#and i hate when people pull a 'representation matters' to ignore what is staring us right in the face because they think the creators

[currymanganese]

Girl, what? So wtf was the Alley Talk in Brigade, the Stock Talk in Sheridan, the Family Style-Two-Tops-Booths? Talk in Braciole, the Apartment Talk in Pasta and the Table Talk in Omelette??? Not to mention Syd and Carmy hugging it out post fire suppression test in Bolognese and staring lovingly into each other's eyes right in front of Marcus in Omelette?🤨

[sevlgi]

hit and run

requested: no

group: blackpink

pairing: rosé x fem!reader

genre: a  shit ton of angst, some fluff

contents: idol!rosé, actress!y/n, closeted!rosé, costar!au, slight enemies-to-lovers, unhappy endings because i’m a bitch, a lot of attempted cinematic parallels, italicized dialogue is when they’re speaking as their characters

warnings: slight homophobia

synopsis: There’s absolutely no reason for you to get involved with a costar who you should hate by all accounts. But of course, you manage to forget that love is usually more like a hit-and-run than a cruise ship. 

a/n: while i was writing this, i  imagined this as what happened before rosie sang “gone”, so maybe you can think of it like that too? i’m honestly so terrified of this flopping lmao... 

for a little background on the film: Y/N plays Luna, a pirate captain who unknowingly sacrificed her family in order to have the power to fight the regime that Rosé’s character Helen is a part of. Helen approaches Luna, determined to help her bring justice, but Helen is unable to choose between the benefits of staying with the regime, and following what she knows is right and destroying her life as a result.

word count: 6.8k

The last thing you want to hear on the morning of your first script reading is that the actress playing your love interest in the film has changed.

“What?” you say loudly, straightening in the backseat. Your manager frowns, and you sit obediently, but the scowl doesn’t leave your face. “What do you mean the actress changed?”

“Yeah. She had to leave the movie at the last minute,” he sighs.

Sooyoung was chosen alongside you, after lengthy interviews testing whether the two of you would be able to handle your characters’ dynamic. It took weeks for the director to decide that you were the pair that she wanted, so the news that you’ll be meeting your costar for the first time in front of paparazzi is quite the shock to your system. “Shit. Then who’s the replacement?”

Your manager presses his lips together firmly before answering, “Park Chaeyoung. She’s an idol.”

You groan and slump down again. “Great. Another idol actress? Please don’t tell me that this is her first role too. Oh god, is she straight?”

“Yes to all of the above,” Chan says tensely.

Maybe you’re being dramatic, but it’s honestly a big deal. It’s the first leading role you’ve bagged, especially in a mainstream LGBTQ+ movie, and Sooyoung was the best costar you could’ve picked. You’ve never met Park Chaeyoung before, and you already know that all your plans are going to be messed up.

Chan pulls the car into the parking lot, and you scowl when you realize that most of the paparazzi have arrived. “We’re going around the back. Y/N, promise me one thing: don’t make a scene, okay?” your manager pleads. “I’m not happy about it either, but Chaeyoung has a good reputation. You’ll just ruin yours if you blow up at her.”

“I promise,” you answer through gritted teeth. You slip through the open side door as soon as you get out of the car, ignoring Chan’s call after you to have a good time like you would’ve.

To make matters worse, you don’t even get a chance to talk to the director or Chaeyoung before you’re swarmed by a crowd of reporters, even if that ‘talk’ would’ve consisted of more yelling than anything. “Y/N, Y/N!”

“Okay, let her up!” Seulgi shouts, pushing her way through. She grips your arm to lead you towards the cast table, whispering under her breath, “I’ll explain later. But just run with it, okay?”

You have plenty of problems with idol actresses, but you’ve never been inclined to say all those problems to their faces. Until now, that is.  Now, you’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with a girl you know has absolutely no credentials to be playing the other role in your upcoming movie, resisting the urge to ball your script up and throw it in her face.

There’s nothing wrong with Park Chaeyoung as a person-- she’s admittedly gorgeous, probably sweet, and you’re sure she isn’t a bad actress in any sense. The only thing wrong with the situation is that she’s painfully straight and auditioning to be your love interest in what might be Korea’s first mainstream lesbian film, and that you have never spoken to her before.

Chaeyoung avoids your stare with a clenched jaw, and in normal circumstances, you would already be apologizing profusely for making her uncomfortable. In this circumstance, though, your obvious grudge against her only contributes to the dynamic her character is supposed to have with yours.

“Miss Kang, is it true that the actors were only picked today?” 

The director grimaces, and the both of you turn to look at the cameras flashing by the sides of the room. It was never the plan to allow paparazzi to sit in on the first reading that you and Chaeyoung would be doing together, especially since it’s true that Chaeyoung was only chosen hours ago, after the original actress bailed. Even though your grudge should be against the girl who left, it’s easier to glare at the one sitting next to you. “Not exactly. Y/N has been confirmed for the role of Luna for months, but we recently added Chaeyoung as Helen. But we can assure that their chemistry will be wonderful,” Seulgi reassures the audience. What a lie.

