over the American. The man, a tall redhead and pale skin much like Arthur’s, was currently leaning over, his hand rested on the back of the couch beside Alfred’s head and his face only inches from the younger man’s.

Alistair turned his head at his brother’s entrance, grinning rakishly at the man. “Ah, Arthur, you’re finally home. Your lovely pet and I have been getting acquainted.”

Arthur stormed forward, shoving the man away from Alfred. “What the hell are you doing here, you bastard?” He demanded. “I told you never to come near me again!”

“Arthur, Arthur, it’s been almost two hundred years!” Exclaimed his brother in a light, airy tone. He waved his hand around and smiled viciously. “Can’t we let it go and move forward? I’ve missed my little brother, you know!”

“Well, I haven’t missed you. Reverse whatever you’ve done to Alfred and get out of my house immediately.” He growled.

Alistair grinned. “No, I don’t think I will. He’s a darling thing, Arthur. Now, I know you well enough to know that you’ve been living like a recluse all these years, and so I wondered when exactly you met him. He tells me you’ve known each other for almost eight months now, which was quite a shock to me as I’m sure you’ll believe. I never imagined you to be so weak, Arthur. Compelling a man to make him desire you? Now, I certainly believe you’re evil enough—but pathetic enough to have to compel a man just to make him want you? And then to not go through with it due to guilt, I presume?” Alistair teased.

“Get out, Alistair! Let him go and leave!” Arthur snarled.

Ignoring him, Alistair approached Alfred. Arthur growled, quickly stepping between his brother and Alfred’s unresponsive form. “Stay away,” he hissed protectively.

“Oh, Arthur, don’t tell me you love him,” Alistair said condescendingly. “Him loving you I understand—poor thing’s so smitten with you he said he’d rather it have been you he slept with last night. But you loving him back? Don’t tell me you’re really so pathetic that you’d fall for a human.”

“My personal choices are none of your business, Alistair. You know nothing of him or I, and you never will. Get the hell out.”

“Oh, I know quite a bit about him. We’ve been chatting for almost an hour now, you know, and it was so very easy to convince him that he loved me more than you, would rather run off with your more handsome elder brother. He doesn’t even mind that I won’t love him back. He’s agreed to do anything I tell him to, which is rather sweet of him. Oh! And I’ve managed to make him so afraid of you it nearly paralyzes him to be around you, because I knew that would upset you,” said Alistair, leering heartily at his younger brother.

“You—You bastard!” Arthur growled, rushing to Alfred’s side. He took the American by the shoulders and desperately tried to shake him awake, only for Alfred to jolt back to life at Alistair’s command to.

“…Arthur?” Alfred asked, seeming far more disoriented than usual. At the sight of Alistair, his eyes went wider than saucers and he leapt up, immediately moving toward the man.

Arthur caught Alfred around the waist, holding him back. Alfred let out a cry of frustration and pushed at his friend, frowning. “Arthur, what the hell’s your problem?! I wanna be with Alistair!” He cried.

Arthur wrapped both arms firmly around Alfred’s waist and tugged him closer before turning back toward Alistair with eyes full of contempt. Alfred whined, now being turned away from Alistair and staring at the wall over Arthur’s shoulder. “Dude, let me go!”

“Alistair, this is your last warning. Let Alfred go or you will pay.” Arthur growled menacingly, his tone frightening enough that Alfred went slack in his hold, no longer struggling for fear of upsetting him.

“No can do, brother. Alfred is such a sweetheart, I’d like to have him for myself. Such sweet blue eyes, how adorable he looks when he blinks up you with his eyes blank and his mind open… I can see why you like him so much, I suppose. Though I wouldn’t keep him as much more than a pet.” Alistair laughed, clearly not afraid of Arthur’s warnings.

Arthur huffed, twisting around. He forced Alfred down onto the couch, frowning at him. Alfred’s bottom lip wobbled and he looked fearfully into Arthur’s eyes, clearly terrified. The mere sight of Alfred afraid at Arthur’s presence made the Brit’s heart ache, and he cursed his elder brother vehemently.

Arthur knew he wouldn’t be able to rid Alfred of Alistair’s commands until Alistair was out of sight and far away, where his influence would fade enough for Arthur to override it with his own. Alistair was turned a few years prior to Arthur, making his trances slightly more powerful than Arthur’s. However, their physical strength would be roughly equal, and Arthur was determined to overpower his elder brother and get rid of him.

“You are going to sit here and you will not interrupt us or else I will drain you, do you understand?” Arthur instructed in as mean of a tone as he could manage. He hated to be rough with Alfred, but he knew that the American would listen, as petrified as he was by the Brit due to Alistair’s trance. As long as Alfred stayed out of the fight, he would be unharmed.

Then, Arthur whipped around, immediately charging at Alistair. His older brother was prepared and easily dodged him, speeding past Arthur. Arthur chased him into the kitchen, easily grabbing ahold of him. They both began administering forceful punches which would easily kill a human, neither one able to get an advantage over the other.

Then, to Arthur’s shock, Alfred ran in. He was holding a knife in one hand—Arthur instantly recognized it as one of the three that had been mounted to his living room wall on display. Alfred charged forward and Arthur’s eyes went wide, knowing that the man he loved was about to hurt him. He gulped, about to release Alistair when Alfred suddenly struck out with the knife, sticking it in Alistair’s chest.

The man cried out in pain, immediately releasing his hold on Arthur. A stab wasn’t a particularly damaging injury for a vampire, but it would certainly hurt for long enough that Arthur could kick Alistair out and quickly cast a protection spell over the surrounding area to keep him out. Arthur took his brother by the collar, dragging him out of the house and throwing him down the steps. Afterward, he slammed the door shut and rushed back to the living room and retrieved one of his many spell books off of a bookshelf.

Quickly, he recited an incantation. After repeating it twice and making sure he felt a wave of magic surge forth each time, he set the spellbook back on the shelf with relief. The spell was a simple protection spell which warded off a person of the user’s choosing; in this case, Alistair. Arthur’s elder brother would feel physically sick and weak until he was at least fifty miles from the house. The spell spanned in all directions and encompassed the nearby town which Alfred lived in.

“Are you alright, Alfred?” Arthur asked as he turned back to the man.

In response, Alfred took a step back. “I—I’m still afraid of you,” he admitted, looking embarrassed. “Can you reverse what he did?”

Arthur nodded. “Yes, but you have to trust me. Look me in the eyes,” Arthur commanded softly. Alfred did so, and was immediately under. Arthur caught him when he fell and spoke quickly.

“Remember everything, Alfred. Everything from all of the times you’ve been tranced.” Arthur commanded, deciding he couldn’t keep his terrible actions from the night before a secret.

Alfred woke from the trance with wide eyes. “Woah,” he said immediately, looking to Arthur. His face went bright red, immediately flustered. “You made me… Holy shit. I was totally kissing the shit out of you.”

“I know,” Arthur said guiltily. “I’m so sorry, Alfred. I should have never taken advantage of you like that. I regret it so, so much. You are so important to me and I would never hurt you, I swear. I will never do something like that again, I promise you. Can you forgive me, please? I know I’m horrible and pathetic and disgusting but I care about you and I promise I will always protect you and do what’s right from now on.” Vowed Arthur with complete sincerity, gazing worriedly into his friend’s eyes.

Alfred stared at him for a moment, considering this. Then, he shrugged. “Sure, man. I mean, what you did was kinda weird, but… When Alistair said I wished I was with you last night instead of that girl, he wasn’t lying. I really did say that, and I really did mean it. I… I like you a lot, Arthur.”

If Arthur was capable of blushing, he knew he would have been. “Y-You do?”

Alfred nodded. “Yeah, like a lot. I mean… I dunno. I just think of you all the time and I love spending time with you and you’re, like, super awesome. I dunno.” Alfred looked down bashfully.

Overcome with emotion, Arthur reached forward and took Alfred’s hand in his. “I love you, Alfred!” He blurted loudly before he could stop himself.

Alfred looked up at him, wide-eyed. Then, his expression melted into a grin and he leaned closer. “I love you too,” he replied with a chuckle. “Can I kiss you now?”

“God, yes,” Arthur said, and allowed Alfred to wrench him closer.

[captainweatherly]

Reactions and Feelings for 2x05

OK... HERE COMES MY FEELS.

Holy cow, y’all. I said this last week too, but this episode was incredible!! It was tragic, it was moving, it was tense. I know this episode was supposed to “break the mold” of the season and signify the midpoint, and yeah... it did! There are so many things to unpack here, so buckle up. This might get long. 

Obviously, MAJOR spoilers inside. Enter at your own risk. 