Yet another reporter calls out, “How much of the script will we be seeing today, and when will the trailer be released?”

“Since the casting was changed today, the trailer has been delayed,” Seulgi says. You can hear the panic in her voice, and clear your throat. “As for the script… we’re only doing part of one scene that will show up in the trailer today, so we’ll just let them begin. Y/N?”

As you take a sip of water to prepare yourself, you almost hope that Chaeyoung messes up her part. It would be bad press, sure, and it would only contribute to Seulgi’s stress, but it would be satisfying for her to realize that she doesn’t deserve her part. She’s just an idol, after all, and she’s taking away representation from the people who need it.

“Are you saying you’re better than me?” you begin, your voice ice-cold.

You watch Chaeyoung’s throat bob, but her voice is steady and clear when she says her line. “No! I’m not saying that I’m better than you… but by all accounts, there’s no way you should have this power.”

“Would you be less scared then?” You pause, watch as Chaeyoung’s expression changes to the panic that her character’s would. “I’m kidding, Helen. I did things to get these powers, things that I’m not proud of.”

“Why would you do that? You’re strong… you don’t need them.”

“I’ve never been-- shit.” The tips of your ears start to burn, and suddenly, your lines are swimming before your eyes. Maybe all your hoping and wishing that Chaeyoung messes up has reflected onto you instead.

She attempts to remind you, “I haven’t always--”

“I know,” you hiss, but your voice is too loud in the silent room. Chaeyoung turns bright pink, too, but you still can’t seem to say your lines out loud. Shit, shit, shit--

“I’m just trying to help,” she sighs.

You whip your head to glare at her, and she winces at the daggers you send in her direction. “Shut the hell up--”

“Okay, the script reading will end here,” Seulgi announces loudly, and you bite down hard on your tongue. You don’t dare to look at the other cast members, don’t dare to think about how they must be guilting you for cutting their PR short. “Thank you everyone, please leave with security.”

You stay in your seat, staring at your script with burning eyes until you feel a hand on your shoulder and jolt. “Hey,” Chaeyoung reminds you, “we can leave.”

“Don’t touch me” is your only answer, and you storm out of the room. Alone.

The next time you see Chaeyoung is the next day, at a script-reading that the paparazzi knows nothing about. (You do see a friend request from a Park Chaeyoung the night before, but you ignore it.)

Seulgi attempts a smile, but it doesn’t hide the bags under her eyes. She claps and raises her voice to get the cast’s attention. “Okay, everyone. We didn’t get what we wanted yesterday, but that’s fine. Um… let’s try yesterday’s scene from Chaeyoung’s part, okay? From ‘you don’t need them’.”

Chaeyoung nods. “You’re strong… you don’t need them,” she starts, worry tinging into her voice.

“I haven’t always been strong,” you reply, your voice harsher than it should be just to stop yourself from messing up again.

“Still. Powers aren’t everything, Luna, it’s too hard to have them.”

You sigh. “Newsflash, princess. It’s harder not to.”

“But--” Chaeyoung interjects.

“Did you ever think,” you cut her off, “that I didn’t care that it’d be hard? Did you ever think that the rest of us are tired of you abusing the thing that you’re given, but we have to fight for?”

You look right to Seulgi once you finish, ignoring the part underneath that says you should look to Chaeyoung at the end of the scene. The director smiles anyway. “That was great, you two. I think you capture the tension perfectly, which is a relief.”

You fight the urge to laugh. “I know that changing our main cast so close to the actual production is really difficult,” Seulgi sighs. “And I’m really sorry to inconvenience you all. The schedule is really squished now, and we just have to work through it. Chaeyoung, Y/N, all I ask is that you try to work together, okay? I know you’ll be amazing together.”

Chaeyoung speaks, possibly for the first time besides her lines. “Of course, Ms. Bae. I’ll do my best.”

“I’m sure. We have to cut this short, again, but we’re scheduled for costume fitting right now,” Seulgi groans. “We have to at least get the outfits for the trailer to fit. Sorry, everyone. Down the hall, okay?”

Of course, you and Chaeyoung have to get fit together. The only sound in the hallway is that of her heels clicking on the wood, and you resist the urge to shout at her to stop. Luckily, you arrive in the fitting room before you can.

Your eyes widen at the dress hanging there. It’s incredible, even without the layers that would support the skirt-- you can’t even imagine how the beading and pink silk would look on Chaeyoung. Ethereal, probably. “Y/N, yours is here,” the costume director laughs, beckoning you over.

Even though your own outfit isn’t nearly as opulent, you can’t help but admire the gold detailing on the cuffs and the tailoring. “Thank god yours doesn’t take so much sewing,” the director grunts, pinning the side. “You know, the two of you are going to look fantastic in these, even if we have to spill all that blood on them to shoot the trailer.”