First off, the casting for young JFK blew me away. The accent was spot on and that was cool and all, but his acting was amazing!! He was adorable and I love the trope of bringing someone from the past into the future. They are always so much fun to watch them react to technology and culture. There were two times during the episode that my heart tore for him. The first time was when Kayla was telling him about his family’s curse and hit fate. The second when we asked if he was a good president. Yeah, I teared up at the second one, especially when Lucy said he was one of the best. It was so heartfelt and moving. 

Mission wise, this was SO cool. While I really wish we could have gotten a few glimpses of the boys trip and the drama and funniness that would inevitably ensue, I am happy that the episode stayed mainly in the present. This made the plot of the episode run very smoothly and focus more on the Lucy of it all. Along with other characters that don't usually get a lot of screen time. Which made me happy because I am always happy with more of those type of scenes.

OK, NOW FOR MORE FEELS. 

Let’s start things off with Jessica, because she was easily one of the biggest pivotal characters for this episode. I don’t mean “case-breaking-saving-the-day” pivotal, but plot line wise she turned everything around. 

Before I go on, I would like to say that I absolutely love her. She has spunk. She is funny and friendly. Honestly, just a really likable character. I would love to say that I hate her and just want her to leave right now and let Lyatt sail into canon bay, but I can’t say that. I see the chemistry that Jessica has with Wyatt. They were married and obviously have a history... that can not just be thrown aside. They play well off each other. 

Not only does she relate well to Wyatt, but she also seems to like Lucy as well. Even when Lucy is at her most awkward point, she tries to befriend her and comfort her when she is not feeling well. She actually puts effort into trying to get to know her and what she does/did for a living. Can I just say that Lucy handled that situation so well?? She could very easily be a bitch to her, but instead she talked with her and handled it with grace. I am LOVING this friendship that is blossoming. Not to mention the multiple times that they speak up for one another and show mutual respect. 

Next on my list: Jiya. Everyone with a brain and at least 1 IQ point loves Jiya because she is just so pure and smart. This episode is no different. If anything, her pureness escalates exponentially and we FINALLY get to see Jiya and Lucy getting a little closer. Jiya taking take of Lucy and talking to her about the whole thing with Wyatt, not judging her at all, was such a great moment for those two (it also confirmed my theory that Rufus told Jiya about it mwahahaha). It’s so important for Lucy to have someone to talk to about all of this and I am glad that she is opening up to Jiya. 

Also, Jiya is super smart and I loved her loop theory, even if I don’t 100% understand it... I approve. 

Speaking of people who love and care for Lucy, let’s talk about Denise because this was a HUGE episode for her. For one, I am enjoying her stepping into the protective and caring ‘bunker mom’ role. She really does care for the team and wants the best for them. The fact that Rittenhouse has the nerve to come after her... OH I AM MAD. Carol is a grade A piece of crap of a person and a mother. Yes, it appears that she does actually care for Lucy and her well being, but in her twisted mind Rittenhouse completing its goal is the best to her. 

I am super concerned for what this means for Denise’s family. It is longer safe for them to live in their house. I have a feeling that we will see them coming to live in the ever growing bunker. 

Carol may be a piece of actual trash human being and mother, but Denise is the exact opposite. The scene with Lucy and Denise in the bunker KILLED me. I was crying like a baby when she told Lucy that if she were her daughter, she would be so proud of her. That line sucker punched me in the gut and had me in tears. What a moving line! I love one (1) bunker mom. 

Next up: Lucy. Abigail Spencer is yet again reminding us that she is amazing. The depth of character we get to see in Lucy this episode is beautiful. We get to see her have emotions. She snaps several times mainly at Wyatt, not in a hurtful way, but in a way that expresses her feelings and reminds him how awkward of a position this is for her. I am so happy that the writers are letting her have completely rational conflicting emotions and Abigail portrays them perfectly. Despite her feelings for Wyatt, she knows that getting his wife back was the driving force for him and she wants him to be truly happy. If that is not true love showing from Lucy, I don’t know what is. It’s the ultimate sacrifice. My heart hurts. Someone bake Lucy some cookies and give her a giant hug please. 

Now here comes the part that my shipper heart was physically torn from my body, crumbled in a million pieces, then run over by a truck. The last five minutes of the episode were PERFECT. Do I wish Lyatt was happy and together and everything was beautiful? Well, duh. But am so so so happy they addressed the fact that they were a thing, things did happen, and that the feelings involved in the thing were and absolutely mutual. THIS IS THE RIGHT WAY TO DO THIS. ALL OTHER SHOWS TAKE NOTE. Also, the call back to Bonnie and Clyde “Babydoll and Shweetheart” was breathtakingly beautiful. I totally believe that the callback was a giant sign from the writers that they have not forgotten about the Lucy and Wyatt of it all. After watching it again, I noticed that the facial expressions are similar to the season one episode. Yeah, the one where Wyatt realized he had feelings (don’t @ me on this, he knew it right then and there). I know Wyatt loved his wife and is trying to spark the relationship again with her. I support that. However, I think we will see that Wyatt and Jessica’s feelings for a second chance will change soon. 

Speaking a relationships that are changing. Can we talk about Flynn and Lucy?? The last scene where they are just silently there for eachother was awesome. Now, you may have figured this out by now, but I don’t ship these two romantically. I see them a more of a brother/sister dynamic. I love that these two are getting closer. 

So yeah, Lucy’s family might suck. BUT she has a new family that loves her and I think that that is beautiful.

Speculations: 

1) Flynn and Lucy are related (maybe brother and sister?). 

2) Jessica and Wyatt will mutually split ways sooner rather than later in the season, but she will stay in the bunker.

3) Jessica and Lucy will become friends. 

4) Jessica and Flynn will become friends???

5) Denise’s family will come to stay at the bunker. 

6) Jiya will have a major breakthrough soon in her health. 

7) Mama Rittenhouse will have a redemption arc towards the end of the season.

Favorite moments: 

Jessica’s “Well she’s a teacher, right?!” and everyone looking at her flabbergasted 

Lucy pointing at Jess when someone says “Someone’s mom is here” at the party

Flynn’s sassy “yes ma’am, all three of them” 

[jippy-kandi]

Digimon Adventure tri. – Chapter 4: Loss | Sorato

My thoughts on everything Sorato in the fourth chapter of tri..

I MADE IT! :D I said I would get this out before Chapter 5 was released . . . and it’ll be out in less than 24 hours. YAY! XD;

Reminder that this post is solely about Sorato -- for my thoughts on “Loss” as a whole, go here.

First, this scene happens when Sora cooks everyone food:

Mimi: "Wow [Sora]! Whoever becomes your husband is lucky!” Sora: *Blushes.*

It works because everyone (us, the audience) knows that Yamato will be that “lucky” husband in the future! I liked it a lot, haha. The only thing that would’ve made it A+ is if the camera had casually panned to Yamato. lol.

Now onto the REAL stuff. While everyone is sleeping, Sora goes off to brood about Piyomon being a giant twat to her, and Yamato and Taichi follow her to find out what’s wrong.

Yamato: “What’s bothering you?” Sora: “Why does it matter?” Yamato: *Does a frustrated hand motion then looks at Taichi to say something.* Taichi: “Uh . . . The food earlier was real good!” Yamato: *Facepalms.* Taichi: “C’mon, what’s wrong?” Sora: “Stupid.” (And then they sit in silence for a bit before Agumon comes down the river.)

So . . . I actually really liked this scene. I liked how it showed their different approaches and dynamics -- and I just liked the fact that it was a really intimate moment between my three favourite characters.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t without its flaws. The most glaring, by far, is the fact that Taichi and Yamato are so utterly stupid to not know what is upsetting Sora. It’s not even a characterisation issue or anything like that -- it’s simply a lazy/weak writing issue.

Do you know how easy it would have been for the tri. staff to set this scene up without Taichi and Yamato being completely fucking dense? INCREDIBLY EASY. So easy that it still boggles my mind how they just decided that it would be fine if Piyomon was a raging bitch to Sora -- and Taichi and Yamato somehow managed to miss that (despite both of them having a third eye stalking Sora at all times???). “Loss” is probably the second best tri. film overall, but it’s also the one with the most instances of weak writing. How did they manage to “achieve” that?!

My second issue is that Yamato probably should know how to “handle” Sora at this stage -- he did date her three years ago and the two seem like close friends in tri.. Yamato has always been perceptive and sensitive to others (even if he doesn’t want to admit it), so I think he should’ve known what to do by now.

Here’s the thing: I think Yamato at 11 years old would’ve handled this situation better. I actually think tri. has regressed Yamato a bit -- in that, I think 11-year-old Yamato is more mature than 17-year-old Yamato. Which is just bizarre, but whatever. (And I’m talking about Yamato in all four chapters of tri. out so far.)