“Sooyoung would’ve looked better.” It’s mean, and it’s a low blow, but the director doesn’t take your bait.

She pokes her head out to where Chaeyoung’s being fitted. “Now? Okay, Y/N, go out there. We need to take a look at the two of you together.”

You can’t stop your jaw from dropping when you see Chaeyoung. She’s all candyfloss hair and gold adorning her tiny waist, and in all her glory, you can’t stop yourself from thinking that maybe she was made for the role. “You look really good,” she compliments softly.

Nodding stiffly, you turn for the seamstresses. Chaeyoung moves to fiddle with her gloves when she realizes that you have absolutely no interest in continuing the conversation.

Well, if there’s one thing you can nitpick about her, it isn’t how she looks; she looks absolutely perfect for the role of Princess Helen, maybe even more perfect than Sooyoung. 

One of the costume directors steps in. “Okay, you can get changed out, but you have to come back in a few hours,” she tells you. “We have to make a lot of changes, then fit you again.”

You step down from the podium, going towards your dressing room without a second thought until Chaeyoung calls for you. “Y/N? Do you want to have lunch later? In your trailer or something?”

“Sure,” you answer, barely glancing back. When you do, all you see is her with shiny puppy eyes, and in her giant gown, it’s eerily similar to the role she’s supposed to be playing.

“It’s nice. You’ve decorated it?”

You nod absentmindedly, clearing the narrow couch off for yourself to sit on, since Chaeyoung has taken the only chair that could fit in the trailer. “Yeah. I mean, I’ve had it for a few months, so.”

She winces. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you frown. Chaeyoung apologizes too much, but at least she’s upfront about whatever she has to say.

Your costar sighs, “For usurping the role? You must’ve gotten attached to Sooyoung, and it’s got to be horrible for me to just… arrive like this.”

“You know… that’s part of it.” You can’t lie; a big part of the resentment you hold against Chaeyoung is the fact that she took a role meant for someone else, someone you were friends with. “The other thing… I don’t like idol actresses,” you tell her.

Chaeyoung’s brows furrow, and she leans forward. “Why? I mean, why don’t you?”

You pause to think about it. “Well… I mean, think about it like this. Sooyoung and my auditions went for weeks before we were chosen, as a pair. Didn’t you get this role because you were an idol? You had to audition, sure, but I bet you just flashed a few smiles and read the script and got chosen. How is that fair?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but you hold your hand up and continue, “And the other thing. You’re straight.”

Chaeyoung chokes on air at that, spluttering, “What? You hate me because I’m straight?”

“No,” you say incredulously, “Well, I don’t hate you. But you being straight, and landing the lead role in a film like this… you’re taking away representation. And that’s kind of shitty of you.”

The air inside the trailer becomes suffocating, and Chaeyoung’s fiddling with the jacket in her lap finally stops when she throws it aside and stands up. She sounds like she’s about to cry when she says quietly, “Have you ever considered that I’m not straight? It’s not… it’s not that easy to be out about it--”

“Oh, cry me a river,” you groan. “Look, I apologize for assuming, but if you want to act in lesbian roles, you can’t pretend to be straight. It’s all for your fans, isn’t it? Another part of being an idol--”

She stands up, then storms right out of the trailer without another word, the door banging closed. The only thing you can do in response is sigh and utter a quiet, “Shit”.

Perhaps it’s just your luck that the first proper scene you have to film with Chaeyoung is your culminating kiss scene.

It shouldn’t be in the trailer at all-- according to the scene schedule, the two of you would’ve filmed your scenes together in chronological order, and the kiss would’ve been at the end, hopefully after a reconciliation between the two of you. However, for some inexplicable reason, it’s going to be the first one you do, without a single second of rehearsal.

You’re a one-take wonder, and you always have been, but you can’t help but think about how impossible it’s going to be to pull off such an intense scene with someone you just fought with. Sighing, you lean over to fiddle with your hair; it’s slightly tangled now, and there’s a fake scrape on the side of your cheek. 

At a side, Chaeyoung is similarly beat up, fake blood smeared on the left side of her face. Her long hair has been put in an updo and then taken down, and parts of her dress are ripped; to you, she looks more like Helen than herself now.

“Okay, everyone, are we ready? Positions, please!”

You arrange yourself on the ground where you should be, holding a handkerchief to your cheek like instructed as Chaeyoung stands by the camera to run to you. Exhaling sharply, your eyes meet hers for the first time in days. “Action!”

Chaeyoung sprints to you as soon as she’s cued, falling in front of you in a heap. “Luna,” she gasps, reaching a gloved hand out to the ‘injured’ half of your face.

“I’m fine,” you smile weakly. The camera hovers by Chaeyoung’s shoulder, and you soften your gaze as much as possible as your hand comes up to hers.

The other girl only moves closer, her eyes scanning yours and her dress surrounding the both of you like a sea of gauze. Her nose is almost brushing up against yours, and you mutter softly, “Be careful. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want.”