But back to the scene. Admittedly, Yamato not handling Sora well here doesn’t bother me that much -- it’s not like it’s dumb writing, like him and Taichi being fucking obtuse and not knowing shit. But it still would’ve been better for Yamato to have known what to do -- because I think Adventure showed us that he would’ve been capable of it. The growth Yamato showed from the beginning to the end of Adventure . . . he totally would’ve been able to. (And let’s forget about these characters for a moment -- the average 17-year-old boy should know what to do tbh.)

But that’s not how it played out -- and that’s fine. I still liked the scene, because their dynamic is actually “right”. Yamato asks Sora what’s wrong with her, she responds as she would, and then Yamato does a frustrated hand movement that frankly gives me life, hahaha. It bothers Yamato so much that Sora is upset and he doesn’t know what to do. I love the subtleties of that moment.

(Just throwing this out there: Maybe Yamato would’ve acted differently with Sora if Taichi hadn’t been there? This is total fanfiction territory, haha. But I’d like to think that was the case: that Yamato would’ve handled the situation better without Taichi around. Again, in no way does tri. imply this to be the case -- but it’s a nice thought, no?)

Then, to break the heaviness of the scene, Agumon comes down the river. This makes Taichi go get him and the two exchange some dialogue, as Yamato’s attention goes to them, but then . . .

Yamato: *Turns his attention back to Sora.* Sora: *Gets up slowly and walks away.* Yamato: “Sora? Sora!” *Turns back to glare at Taichi to motion him to follow and runs after Sora.*

I just think it was nice for the writers to have it be Agumon who goes down the river -- so that Taichi would go get him, leaving Yamato to turn his attention back to Sora before she leaves which, again, let’s Yamato “lead” the chase for Sora. It’s such a small choice to make in the writers’ room -- but that’s the attention to detail writers should make. I have no fucking clue what they were smoking when they decided that the audience were dumb enough to buy that Taichi and Yamato wouldn’t notice Piyomon being a bitch to Sora. Yes, I will never let this ridiculous move go.

When we see the trio again, Yamato and Taichi are still following Sora. She stops walking momentarily and this conversation happens between Taichi and Yamato:

Taichi: “Hey, did I do something wrong?” Yamato: “That never changes with you. Can’t you read the situation?” Taichi: “I don’t know! Do you know what to do in times like this?” Yamato: “. . . Should we ask Takeru?”

This exchange does annoy me a bit, because I don’t think Yamato would ever suggest asking Takeru for advice. Yamato has a lot of pride, so as if he would ever ask his younger brother for advice. It’s not him. But I can give this scene a pass -- because it’s clearly meant to be a “joke” to break the tension of the scene. I just think the tri. writers could’ve come up with a better joke that broke the tension -- you know, one that doesn’t make you question Yamato’s characterisation.

But it’s also very obvious that the writers were making it a throwback to the scene in Adventure where Sora is crying (and Taichi is completely clueless about what to do, whilst Yamato just wants to let her cry) and Takeru manages -- BY SHEER FLUKE -- to make Sora feel better. I get it. I do.

But I just don’t agree with their interpretation of the scene -- because Takeru only managed to make Sora feel better because he was a naive little kid. He’s not some mastermind that knew how to “handle women” (like tri. is seriously pushing throughout the series . . .), but he just happened to be young and innocent enough to say something “kid-dumb” that cheered Sora up. If Yamato and Taichi had approached Sora the exact same way as 8-year-old Takeru? Sora would have still been upset and pushed them away. It only worked for Takeru because of his age -- and not because he’s some girl-whisperer who knew what to do. So while I understand the intention of the throwback, I just don’t agree with it being worked in the way it was.

Anyway, the scene continues with Sora speaking up.

Sora: “I can hear you.” Taichi: “Hey, cheer up.” Sora: “What do you mean? You don’t even know why I’m upset.” Yamato: “Why are you upset?” Sora: “I don’t know myself.” Taichi & Yamato: “What a pain.” Sora: “Well sorry, I’m a big pain!” *Runs off.*

Look, there is a reason that Yamato is my favourite character in Digimon -- and not Taichi, despite him being an A+ hero. (Taichi is my third favourite, but there’s a massive gap between them.) There are differences between Yamato and Taichi that set them apart from each other. One of the many differences is that Yamato has tact -- Taichi does not. Taichi definitely would’ve said “What a pain” about Sora -- but Yamato would not. He just . . . wouldn’t. Yamato only insults someone if he feels attacked or he’s being super emotional about something -- here, he is neither. He just says it . . . because??? (And yes, he is saying it about Sora. Are there people out there who actually think Taichi and Yamato are empathising with Sora about “what a pain” it is for her to not know what’s upsetting her? LMAO.)

(Side note: My biggest issue with Yamato’s characterisation in tri. is that I really think the writers struggle to understand this aspect of Yamato . . . which is why he’s crazy aggressive in Reunion and fits the typical “tsundere” mold more than Yamato ever did in Adventure. I think he’s about 75% in-character in tri., personally. Which isn’t a bad percentage -- but it could still be better.)

Again, I get that this is just the tri. writers cutting corners and wanting to break the tension in the scene with a “joke”. (Haha, so funny.) But just because you understand why the writers did it, doesn’t mean you can’t point it out as weak writing -- because even though this is an incredibly small thing, it also happens to put a little dent in Yamato’s characterisation. (The fact that you never think “Yamato wouldn’t do that” in Adventure, but you think it more often than you should in tri. -- definitely says something.)

(Another side note: How can Sora not know what’s upsetting her? It’s pretty damn obvious!? It’s the forced drama between you and your digimon, girl. Sigh. Again, the writers placing more weight than necessary on “issues” to create “deep, meaningful drama”. And this isn’t just a Chapter 4 problem -- the melodrama can be so overwhelming sometimes throughout tri.. It’s like the writers think melodrama equals “smart, mature writing”. It doesn’t.)

The scene continues.

Taichi: “Hey, chill out!” Sora: “You two sure can’t read the situation! You guys have bad timing and always fight! Everyone only thinks about themselves! They’ve never even thought of what I think! . . . Or how I feel.” *Stops running.* “No one . . . does.” Taichi: “I could never understand how you feel, Sora. You’re always in people’s business, but you solve your own problems and never talk about it. Well, maybe that’s the good part about you though.” *Sora has a flashback to when Piyomon tells her something similar and that Sora’s the #1 person she cares about. Flashback ends and we see that Sora is crying.* Yamato: “Sora . . .?” *Meicoomon comes and disrupts everything.*

Contrary to what Sora says, Yamato should be able to (and can) “read situations”. They even showed us that just moments ago! (And it doesn’t require Yamato to have ESP or some superhuman-level power of insight. It’s not rocket science, folks.) So, yes, tri. is definitely screwing with his characterisation here. And if you don’t think so? You have a really warped perception of his character. I honestly don’t understand people who just accept all of the characterisations in tri. with open arms and use “but they’re so complex!” as an excuse. Seriously? The writers of tri. have shown you just how poorly they can write -- tri. as a whole is average at best (except for Confession . . . best written tri. film by far) -- and you don’t think their characterisations can be a bit off sometimes?

At least Taichi admits that he can’t understand Sora? But this scene also shows that Taichi tries. So there’s that. I did like this bit.

Next, Machinedramon appears and Taichi and Yamato both shout out Sora’s name and dive to protect her. Yay!

The kids then get scattered and separated from each other and blah blah blah. Eventually, Machinedramon (with Gennai) attacks Sora again and she falls to the ground to protect herself and Piyomon.

Piyomon: “Sora . . .” Sora: *Looks up to see the boys in front of her.* “Taichi . . . Yamato . . .” Yamato: “Don’t push yourself.” Taichi: “You OK, Sora?” Sora: “Not exactly . . .”

Presumably Agumon and Gabumon have momentarily stopped Machinedramon for a bit. I like that when the camera zooms out from Sora protecting herself/Piyomon, you can see Yamato standing in front of her, shielding her. Then you get the scene from Sora’s perspective and you can then see Taichi standing/protecting her a bit further back.

Machinedramon and Gennai then appear again to attack (having recovered from Agumon and Gabumon, I guess), and we see Yamato raise his right arm out to protect Sora again. They also give us a second shot of this from further away where they look super tiny. Yay! 

(Is this shielding thing their ultimate portrayal of love? Even in the Digimon Adventure tri. Stage Play this past August 2017, they had Yamato shield Sora from Etemon. I’m not complaining, but . . . do something different!?)

The kids run away and somehow end up on a ship. (Sorry, I’m skimming this to all the Sorato-relevant bits . . . I can’t sit through an entire tri. film after my first watch.) We eventually get this scene:

Koushirou: “This won’t last much longer! Sora-san and Mochizuki-san, evacuate to a safer place!” Sora: “But . . .” Yamato: “We’ll be the bait!” *Runs off the ship with Taichi and Hikari following after him.*

Yamato immediately volunteers himself as bait to protect Sora! Yay! Yes, Meiko doesn’t exist, haha. JOKES. :p (I don’t know why Gennai is only after Sora and Meiko? lol. That’s how much the plot of tri. interests me . . ..)