“Well, what do you want?” Chaeyoung implores, almost inaudible. Her breath quivers, and you feel it when you reach forward to cup her jaw. “Luna, what do you want right now?”

“I’m not making a move until you tell me to,” you shake your head. 

The blonde’s hands slip off your face, and she braces herself on your thighs instead. She laughs breathily, “Coward.”

“Your coward, huh?”

Chaeyoung pauses, scraping her teeth across her bottom lip. It’s so quiet that you think you could hear a pin drop, and the torches held up by the crew flicker across her face so naturally. “If you want to be.”

There’s probably another line that comes after, but with Chaeyoung so close to you, it swims blurrily in your mind. So instead, you just lean up, pull her down, and connect your lips.

She plays along, thankfully, stumbling slightly in her character’s eagerness to get a little closer. The only thing you can hear is Chaeyoung’s slight gasp when you let your hands wander down to her waist, and it’s almost scary how absorbed you are in the scene.

“Okay, cut!” Seulgi’s shout breaks you from your trance, and you hold your hands up as if in surrounder. Chaeyoung’s cheeks are red yet again when she sits up, staring anywhere other than you.

Your director hops off her chair to run towards you, a huge grin on her face. “That was perfect,” she shouts. “Y/N, I think you forgot a line? But it worked out amazingly. The one-take wonder, right?”

You grin when she pats you on the shoulder, a little harder than necessary. Apparently, all your worries were for nothing, as you and Chaeyoung stand to monitor your own shot in the screen next to Joohyun.

You can’t even hear all the praise she showers on the two of you, and you pay no attention to all the details she points out that apparently showcase your perfect chemistry with your costar. All you feel is a slight squeeze on your hand, hidden in the mess of fabric by your side.

You jolt awake at the sound of your phone ringing loudly by your side, finding an unknown number as the caller ID. Accepting hesitantly, you greet, “Hello?”

“Y/N? Did Chan give me the right number?”

Oh. It’s Chaeyoung. “Yeah.” You clear your throat in an attempt to sound a little less drowsy, then repeat, “Right number. Why’d you ask Chan?”

“Well, it’s kinda hard to find you when you never accepted my request,” she laughs quietly. “Um, I have to record the OST today, and I was wondering whether you’d want to come watch? Chan said you didn’t really have any scenes later today.”

“Um. Okay. I’ll ask Chan to bring me,” you answer, then hang up. Your head swims slightly, partially due to the fact that you woke up to the piercing sound of your ringtone and partially because you just don’t understand why Chaeyoung’s reaching out again. You should be the one apologizing, after the tangent you went off on, and you highly doubt that your kiss scene doubled as an apology. Of course, you’ll take it.

Your manager is more than pleased to pick you up this time, but thankfully, he doesn’t question you. If he did, he’d probably be the one you shouted at.

The studio is honestly too small for two people, probably hastily set up, but you recognize the recording equipment from a video of Chaeyoung recording one of her group’s songs. And you recognize the girl already standing in the recording booth, waving you over. “Hi,” she smiles, and for all you try, you don’t see a hint of malice.

“Hey,” you mumble, taking a seat. “Uh… I’m sorry.”

“Wow, straightforward,” she tries to joke. “What for?”

You scratch the back of your neck, sighing, “For assuming, for blowing up on you, for… I don’t know, kind of everything. I’m an asshole, even if what I said wasn’t wrong.”

Chaeyoung chuckles, fiddling with the mic. “I mean, I appreciate the apology, but I wasn’t great either. You definitely had some truth behind what you said, even if it was kind of too to the point.”

“I know. You were just trying to apologize and help us become civil, and I kind of ruined it,” you hum. The other girl adjusts the lyric stand as you continue, “But I’m hoping you understand why I had to say what I did?”

“I do,” she agrees. “You’re definitely right that it’s not good representation at all, I just wish you had heard me out.”

You nod uncomfortably, changing the way you sit on the couch just to distract yourself. “So… you’re gay? I’m just asking because I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about it, and I’ve seen plenty of your interviews.”

“So you watch my interviews?” Chaeyoung teases. When you scowl, she just smiles, “I can’t say specifically, but I am confused. You said last time that it’s just another part of being an idol, and you’re… you’re right. It’s taboo for idols to be gay, even though Korea’s opening up to it a bit more now. So even though I want to, I don’t think I can ever be out about it.”

“I understand. And I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

She swallows, throat bobbing. “Thank you. Hey, Y/N… would you mind singing with me?”

“What?” You stare up at her incredulously; it’s not like your singing would make the other girl faint on the spot, but you definitely don’t possess an angelic voice like hers, either.

But maybe it’s an olive branch. “Just… can you match this note?” She hums, and you attempt to create the same pitch. “Okay. Can you do the chorus part in that key, while I do it in the main one? We’ll sound better like that,” Chaeyoung offers.

Against your better judgement, you stand, and shuffle into the recording booth next to her. “If this sounds bad, you’re taking the blame,”  you warn, and she giggles while twisting the stand so you can see.