And that’s it in Chapter 4!

Overall, I think Sorato could’ve been handled a lot better than it has been. Missed opportunity, and all that. Don’t get me wrong -- I still like and appreciate everything we got (minus the criticism I have for some choices), but let’s be real here: the tri. writers put fanservice above all else. You’re kidding yourself if you think otherwise.

Fanservice (and the money-spending that it tries to inspire) is the reason Takari and Koumi have been teased so much in tri. -- those two ships are UNRIVALLED in popularity in Japan. Takari and Koumi have virtually NO COMPETING SHIPS. Like, 90% of the Japanese shipping audience prefers Takari and Koumi to all the other ships that involve those respective characters (Daikari, Mimato, Joumi, etc.). In the meantime, Sorato has Taiora to compete with -- which is why we have all the ambiguity and triangle-baiting.

But I think it would have been better if tri. had put the actual story and characters first -- and just tried to progress the storyline with Sorato still dating in the background. (This, naturally, would advance Sora and Yamato’s characters too.) All the fanservice for Takari and Koumi could have been done for Sorato instead. (If tri. didn’t care so much about what they think would make them the most money . . . which is totally understandable, by the way. I’m not saying that Toei Animation has no business making money, ha.) Heck, that scene between Maki and Daigo in Chapter 4? That super cheesy over-the-top “love” scene? That was too much. Why not tone that scene down by about 9000 and have it happen between Sora and Yamato? (I’m joking.)

But you know what I’m trying to say, right? Tri. could have allotted that 1% of romance in the series to Sorato instead of teasing Takari and Koumi (because they lead nowhere . . .). I have nothing against Takari and Koumi (well, I find Koumi a little annoying now, thanks to tri. . . .), but these are the facts. Toei Animation could have gone with progressing Sorato over shipbaiting Takari and Koumi -- but they chose the latter to make more money (because more fans ship Takari/Koumi). I’m fine with their business choice, but I also think it’s a bit of a shame. Missed opportunity!

I really hope Chapter 5 is good. No more dumb writing, please! I think tri. Hikari is “cute” (I don’t actually like Hikari in Adventure or 02 . . .), but I don’t care at all for Meiko. But we’ll see. I always judge the writing, regardless of whether I like a character or not. So, please! Let’s do this, tri.!

(Maybe I’ll get the Sorato post for Chapter 5 out next week? HAHAHA. Everyone loves a good joke! XD)

[okimargarvez]

METEOROLOGY- Thunderstorm

Original title: Meteorology.

Prompt: climatic metaphors, phases of love.

Warning: none.

Genre: drama, romantic, comedy, angst, family, friendship.

Characters: Luke Alvez, Penelope Garcia, BAU team, Phil (Luke’s partner), Phil’s wife, Roxy, Derek Morgan.

Pairing: Garvez, Phil x Lucille.

Note: Multichapter.

Legend: 💏😘😈👓🔦🐶❗👨‍👩‍👧‍👦💍🎈.

Song mentioned: Via con me, Paolo Conte.

Meteorology- Masterlist

MY OTHER GARVEZ STORIES

This chapter is dedicated to @itsdawnashlie; is little, but I hope it can help.

THUNDERSTORM

Because one day you’ll understand, and you’ll recognize it, it will be a strong thunderstorm, then never pain again… (Tiziano Ferro)

 It suddenly bursts and lights the sky around you. It shakes the glass of the building, blocks people for a moment, as if God was taking a picture of the world with a blinding flash. -You brought the umbrella this time, Alvez?- when lightning ripping through the night, you're in front of the elevator. You nod.

"Yes, I have it." and you show it to her, pulling it out of the shoulder bag. -And you? - almost every one of yours sentences seems double: one half follows the normal direction, the other subtexts that correspond a top flirtatious.

-Actually no- she admits, giggling to dispose of embarrassment. -Fortunately, I have to do just a few feet before arriving at the metro stop.- she adds, just looking glimpse at you of the corner of her eye.

-No, I can ... I can accompany you.- the doors open and you get in, her first. For once the hail has stopped machine-gun you, she is evaluating seriously the option.

-It's big enough to cover both. - you say in your favor. She raises her shoulders and gives up.

-Oh, but only if you keep your hands to yourself!- both laugh at her banter, but in a low voice, avoiding that she may hear you, whisper, -I'll try ...-

Then you open the umbrella and touch her back, pushing her to stay below. -It's not so big ...- she says, looking at the left side of your body, completely wet. Like the first time you saw her, if you not calculate the subway, in passing. -Well, I'll let you put your arm around my shoulders, but pay attention to what you're doing.- her voice is halfway between a sweet and a mischievous tone.

You're afraid to do so, because this time you couldn't stop there, as you had when Reid was put into custody and after Stephen's death. Because this time you're alone and your arm on her shoulders wouldn't be just a comforting gesture. Not merely, at least.

A rumble covers the last sentence, so she's forced to repeat it, talking directly in your ear and transmitting chills along the entire spine. -I can't let you to become sick, then whoever say it to the others?- you swallow, and stop suddenly, a few steps from the entrance.

-Penelope ... - her name fused in unison with a groan.

-What's it?- she seems unaware of what makes you feel. -We're almost arrived ...- the woman is pushing you forward, but you can't do it. -Luke, are you okay? - it would be nice to believe she's really worried about you. -Is not like you're really sick, right?- Her voice cracks and she scans better at your face in search of some clue.

-Penelope, it's better that you go now ...- tighten your lips until whiten them. She looks at you even more weirder. A thunder catches her by surprise, sending her to shelter near the dry half of your body. -Please, Garcia, go, now.- you can feel her shapes molded to your muscles, the steam that radiates her breath. And when she raises her face to yours and your eyes cross, you understand that she is reading love shining like a neon in yours.

-Oh.- is all she can say before she tries to get away from you. You don't hold her, but you can’t let her wet.

-Take it ... keep the umbrella. - you suggest and in bringing it to her, your fingers touch again. Here's another flash, inside and out.

-But no, Luke, I can't ... - you realize that in these ten minutes she has pronounced your name at least three times and without paranoia.

You understand what is going to happen when she takes you by the hand, with the same naturalness as she had done the same gesture with the youngest of the team, the day you went to pick this last one out of prison. It's strange, and yet so right. She drags you to the shelter in the station. You close the umbrella and staring at her, in front of the turnstiles. Now your roads will split, at least for tonight. But tonight, there seemed to be something different in the air, if there ever was a day that you were near to change the current situation, to step forward, it's today. And if you lose this opportunity...

-Let's go, Luke.- she talks slowly, but at you seem she to be screaming. -Do you believe that I'm not afraid? I'm literally terrified. But ... now I would like you to kiss me, even if it was better outside, rain and lightning are so romantic, not...- but the rest of her delirium is canceled when you press your lips against hers, there in the middle of the entrance for the subway, among a lot of people who pass, hurried and indifferent, and someone who notices and commented on it. But you can only feel her, the not excessive sweetness of her flavor, her cold hands on your neck, and see her eyes shut as soon as your mouth touches hers. -Wow.- is her judgment.

 -Wow.- he makes you echo, totally agreed with you -Maybe we should move, don't you think?- he murmured.

-Don't you like to be in the center of attention, Alvez?- he smiles, giggling and approaches to your face, tearing off you another kiss.

-Just yours ...- he whispers and make you shake.

-Yeah, better if we go.- you decrees, slipping your hand in his again, and you feel a thousand tingling in your fingers. You look at him for a moment and then you look away, fearing the intensity of the feelings you feel for him, now it came out of the closet.

-Your house or mine? - you're scandalized, as if it were not clear that you two would end up spending the night together, from the time he proposed to accompany you to the subway stop. In the meantime, you go through the turnstiles and get in front of the next junction; but the choice is automatic.

-Silly questions, newbie!- you give him a pinch on his cheek and take the direction which leadings to his apartment. -You have Roxy, there's no competition. - he reaches you and grabs you for hip.

-How much I love that dog!- he exclaims exaggerated, theatrical, raising his eyes to heaven as if to thank some benevolent divinity. -But how do you know where ...- doesn't end the question, taking your gaze from "Garcia on the field". -Again, silly request.- you make an assertive gesture.

- Very stupid ... - you give him some other kisses while waiting for the train .-If I had waited for you to make the first move, we would still getting the water, right?- he nods, becoming serious. -Then I'm so glad then I'm crazy!- he caresses your cheeks and then the lobe of the ear, without knowing that he's going to touch a neuralgic point. Put your head on his shoulder, trying to take you back. To contain yourself.

-I'm crazy. For you.- you close your eyes as you hear the noise that warns the presents that the train is coming. You cling to him.

-If you don't want to scandal everyone and end up in all the newspapers of tomorrow, do not open more mouth until we're safe, sheltering behind four walls. You got me?- he nods, the growl out of his throat after your statement is happily covered by the stride of the public transport when it stops. You get on board last; there aren't many people, it's almost midnight, so you can sit down. When the convoy comes out in the open air, you're immediately dazzled by a flash. -Is still raining...- you say almost without addressing to anyone in particular.

-If I had known that some rumble and some water would suffice, I would have paid a meteorologist, my friend, who owes me more than one favor!- he replies, breaking the ban you have imposed on him, but you decide to overlook.

-Stupid, stupid ... - the apostrophe, you whisper to him sounding extremely tender. -How much you're stupid?- then he stops you from going further, pressing his mouth again on yours. -You're tremendous.- he only responds with his eyes.

Is still pouring rain when you get off and he opens the umbrella to repair you. -Can I stretch my hands now?- he asks only after putting his arm on your hip. You rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed. Finally, you come to his home, but there is no time to look around and poke around, to understand him through the places he lives. And he thinks the same. As soon as the door slam, Roxy comes to say hello to you, enthusiastic about the guest. After this step, the man grabs your face firmly and presses you against the wall. -It's the time has come to find out who wears the pants...- he whispers, the roaring voice, between a kiss and the other.

Your hands end up on the zip of his jeans. -Not for long ...- you replay. So he begins to work first on the jacket, then on the vest, puts his hands on both sides of your breasts, struggling to hold them both.

-Better than what I had dreamed ...- Luke exclaims and you moan without refrain yourself, because if there's a mistake you've made, it was taken so much time to show yourself at him. Then, while you're both partially stripped down, you remember he's still wet.

You get away a little too abruptly, making him worry without wanting it. He fears that you are regret this. -Your clothes.- you hasten to explain to him. -They're still damp. I do not want you to get sick of it really.- he notice the seriousness in your tone and in your gaze and he nods. But then he goes back malicious.

-So you finish to take them off.- and that's exactly what you do. In a break you look at each other and realize you've got the same idea. He leads you to the bathroom and then into the tub. -Nothing better than a little hot water when out there is so cold and humid.- he says, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You, who was leaning on his chest, letting your hair sink in the water, becoming darker, lift your head. -You made me think of a song. I don't remember the title, or anyone who sang it ... but it did say ... somehow ... "away, away, come away with me, come in and get a hot bath, there’s an azure bathrobe, out rains a cold world...” - you try to sing it, not reaching big results (according to you). His hand ends on the tap; closes it. The flow of water current is replaced again from the natural one of the heavy rain, while the lights’ concert continued, like it has intended to never stop.

How did that line in that movie? It can't rain at all the time. But it's another story and it does not matter to you right now. The only thing that you think is that there's nothing more poetic than making love while outside is unleashed pandemonium. And your hearts follow the rhythm of thunder, the alternation between lightning and lightning, then they slow down until they find the right time, in the abandonment of the senses, the bodies wrapped in blankets, tight, some drops still beating on the glass, solitary.

________________________________________________ Note: the phrase sung by Penelope is taken from the wonderful song by Paolo Conte, "Via con me"

[ratherhavetheblues]

INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘IN THE PRESENCE OF A CLOWN’ “I wonder why I love you as I do…”

© 2020 by James Clark

     In 1997, at the age of 80, Ingmar Bergman saw fit to return to his 1980 film, From the Life of the Marionettes, in order to disclose the further range to be found in its turmoil and small triumph. That would have been long after those “in the know about films” had figured out and concluded for others that the maestro had nothing new to show. But those very small numbers ignoring their “betters,” could be beneficiaries of exciting times, far surpassing our many masters of the viral.

From the Life of the Marionettes, telescoping, in fact, back an eye-opener of a film from the days when Bergman’s numbers were not meagre, namely, Scenes from a Marriage (1973), the crux of the matter becomes “speaking the same language.” Most invested in that action would be the language of patricians (white-hot pedants), not nearly as bright and constructive as they think they are, but knowing where the money and dominance are. The 1980 blood-bath studies what can happen when couples dare not to speak the same language.

In the film, In the Presence of a Clown (1997), there is dissonance so massively distributed that clarifying its true conflict becomes quite a struggle, a struggle worth mastering. One way of cutting to the heart of our work is the Bergman standby of optical, dialectical apparitions, wielded marvelously by a remarkable roster of great cinematographers, in this case, Tony Forsberg. The first moment gives us a murky setting and a hand moving  a stylus to a vinyl disc. Two agencies awaiting magic. The label is a rusty-red. In the Bergman film, Dreams (1955), the first scene involves a hand, in semi-darkness, pressing upon a sheet of paper immersed in a photographic solution, by which to disclose a large image of a woman’s lips. Coming into play with this nocturnal effort is Salvador Dali’s creation of, “Mae West Sofa,” a surrealist icon. At the outset of, From the Life of the Marionettes, a prostitute in a brothel, showing pronounced red lips in close-up, dies horribly, but not before disclosing a surprising gift for beauty and verbal expression. You’d think each film, therefore, might implicitly be about not speaking the language of sharp advantage, daring to have a go as an innovator of sensibility. And yes, it does. But, oh, what tiny steps being made! In the film, In the Presence of a Clown, we have permission to untangle the death throes of those being imprisoned by cowardly partners, and their own backsliding.

    Whereas the protagonist in the latter film, namely, Carl Akerblom, is a patient in a mental hospital when first we meet him, he also (somewhat) belongs to three lamps shining from the ceiling of his confinement. Each light has a function within a strange and essential logic: one for survival; one for ecstasy; and, the third, a synthesis of the other two. To make those lights become everything, special actions are needed. Our film is resolved in getting what is needed. At this moment, Carl seems to be clueless about the sophistication peeking in. He inhabits a large room, painted grey, where he is the only inhabitant, along with many other empty beds. We soon learn that he had attempted murdering his fiance, Pauline (she being a Peril of Pauline, in the mold of Marionettes’ Peter, as in Peter Pan). That could account for his isolation. But, in an interview that morning (the doctor interrupting his vinyl) the thrust of narrative becomes Carl’s verve for music, in face of a blotto of a specialist (like the blotto of the mental specialist in, From the Life of the Marionettes), putting him in the driver’s seat of being a candidate of making that dialectic click. (The wintry scene out of two tall windows is supplied with a lovely tree in the snowy grounds. With the patient lying back on his bed, we see, on a little ledge, three small flower pots. Two support tiny flowers. The third is empty. The doctor’s surname is Egermann, that being the surname of Peter the effete butcher in the brothel.) As Carl digs into the woeful biography of Franz Schubert, by way of a rather hostile challenge to the doctor to admit he’d have a “sinking feeling,” were he such an artist, we are directed to his hands and his shaking fingers. (Hold that last thought.)

   Just as we become rather skeptical of Carl as having the right stuff, Pauline, whom he had refused to see, breaches the blockade to an upshot of increased confusion. Wearing a smart Louise Brooks hair style—the year is 1925—her sylphlike presence is a contrast to Carl’s many pounds. But her arrival, coinciding with his being unable to offset a bowl movement, must seriously become an even greater impediment to future interplay. She has three buttons across her coat. On entry, she found room 2A (without a third). She lights up a cigarette, the first of many, reminding us of unfit Harry and his chain-smoking, in the 1980 film. (Does she flounder like Harry?) When Carl returns, in some array, and she tells him, “You can’t escape me,” you wouldn’t place any bets on her. She has a bandage over her forehead, and he declares, “It was your fault…” (What happened to poetry?) The musician declares, “If you’ve come to reap my contrition, you’ll get none of it… What can you have come for? The cheap triumph of seeing your future husband’s total humiliation?” She retorts, “I certainly didn’t need to come here to see your humiliation. That’s been a daily bitter diet…” Carl’s shifting the patter is something new and, at the same time, something old. “Here comes the bit about my stepmother and her jealousy…” (Here, also, is the time to realize that the rich theatrical component of Bergman’s effort—however non-readers would bridle—offers drama, not only thrilling, but unprecedented, in any field. Along, therefore, with dazzling cinematography.)