You do sound good together, maybe to a level that you would’ve never anticipated.

You know that something’s off when Chan doesn’t wake you up bright and early on your birthday, even if Seulgi already promised that you wouldn’t have to go to work on the day of. After spending many a birthday with him, you’ve already gotten used to him tugging you up just to take you outside and celebrate somehow.

You know something’s especially off when you hear a female voice cursing from your kitchen, and smell something burning.

“Who the shit-- Chaeyoung?”

The girl turns in surprise, caught red-handed with a piece of burnt toast pinched between her fingers. “Um. Hi?” she offers weakly.

Suddenly self-conscious, you cross your arms over the faded sweatshirt you wear. In your own apartment, Chaeyoung is leagues more put-together in the summery dress she wears, her dyed hair tossed in a braid and glitter shining at the corners of her eyes. “Hello?”

“Chan said you wouldn’t be awake for a few hours,” she sighs, shaking her head as she tosses the toast in the trash. “And I wasn’t supposed to burn the toast.”

“What were you supposed to do?” you question, stepping closer. There’s a cake box on the counter, as well as a couple suspicious tubes of icing right by it, and you think you know what’s going on.

Chaeyoung huffs out an exasperated breath. “I was supposed to surprise you. Chan has something going on at home, so he sent me to supervise your birthday instead. Obviously, I messed that up.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug, taking a seat at the counter and reaching for the icing. “I’ve always wanted to decorate a cake anyway.”

She looks surprised at that, but a smile breaks out across her face. “Really?”

“Really,” you confirm. It’s partially a lie, but you’re decently sure that Chaeyoung will refuse to let you do most of the work anyways. “Uh. I’ll just change first, and then we can get that going?”

“Yeah,” she grins, and you take it as your cue to scurry off to the bedroom.

By the time you come back, there’s a plate of not-burnt toast on your counter, and Chaeyoung’s pouring out two glasses of the juice that you can never bring yourself to buy because of the price tag. “I hope you like it, this is one of my favorites.”

“Like it? I love this,” you gasp, surging forward to pick up one of the glasses. “It’s expensive as hell, though.”

“Well, I couldn’t get you a gift, so I thought a nice morning would suffice,” Chaeyoung laughs. She unties the bow on the cake box to reveal a completely bare vanilla cake, a few packets of sprinkles that you hadn’t noticed now lying next to it. “Do you want to start?”

“Oh, sure.” You choose the blue icing after a bit of debating, and pick up the spatula that your costar offers you. “You didn’t have to, though, I would’ve been okay on my own today.”

Chaeyoung shrugs, “I mean, I didn’t have anything else to do, and I wouldn’t like to be alone on my birthday.”

“How do you usually celebrate?” you question, glancing up at her.

She pauses to think, then answers, “Well, I do live with my members, so we’ll get something to eat. Sometimes, we’re on vacation, so we just do what we can, but I like staying in the dorm to receive the things that their families send me.”

“It sounds sweet.”

“It is,” she grins. “I honestly don’t know what I would do on my own, it seems lonely-- Oh. I’m sorry.”

“What for? It is kind of lonely,” you admit, squeezing a glob of icing out. It’s definitely not as graceful as you would’ve appreciated, and you catch Chaeyoung stifling a laugh. “Chan lived with me at the beginning, but he eventually moved out when I got a girlfriend. Obviously, that didn’t laugh.”

“Sorry,” the other girl repeats again, and you wave a hand out. “When was that?”

“She moved out two years ago,” you answer. “And I’ve been alone since. Or, lonely, not always alone.”

Chaeyoung nods just so that you know she heard you. She accepts the icing tube when you hand it to her, making a spiral that’s infuriatingly better than yours. “How about you? I know you said you aren’t out, but have you dated yet?” you question.

She shakes her head, admitting, “Not yet. I don’t really know how to, you know? You assumed I was straight when you first saw me, so I think everyone else does too.”

“Sorry,” you say, an echo of her.

Your costar doesn’t respond, only setting the spatula down once the basic blue icing is smooth. “I think we’re supposed to refrigerate this before decorating, right?”

You grimace. “Well, I don’t know. I stopped watching cake videos years ago, so I’ll just listen to you.”

Chaeyoung hums and ties the box back up. “Okay, then I’ll just do it. Um, do you mind ordering chicken or something while we wait?”

“Sure.” Reaching for your phone, you ask, “Would you be opposed to romcoms?”

“I’m never opposed to romcoms,” the other girl answers.

You have to remind yourself to order two servings of chicken, something that you haven’t done in a while. But it’s comforting, in a way, to not be alone again.

“Can you believe we’ve only got a week left of filming? I feel like I haven’t seen you at all.”

You wince guiltily, even though you know that Yerim doesn’t mean it. Acting with your friend was originally a huge incentive for you to accept the film’s role, but the two of you quickly discovered that you had almost no scenes together, and with your push-and-pull with Chaeyoung, you forgot all about it. “Sorry, Yerim.”

She makes an incredulous expression, swatting your arm. “Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I’m happy you’re pursuing love and all that, and besides, we’ll have plenty of opportunities to act together.”

Blinking, you set your cup down on the counter. “Pursuing love?”

Yerim raises her eyebrow and says, “Yeah. Aren’t you and Chaeyoung together yet? We’ve been filming for two months, I’ll be shocked if you still haven't kissed and made up.”

“Uh. Well, we’ve kissed, but I don’t think it counted,” you frown. 

Your friend sighs and rolls her eyes. She’s all too used to how dense you are, and apparently, she’s finally gotten tired of it. “You’re an idiot. You literally met the morning of your first script reading, and you knew each other for… what, a week before you had your kiss scene? There’s got to be something there.”

“No.”

Right on cue, a few of the other cast members arrive, Chaeyoung sandwiched between them. “Have you seen the articles?” Nayeon grins, waving her phone around in the air. She’s drunk, obviously, but you have to indulge her.

“Which articles?”

She shoves the screen in your face as an answer, and you cringe when you find a screencap of you and Chaeyoung. “You won’t believe the chemistry-- nope, I’m not reading that.” You hand the phone back to Nayeon, then press it in her hand when she doesn’t take it. Yerim sends you a knowing expression, one that you definitely don’t like.

“Aw, come on! It’s good press,” Nayeon whines. “And a great kiss scene.”

“Don’t be weird,” Chaeyoung warns. She doesn’t seem to be drunk at all, though she does look fantastic in the silver dress that she wears. Your eyes linger on her for an embarrassing amount of time.

Nayeon pouts. She’s bubbly-- you’ve learned that much through acting alongside her in a total of three productions so far. You note that your costar doesn’t seem to be so accustomed to her temperament yet. “You’re no fun, Chaeng. We all know you enjoyed it.”

She goes bright pink at that amidst Yerim’s joking coos. “The token straight, converted?” your friend gasps, and you elbow her to stop her from going too far.

Apparently, it already has. “I didn’t!” Chaeyoung defends herself.

“Prove it,” Nayeon demands, slipping when she attempts to lean on the counter next to you.

Chaeyoung goes silent at that, apparently unable to find a way to ‘prove it’. You finally sigh, “Okay, I think that’s enough teas--”

If it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve long since memorized your entire script book, you would almost think that Chaeyoung reaching forward to tug on the front of your shirt is a scene between your two characters. After all, it’s perfectly in character for your eyes to widen comically as the other girl kisses you right on the lips. 

It’s also in character for Nayeon to start whooping next to you when your hands wrap around Chaeyoung’s waist to pull her in closer. You part at the noise. “You certainly look like you liked it,” Nayeon grins. 

“Yeah, get a room,” Yerim follows, and you shove her.

“You know what? Maybe we will.” Ignoring your friends’ jeering, you grab Chaeyoung’s wrist and lead her down the hallway, though not to a bedroom like you joked you would. “Hey. You okay? I didn’t know if that teasing crossed a line,” you whisper worriedly.

She bites down on her lip, but instead of answering you, Chaeyoung tilts your face up and leans closer, only stopped by your hand on her wrist. “Chae…”

“I’m sorry, this… this isn’t what you want, is it?” She steps back, mouth already opening to apologize, but you stop her from leaving you alone in the hallway.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” With the flashing neon lights echoing in her eyes, you can’t tell what Chaeyoung’s feeling, and you can’t tell if she’s willing to answer you properly at all. “I’m not making a move until you tell me to.”

Still, you don’t hear her say a word, until your grip starts to loosen on her wrist. “Did you drive here yourself?” she finally asks, barely audible. You nod hesitantly, and Chaeyoung’s voice grows firmer when she says, “I’m telling you to make a move.”

“I thought you were questioning?”

She swallows hard and takes your hand. “Not anymore.”

You don’t taste any alcohol when you lick your lower lip, and so, you nod. It’s stupid, especially considering how quickly your time together is about to end.

But for once, you know what you want.

“Good luck out there, Chae,” you smile, arms wrapped around the girl’s waist. 

“Thanks,” she hums, adjusting her hair yet again in the mirror. “We’re almost done filming, I have to promote us well so that we have enough money to at least put the damn film out.”

“Mm.” Your thumb smooths over the sliver of skin exposed by her top, and you place your chin on her shoulder to look at the two of you together.

She glances down at you. “What? Are you thinking about something?”

“Sort of,” you shrug. “I just can’t believe we’re almost done, but we… we just started this. You know, this thing between us.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a thing. But it doesn’t have to stop with filming,” Chaeyoung says offhandedly.

Raising an eyebrow, you question, “Doesn’t it? It’s going to be suspicious for us to constantly be seen together after filming together, I’ve seen the way your fans behave. Especially while you’re not out.”

“I think I can negotiate that with my company,” the other girl shakes her head.

You joke, “What, you release another two albums if you get to come out about having a girlfriend?”