   While this vague reprise of Hollywood screwball comedy, being impressively brought to life by the Bergman film, A Lesson in Love (1954), settles in, we are blindsided with Carl’s dotage upon the supposed sanctity of Schubert, to the outcome of putting together a homage whereby a silent film would be supplemented by actors speaking and musicians playing, a roadshow hopefully plumbing marvels of creative taste and power. There has been much more at the asylum between the doctor’s visit and Pauline’s visit, and now is the time to dispense with screwball comedy and begin to broach something even Bergman had never attempted before. First of all, there is a bit more craziness in the form of another of Carl’s shut-ins, one Osvald Vogler, a retired professor of exegetics (exegetics being a critical explanation of a written work, especially the Bible). Where he sits there are, in Carl’s big domaine, there are two empty flower pots. The name, “Vogler,” has a spotted career in Bergman films—pertaining to fakery, as with Persona, The Magician and Hour of the Wolf. Carl immediately takes an aversion to the academic’s vanity, and threatens, “I’m sicker than I look.” The lecturer peppers the protagonist (and us) about “inner freedom,” and though he’s another Mad Hatter, he has a sensibility to, like a tornado, dig up random gems along with the garbage. “Subjective by self-conceived… by self unfortunately destroyed… What we call inner freedom as it is so complex that can’t be codified, analyzed or classified… For freedom is the most elevated characteristic in the human spirit… the ancient source of the Sacred One and the literal immortality of Life.” Carl tries to talk about Schubert, but Vogler is now buried in a book. He does remark, “My wife is a deaf mute. She is also rich, and I live well on her wealth” [the source of the supposed new arts]. Vogler, now troubled, comes up to Carl where he is lying on his bed.  The latter takes the troubled man’s wrists to calm him; and Carl’s hand and fingers are once again featured. Now back to his confidence, Vogler asks the new friend, “What kind of ill-health forces you to dwell in these depressing premises?” And our bemusing protagonist chronicles the violence: “The person who tried to help me out of a terrifying difficulty was rewarded with a murderous blow, so that the skin on the forehead split and blood spurted…” He goes on to claim that the incident is nothing to him; but that Schubert is. (Much more dialogue is in store here and in many other contexts. But we must distinguish between the saga’s need to convey to the film audience the crushing deadness of the situation, which affords a cue to some positivity; and our essay’s need to focus here upon a kernel of very rare and very difficult and very crucial need, which will never register to many.)

   Carl bribes his motherly nurse to forego his tranquilizers, and then he makes her listen to a bedtime story she’d rather not hear. “Sit here and I’ll tell you everything… In the old days, they used to punish criminals by sticking a sharpened wood stake into the delinquent’s arse.” (Peter the patrician meted out a similar punishment to the prostitute in Marionettes.) He adds, “The point gradually comes out, at the back of the neck… Then they raised the stake by the river, and there the wretch hung. That’s what it’s like, Sister Stella. I’ve threaded on a stake… I’ve become a sight worth seeing…” (“The person who tried to help me out,” would have been a “delinquent,” exposing a shaky bourgeoisie to depredation.) Therefore, the rally, “Don’t think I’m asking for pity, like Jesus or Mahler…or for that matter, Swedenborg [an eighteen century, Swedish mystic, and Vogler’s hero], that sentimental old whiner… Schubert Franz, he’s my friend, my beloved brother…”) He thinks to end the night smugly with, “What theatre! What an audience!” But something shoots down the arrogance and hate.

Carl (and also Vogler) want to believe that the many hours they have put into their obscure repertoires must result in a better world. That they have landed in a place implying incompetence would not necessarily rule out a singular power; but the tenor of their explications are so transparently shabby, they now stand exposed as pathetic and virulent menaces, as with the half-wit doctor in Marionettes. Therefore, after boring the nurse with his bravado, he lies alone in his bed and ushers in a phantom not trammeled with soft lies. In the 1980 film, a murderer’s wife is far more concerned with the dead victim-prostitute than a live husband in a mental hospital. Her emotive make-up becomes a compass to take off as a free-lancer, a free lover. That compass returns to Carl’s bedroom, to haunt his cowardice (Vogel’s filibuster on behalf of “freedom” never giving a thought to courage). Emanating from the snowy atmosphere outside, we find that a strange presence has lingered after his Ted Talk. His spent candle has formed an angry-looking head. The apparition, all white with a white clown hat, focuses down to her fingers, very long and with very long fingernails. She turns out to be an expert in producing an odd kinetic residue from out of those fingers. Panning back to disclose her face, we have a huge ear [picking up what mediocrities like Carl and Vogler refuse to attend to, which is to say, being tone deaf] and an elaborate eyebrow [involving what the celebrated geniuses of our planet refuse to recognize]—one of the surrealist touches in Bergman’s film, Dreams. By contrast, she has lost several teeth. (When close to killing Pauline, Carl’s frenzy included grinding out many of his teeth.) He asks, “Have you been here long?/ “Quite a while… Quite a while,” she recalls. (In fact, thousands of years.) He tries to rationalize by asking, “Am I not quite awake, sir?” Her emphatic, “No” does nothing to calm him. Her sprightly dance to come close to him is rapid and graceful, recalling the hooker’s surprising homage to the smells of the seasons. She shoves the pitcher from the little table by the bed, and curls up on it with a smile implying her few years of problematic action. Her suppleness and equilibrium announce a dimension which fat, awkward Carl knows nothing about. The stab-wound on her chest becomes apparent, but she, disregarding it from out of a twilight-reservoir no longer human but having done her part, cordially asks him, “How are you?” He admits he’s bored (something he’d never have admitted to a person), and she follows with, “How are you, Mr. Torneman?”/ “Torneman was my cousin,” he reports, “who died. He was a clever clown. He scared the life out of me when I was little…” She laughs, “For that matter, I’m no mister,” and she happily shows her breasts and adopts a come-hither attitude, a residue of her former job. (She and Torneman, having done their tiny part in an infinite and perverse cosmos.) She fiddles with her nipples; and in so doing she lines up far to a side of the luminous windows. Carl finally comes to the crux of his nightmare. “One says that one is not afraid. ‘Why should I be afraid? As there is no life after death. For there isn’t, is there?’” She replies, “I don’t go around with secrets. Is that clear?” (Maybe it should be put as, “There’s a paradox,” a paradox which Pauline will approach slightly more effectively than the Clown.) Be that as it may, the flighty Clown, replying to Carl’s, “But aren’t you all alone at the actual moment?” by nodding yes and saying, “Alone. Inevitably,” may, for all her grace, be missing something, something Pauline, “The person who tried to help me out,” might see something very rare and very necessary. The Clown teases Carl for his apparent mania about fast and shattering locomotives. Both voices cover the cliché. She covers one of his eyes to calm him. Then she stands in that blue light and her fingers look like candles. The rendezvous collapses, as did the show for the nurse—the clown drawing Carl to approximate the savaging of her, “Inevitability.”

   Despite her solid insight that Carl was, and always will be, a Lost Boy, in the mold of Peter Pan, the killer of the Clown, and the enthusiast of speaking the same language of advantage and nothing more, Pauline, in face of the mute’s monetary wealth and the boys’ garrulous showiness, gushes, “It sounds revolutionary!” Despite her soon having second thoughts—the fiancé intent upon quality pens and writing paper—she allows herself to be persuaded by his, “Let your young heart be enthused, my darling. Just for once.” Amongst the launch, one statement is too jarring to overlook, being quintessentially ironic. “New ideas produce new money!” While emphasizing the happy days just around the corner, he mimes fingers counting all that “new money.” So close to activating a true “revolution;” and so hopelessly lost. An even more pointed action within this tizzy wells up from Pauline (now recognized as the main protagonist). “I wonder why I love you as I do [when recognizing he’ll never reach heights she can demand of herself]… What do you want with other ladies… when the clear-sightedness that afflicts me quite often these days strikes? I don’t understand why I actually love you…But now, as you sit there, holding forth on your living, talking film and all we are going to do together, I just want to cry and fall to my knees…” (Later we’ll better understand her passion. His woolen sweater has spilled beyond his jacket, recalling the sheep being killed by a passion of cowardice, in the film, The Passion of Anna [1969]. She completes a frieze of a squire, kneeling to her king. [Don’t take it naively. Wait till the last scene.])

The tour is, of course, stillborn. But where we catch up to the disaster, at the village where Carl sort of grew up as a descendent of an uber-bourgeois family, the spotlight is upon Pauline and the nature of her peril and accomplishment. The wordy two, being rank amateurs, have produced an incoherent and saccharin waste of time in homage to Schubert. But Pauline’s endeavor, at a snowbound but canny locale, is a drama of the highest stripe.

   The ingenue of the film (and Carl’s current squeeze) bitches once too often about the lack of majesty, and our real protagonist, having been doing the ironing, opens the subject of placing the hot implement upon her pretty face. Exit the talking ingenue. In the midst of that unpleasantness, Pauline explains, “There comes a point where nothing is of any importance.” (That happens to be a serious mistake which she’ll have to work on. And she will.) In contrast to that rather farcical disappearance, the cinematographer is magic itself, namely, actor, Robert Atzorn, who played the role of Peter, the skittish murderer, in Marionettes. His “Petrus” is a disinterested craftsman and well aware that the spectacle is rotten. During the long night of bathos in the snow he countenances Carl’s stupidity and dangerously using coins to juice up the electrical power, a state of affairs soon wrecking the night’s flicks and placing the technician in serious danger. (Twice along this flop, Petrus is left bleeding and writhing in pain, while putting out the inevitable fires. Carl, the artiste, had left the cameraman with the slogan, “The worst that can happen is that the Temperance Hall blows up.”)