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” Chaeyoung responds immediately. Her ears pink endearingly, and you wait for her to clarify, “In secret for now, obviously. But… one day, I’ll be out about it. I promise.”

“Don’t make empty promises, okay?” You press a kiss to her bare shoulder and let her go when you hear a knock at the dressing room door. “Do good!”

“Alright, Chaeyoung, it’s about time that we ask you some questions about your upcoming film, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” your costar smiles, and you raise your head from your phone to watch the screen. She’s sitting cross-legged across from some of the most famous idol interviewers in Korea, absolutely poised and natural even in front of the crowd that cheers over the interview.

The woman behind the podium clears her throat. “A huge talking point in Korea right now is your chemistry with your costar, Y/N. How exactly do you pull that off, since you’ve never experienced a relation like that?”

Chaeyoung laughs nervously, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Oh. Well, um, I don’t have much experience with relationships at all, so--”

“Really? A pretty girl like you must have had a boyfriend or two before.” You despise the way that the interviewer leans in conspiratorially, as if the prying questions weren’t completely scripted. “But you seem a little to pretty to have experienced that, am I right?”

The crowd laughs with her, but Chaeyoung glances behind the scenes, probably to where her own staff sits. “You know, you can tell me if you ever felt… uncomfortable during filming,” the interviewer continues on. “Y/N has been out for years, hasn’t she?”

“Oh, she has…” You’re practically fuming, but you also can’t seem to pry your eyes away from the screen. All of Chaeyoung’s practiced idol-charm has seemed to dissipate into thin air, and she’s practically blending into the wall as she sits there.

The Chaeyoung you know-- no, the Chaeyoung that you’ve come to know, wouldn’t stand to hear something like that. You’ve watched her argue with a scriptwriter, and you’ve watched him get fired because he said something incredibly offensive, even though it wasn’t about you. But here, she sits still and just listens to the interviewer discuss you behind your back, and she says nothing about all the disgustingly backhanded comments.

The thing is, you don’t care about Chaeyoung not being out. You were closeted for enough time yourself, and you know how hard it is, so you’d never wish it on her; but watching her completely let go of all her personal principles just for a stupid interview is just another reminder that you’re letting go of your own. Chaeyoung won’t ever speak up, you realize, because her career comes before anything else. And you can’t stand for that.

“I’m leaving,” you tell the guard standing outside of your door. Only increasing your anger, tears start to burn in your eyes, and you scrape your sleeve across your face as roughly as you can. Chan picks up on one dial, and you say furiously, “Pick me up. It’s over.” In more ways than one.

Chaeyoung shivers at the top of the hill, where she’s supposed to be filming her closing scene with you. She hasn’t seen you for the past week, and after how disastrous her interview was, she’s pretty sure she knows why.

“Where’s Y/N?” she finally asks her makeup artist, giving in to her own curiosity.

Felix shrugs, reaching to mess with the blood on her hairline. “I have no idea, honestly, I haven’t seen her yet. She’s never late, though, you don’t have to worry. You’ll get your scene done.”

“That’s…” Chaeyoung sighs. That’s why she should be worried. “Right.”

“Okay, can we start?” Seulgi shouts. It’s started to rain, but with the excited look on the director’s face, Chaeyoung figures that it suits the scene even better than the gray clouds that had been planned. “Great. Chaeyoung, Y/N!”

Your hair is plastered to your forehead with the rain, and water makes your blouse cling to your curves; with the grim expression on your face, Chaeyoung could easily just mistake you for your character. “Hi,” you mutter, taking a seat on the grass right next to your costar. You say nothing else.

When cued, Chaeyoung takes a deep breath before her line. “Luna. I love you.”

For a second, Chaeyoung thinks you won’t respond, but the rasp to your voice proves her wrong. “No. No, you don’t.”

“I think I’m the one who should be deciding that, don’t you?” The blonde raises her eyebrows, reaching forward hesitantly for your shoulder.

Of course, you dodge it. Blinking the rain out of your eyes, you’re resigned when you ask, “You have your birthday gala tonight, don’t you?”

“Yes, but--” Chaeyoung swallows, lets her hand make contact, then continues, “I’m spending as much time as I can with you, aren’t I with you right now?”

“But you’re going.” It feels like you’re staring right into Chaeyoung’s soul when you speak, as despondent as your voice is. She nods, and you stand, her hand slipping off of your shoulder and into her lap. “Then go. You’re still a princess at the end of the day, aren’t you?”

“At the end of the day, yes…”

“You can’t do that. You sneak out onto my ships, get my people to love you and protect you, and then turn right back to your family to stay safe while we die for you. You can’t say you support our cause and then go back on it when it’s inconvenient for you, it doesn’t work like that!” Chaeyoung flinches at how intense you sound; at this point, she barely knows if it’s still acting. She can only hear her own heart in her ears, can only see your chest heaving from how quickly you spoke, and it all feels too real.