Actually, the theatrical blow-up begins hours before the talkie does a U-turn and becomes a salon. (Here Pauline’s pointless alert, that she had been outnumbered in trying to establish coherence amidst almost complete folly, establishes her lack of grip in face of a peril requiring serious ruthlessness.) Carl’s step-mother announces (Carl roaming the snowbanks), “I have come to take my foolish stepson home…I care for this careless old child. I want to give him a little security…” (Security being the watchword of Anna, the bloodthirsty fascist, in The Passion of Anna. Here, though, as was another possessive mother, in Marionettes, the passion and depth of feeling of the younger woman transcends hard advantages of law and culture, and goes on to somewhat annul the relationship in her preferred way.)

   Even more stunning a reversal of the hard-wired clowns are the patrons that night, seeing unbeknownst, the final show. You’d never know from the rich stepmother that riches of sensibility burn in those frozen wastes. But, with the new, brave Peter taking the tickets, and Carl providing little bios for the crew, we come to realize that hard lives can be lovely comets. A teacher from another town has skied to the theatre. A lady whose husband committed suicide looks for enlightenment. A man  who can barely walk can would be always counted in the audience, “if it’s a question of culture.” “Superintendent Larsson…  comes for the new…” “Fredrick Blom was a cantor and took to drink. He has a small pension and does research into chorales from the area.” (Where the latter sits, a delicate, undulating pattern appears on the wall. Such alertness is not to be gratified by the show. But its traction is a gift to Pauline, going forward.)

The approximation of the illiterate nonsense, in lieu of the broken technology, appalls the reflective gathering, and appalls Petrus and Pauline—the latter having her backside spanked, not to be missed by the supposed wit; along with Vogler, completely breaking down and having to be taken back to where he belongs. (“Your entrails will come out of your shameful orifices…”) At an interlude, one of the less sophisticated souls, comes up to Pauline and asks, “Are there many acts? I was supposed to be home by 11… I wasn’t asking because it was dull…” Over that coffee break, the teacher, seeing fit to provide a touch of maturity and class, asks, “I would like to read something… I found it long ago in a book. It’s the story of a man seeking his way. It’s as if seeking had become the main thing… and was concealing what he was seeking. The author writes, ‘You complain that you cry out, and that God doesn’t reply. You feel imprisoned and you’re afraid that it is a life sentence… [a painted backdrop of hills and verdancy is in view]… although no one has said anything. Consider, then, that you are your own judge and jailor. Prisoner, leave your prison! To your astonishment you will find that no one will stop you. The reality outside prison is indeed terrifying, but never as terrifying as your own anguish down in that locked room…’ [She continues, knowing by heart, since she is in fact the writer]… Take your first step toward freedom. It is not difficult. The second step is more difficult; but never allow yourself to be defeated by your [puny] jailers, who are only your own fear and your own pride.��� The applause that follows is rudely interfered with, by Carl (one of those fearful jailers), causing a distraction by urging the folks to have some coffee, and thereupon ordering, “Now we must begin Act II.” Act II has one non-bilious moment. While relating Schubert’s demise, Carl, the careless old child, frightens his baby-soft gut and the Clown and the surreal blue light reappear to glare him down. He says, “I’m sinking.” Then he’s silent for a few moments, listening to the music. “I’m not sinking,” he declares. “I’m rising…” What can Pauline make of this? (He goes on to offer an elderly lady his help with early morning milking.) The dreadful entertainment has a grateful end. The viewers’ exits, however, are absorbing. The teacher comes over to Pauline (whose piano accompaniment in the piece is a rare aspect of seriousness), and tells her, “I want to give you this writing.” (Two glowing windows and the two women in between.) Pauline’s thank-you lacks weight. In many Bergman films, a remarkable effort of sensibility is met with puny response. (We’ll soon find out if the piano player has an A-game.) She’s a bit more touched by the researcher’s explicit praise, “Thank you for the lovely music, Miss. I interpret the Schubert sonata differently. No criticism intended. It was lovely, though somewhat feminine for my taste. But absolutely lovely. Thank you…” Near the end of the departures, a jumbled man, past his bedtime, tells the surviving performers, “This has been a great rendering of real art. Excuse me for saying so, but the play was greater than the film. Thanks, again!” Carl quickly figured out that the patron hated the dog, and enjoyed the story and the company of connoisseurs. His face shows him as, “my foolish stepson.” What can Pauline make of this?

It’s been a ragged night, after a ragged tour, and she makes a fool of herself before a bedtime she might have been able to be balance from. His sister (one of the theatre goers that night), having apparently the family instinct for avoiding any part of art (along with an estranged husband named, Mr. Bergman), invites the thespians (in the name of the stepmother) to stay the night at the estate. Pauline (a few hours before, having charmed the old girl and shared some sherry together) becoming viral, tells the breeder, “How very kind of Mrs. Akerblom. I wouldn’t grant her such a triumph…” The sister-in-law asks Carl, “Come and do some conjuring,” Carl having made far more progress as an uncle than an artist. It also seems that the uncle excels in diplomacy; but that, to our shock, is far from the facts.

   In the night, in the busted theatre, with the spent wax looking like a monster, the spirit of a poetic outrage flares again. She steps beyond a curtain, close to the chair where Pauline was sleeping. Carl wakes up, the non-event with his stepmother festering like a mortal wound. She, now awake, and knowing she had been crude in the way the film was crude, she asks, “Are you angry about something?” His reply—“Are you going to send me back to the asylum?”—conceals an agenda of advantage and humiliation. In a flash, she guarantees that he can forever be a clown. “Come over here. Come…” Carl places his head on her chest. “You’re lying!” he blurts out, like a child. “You never know the truth!” Her, “Do as you like. Just don’t think I’m afraid,” bristles with her disgust with his personal superficiality and stunted, vomitistically precious family. He pounces, pressing his thumbs under her eyes. She asks. “Am I going to die now?” He melodramatically replies, “Perhaps we both are.” She then fires back, “That’s all right with me!” That leads Carl to take away his thumbs, and he shuts his eyes and breathes heavily. He falls to his knees. She looks outside for that wise light, only now having an incisive carnal taste of her antimajoritarian direction. He pouts, “I would like to say that my step-mother is an amiable lady” His legacy concerning wholesome and clever relatives must, from her, find a way beyond hate. Carl on the screen: “For Christ’s sake, it’s my nursery, Pauline… Then we would have sat for yet another while by the fire… She [the step-mother] would have taken you by the wrist and thanked you for having taken responsibility for me…” A Lost Boy. Would she always be his servant? The Clown makes a trio in the uncanny night. (A lost trio?) Katarina would leave Peter to his Teddy Bear, in Marionettes. What will Pauline do about Carl? Here, he would go on to approaching slashing his wrists with scissors. (The staff of the mental hospital where Peter ends up notes that the once-executive must be always under scrutiny against suicide.) She would use the chorus-cliché, “If you die, I don’t want to go on living.” On a more promising note, she declares, “You know you can wake me whenever you want.” But also she has to assimilate that this is a blow-up which has occurred hundreds of times. She gets up from the chair where she was sleeping. A face is imprinted in the cloth. She places her face upon his bended head. Her fingers move into a new site. How about the rest of her?

We have ample evidence to see that Pauline, like Katarina, will make a great change beyond the film per se. Whereas Peter had come to a point where he could not sustain any relationship with Katarina, it is possible that the “conjurer” has enough love on the ball to suit Pauline’s needs. Although, within the madhouse of Carl’s and Vogler’s drivel, she could not think effectively, there are agencies lovingly nudging her to her real presence. One, as already known, becomes a fusion of her moving fingers, with moving, dynamics, itself. When placed to perfection, a world beyond advantage (beyond religion and science) comes along. A third force having been subjected to mass nullity. Moreover, a towering power had been put into her frazzled hands that last night of the crazy promenade concert, by an out-of-the-way genius—in fact, an oracle, a skiing oracle. (Bergman’s last and most thrilling of a long series of oracles tolerating a poisonous, ridiculous normality. As a sidebar, though totally lacking serious reflection, Vogler and Carl [despite hiding their outlaw verve] knew that something important had been overlooked.) The backwoods teacher had given Pauline a map to the country of her true home, a country in love with disinterested “knack” (a best gift, in the film, Marionettes). The Clown, with her deadly and joyous knack of revealing that most of humankind cannot countenance its reality, never really registers (on film) with Pauline, while she drives Carl to near suffocation three times, during that last hopeless night.  But with this lonely, beset upon woman-protagonist being a survivor as well as a victim, things can, in fact, happen for the best.

   For the first and only time in Bergman’s career (this being his swan song) he encourages others to show what his protagonist could do, beyond reaching out to his partner and his family with civility. Carl, never to attain being a figure of personal love, perhaps would attain being a figure implicated in gusto along lines of her cosmic love. The oracle counsels a “first step,” away from cowardice, away from the norm. That coincides with the loaded hand (or other bodily features becoming a switch), the motion of elicitation from a cosmos needing finite love to fully complete the knack (that “menace” of creative, emotive force, being regarded as impious by the billions of religionists and being regarded as “soft,” frivolous, by the billions of smart, crude and intrinsically cowardly drones of science—well aware, on the fly, of emotive gratifications, but reflexively trashed as a secondary item). That loaded hand which we share carries two intertwined galaxies: a thrust of delight in dance with inventions of that play—as with the beauties of sunset, which happily dovetail to our eventual death, our eventual, loving, total disappearance; and a thrust to cue the myriad crafts to create the riches of sentience. Our option, therewith, to build when the vagaries of Lost Boys and Lost Girls permit; and a harbor of play, when they don’t.

Pauline, certainly knowing much about perils, could cull from Carl his range of conjuring. Could he appreciate her skills and her needs? Impossible! As impossible as Peter Pan in his cell, flitting hopelessly with his hands against a bright window in search of an adult traction, in From the Life of the Marionettes. Finding rich possibilities in others becomes a career for her, a career she very well might come to understand as impossible (despite fine pleasures), in light of all that has been already cemented on planet earth.

[did-i-fucking-stutter]

Late Night Rant

Topic: Finding the Right Career when you are Interested in Absolutely Everything

⚠️Warning: Personal. Feel free to ignore⚠️

Okay, so I've mentioned before that my family has molded this idea of "stable" and "useful" careers into my head.

Examples: Engineering, nursing, medicine, science, mechanic, biology, law, agriculture...

Anything you can work on with your hands that is a necessity to society and vital for its success.

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Backstory/Life Story:

I've always been drawn to creative things from a young age. I loved to dance, sing, draw, etc. as a kid and picked up the violin in middle school (though I would have rather played the cello or joined the band to try a wider variety of instruments). I landed a small speaking role in a musical in my first year of middle school, but didn't follow through in my later years because I was already locked into 3 years of Orchestra (my director saw my potential on the violin) and 3 years of Art classes (my teacher saw I had potential there too) and couldn't take any more year-long elective credits (even though my drama teacher really wanted to expand upon my potential). I wanted to join the choir in high school but didn't because of my commitment to trying my damnest to pass physics and AP Calculus, which, spoiler alert, didn't work out. I failed both of those classes twice, but continued to force myself to try at it again. Why?

Because they were topics that interested me.

Let me give you a picture:

Elementary school: didn't do pre-k, transferred schools twice, lost my 1st best friend from 2nd->3rd grade

Music: Loved it. Was dedicated to mastering the recorder and loved to learn new songs and sing along to them. Obsessed with HSM, Camp Rock, Barbie musicals.

Art: Wasn't good at first but once I met my best friend hoo boy I dedicated my time to improving. Loved to express myself through multiple mediums.

Writing: A teacher helped me expand upon it and I kinda liked it.

Science: Oh hell yeah. I was always down for learning how the world worked through models, demonstrations, observations, etc.

Math: Found out about negative numbers in 1st grade. Fascinated. Had a teacher in 2nd grade who thought teaching multiplication wasn't important which set me up for total humiliation the next year when I transferred to a new school. Sucked at math ever since.

Reading: Loved the shit out of it. Fantasy especially, but historical fiction was good too (◡‿◡✿)

Personal: Parents split my 2nd grade year. Saw my dad every Friday, when the 3 of us would play games and watch movies. My dad and I would go to the library and rent out the yugioh DVDs. He taught me to play. Mom worked nights so I bonded with my grandparents a lot.

Middle school: None of my friends went to my middle school. I was pretty alone until 7th->8th grade oh boy here we go

Math: Still sucked, continued to suck throughout

Writing: Wrote a story once for an assignment and the teacher loved it, inspiring me to improve on my creative writing and flourish. [My first fanfiction was also written during this time]

Science: Yeah the concepts were cool but I did NOT take kindly to homework. My grades plummeted. Started taking a liking to astronomy through the tiny-ass segments we were taught because my teacher was a bio major. [Tried to pass astronomy observations as my science fair project once. Didn't work]

Art: Favorite class of middle school. I wasn't too good at first but when my teacher had me practice a wide variety of subjects and mediums, I improved drastically. By the time I left I had partnered with another girl to paint a french horn on a 5 foot canvas that still hangs in the cafeteria. Also took a couple digital design classes which helped me get into my high school of choice. Loved those too because they gave me a chance to explore Photoshop.

Drama: Teacher said I had a natural talent and tried to ease me out of my stage fright. She got super possessive when I considered furthering my drama career, disappointed when I didn't stay. [Also did Odyssey of the Mind all throughout]

Music: Orchestra. Picked up a violin for the first time and was chained to it at the open house by my teacher. I love her but oh my god I wanted to play the cello. I was pretty okay at it and tried experimenting/learning on my own. Liked to sing on my own time.

Personal: Parents got back together, still fought. I started watching YouTube to feel less alone. Speedpaints, anime clips, animations, etc. PewDiePie, Smosh, and Spottedfire25 were the ones I latched onto the hardest until I found Markiplier and Jacksepticeye. I got introduced into so many animes which stole away so much of my time. Started trying to draw more and posted a few youtube videos (now privated).

High School: oh god it all goes down from here

English: Flourished in creative writing. Loved analyzing literature.

Math: Sucked throughout high school but when I managed to BS my way into calculus, holy shit. I loved the concepts to bits. I had 0 idea of the math behind it but loved what it did and what it meant!

Science: Biology was pretty okay, had some interesting concepts. Chemistry was a blast when you put my low work ethic and test performance aside. Physics was AMAZING. Exactly the same problem as calculus. I LOVED the concepts but couldn't put my brain to do the math.

Music: Played the violin all throughout high school. I tried to switch multiple times to either choir or a different instrument but my director locked me into playing the violin. HOWEVER: The Idylls of Pegasus, Across the Wind, Danse Macabre, The Stormchasers, etc., struck a chord with me. When I played the harmony in MANY pieces, I connected with it personally. I felt my love for music grow. Just not for the people involved.

Art: Suffered. I only took 2 semesters of art in high school and I regret not seeing it through.

JROTC: A blast. An Absolute Delight TM. Thanks to this program I started to take responsibility for my actions and realize my potential for leadership. I pushed myself further than I ever had before (until I got in my relationship. Something happened and my fire dwindled. Still don't know why.) Also shoutout to my instructor who called me out on my BS when I started faking illnesses to avoid participation my junior year. He said what needed to be said and I wouldn't be getting help as soon as I am if it weren't for him. Thanks 'Dad' :). Regret not pushing myself further. Inspired to join ROTC. Considered joining Air Force.

Personal: My best friend from middle school and I got into a huge falling out that tore me away from most of my friends my freshman year. Dated someone for the first time my sophomore year (probably to hide the pain and also maybe bc I was in bisexual denial?? but he was sweet and I wanted to help him). Got super close with one friend but otherwise my connections felt weak. Nothing like what I had with ex-friend. Super into YouTube. Got more involved with the "Big 3" and watched more anime to pass the time.

University: An absolute hellhole

Any subject: great! I love it and am fully invested for the first month and a half before crashing and burning because I always feel lost, like I don't belong, like Im not where I'm meant to be.

Backstory over

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Summary: I'm pretty average at a lot of things and don't really excel in anything. I love to learn about literally anything and am having a super hard time deciding on a career. This has led me to failing at least one class every semester for the past 3 semesters and I'm tired of falling into the same shitty pattern. I'm going to see someone about my issues this winter, but un the mean time my GPA is suffering. I'm already on Academic Warning and fear being kicked out of the university and ruining my chances at a future. Every time I try to go to class my anxiety gets the best of me and I end up staying in my room, only occasionally doing work that is due.

I want to do creative things but I don't know how to convince myself and my family that I'll be able to provide for them and myself through doing so. Also I do love the ideas of other jobs as well, but I don't think engineering is for me. I'm scared to let go of it in fear of disappointing my grandpa. The one man in my family whose judgement and respect I always and immediately take to heart.

My family and their approval means everything to me, since they're all I've ever really known in terms of stability.

I don't know what to do.