“What, do you want me to get found out?” Chaeyoung demands, getting to her feet as well. The rain becomes harsher, angled so that it perfectly blurs her vision of you. “I’ve saved your ass just as many times too, don’t pretend like I’m not a valuable part of your ship!”

“You’re still pretending.” Realizing that it’s not the right line, Chaeyoung opens her mouth to stop you, but your voice chills her into silence when you speak again. “You’ll always pretend, as long as it benefits you, won’t you? You can’t do that, Helen, not if you ‘love me’. Putting a crown on your head doesn’t mean that you’re a princess. Until you realize that, and until you’re willing to embrace it, you don’t love me. and I don’t love you.”

None of it is the script. None of it is the scene that you rehearsed a thousand times together in your trailer, but somehow, it makes Chaeyoung’s heart quaver in her throat so much more than the original lines ever did.

And when you drop your gaze to the ground, turning to walk off into the rain alone, she knows that to you, your entire relationship is already done.

[dawnwave16]

dad Bruce Wayne only Marinette doesn't know till she has been shipped off to him thanks to lila's lies. So she has to hide the fact she us ladybug and the new guardion while the bat family have to find the fact they are the bat family Mean while Jason has started a betting pool on when the newest member of the family joins the bat family

Sorry, this has taken so long! While I read a lot of Maribat I’m not very familiar with how they are in canon so I’m not 100% sure if I got this right! I also kinda ran out of insperation near the end so if it feels rushed that’s why. :)

Story:

A bug amoung the bats.

To the staff of the plane, the girl sitting in the window seat just in front of the right wing was quiet and withdrawn.  To her family, she was untrustworthy and a risk to their livelihood.  To those who she used to think of as friends, she was a backstabber and a liar who hid her bullying tendencies behind an innocent face.

The truth was she was none of those things.  Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and what she was, was beyond angry.  

She had arrived home after the battle with Miracle Queen only to find her bags sitting for her by the door. Her parents had given her two hours to box up everything she deemed worthy of being sent to her new home as well as any trinkets she might want to take with her in her hand luggage before they had handed her a bus pass, a one-way plane ticket, a letter to her new guardians and told her they could no longer risk having her under their roof so they were sending her to Gotham to be with a family there that could hopefully get her back onto the ‘right path’.

A soft sigh escaped Marinette as she stared unseeingly out the small window.  Slowly a tear rolled down her cheek before she angrily swiped it away.  As if she didn’t have enough to deal with, she thought angrily.  Now she would have to hide the fact that she was Ladybug as well as the newly christened High Guardian of the Miraculous from people she didn’t know.  Who knew how well that would go.  

Another tear escaped her eyes as she thought about how she had been betrayed.  Looking back, she wished she had told Adrien that Lila had threatened her in the bathroom that day.  Or that she hadn’t blindly believed him when he’d said that she would out herself if they took the high road.  She wished she hadn’t tried to deal with everything by herself instead of telling her parents before Lila had gotten to them.  But most of all she wished that her trust in adults hadn’t been completely destroyed by it all.

Now she was alone and heading to a country she had limited knowledge of, where they spoke a language she wasn’t confident in speaking (although she understood more than she could say) and to a city that had more villains than Paris.

By the time her plane landed in Gotham airport, Marinette had a new mask in place.  She refused to let herself be hurt again and if that meant that she had to hide her true nature, so be it.  From now on, the world would see the ice queen she needed to be even if she wasn’t sure how to be one yet. The seatbelt sign flickered off as the captain announced the time and weather conditions before wishing them well as they disembarked.  Marinette took her time gathering all her things and making sure she had everything she might need, to hand.  

The letter from her parents sat in the front pocket of her bag like lead.  The miracle box was in the main compartment of said bag next to a blank sketchbook and a few odds and ends.  She had been too upset to design during the flight. 

Reluctantly, Marinette disembarked the plane and retrieved her bags from baggage claim.  Once she had everything she scanned the waiting crowd for whoever was meant to be fetching her.  Spotting her name on a card being held by a distinguished older gentleman she slowly made her way over to him, trying not to drag her feet despite waiting to.

“Sorry to keep you waiting sir.  I am Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette introduced herself in stilted high-school english, emotions locked behind a blank mask that would make an assassin proud.

“Oh God, it’s another Demon Spawn,” the man’s companion muttered.  She flicked her eyes over him.  Where the man holding the card was wearing a formal suit and looked neat and representable, the one who had just spoken looked like a biker.  A scuffed brown leather jacket hung open over a black muscle t-shirt.  Ratty jeans held up by an equally scuffed belt covered his legs.  The bottom of said jeans were tucked into well worn combat boots while a white steak in his hair added to the ‘dangerous’ vibe rolling off of him.

Marinette returned her attention to the older gentleman.

“My name is Alfred Pennyworth, Miss Dupain-Cheng.  Welcome to Gotham.  Please ignore Jason, he tends to act before he thinks.” His voice was cultured, Marinette noticed even as she nodded.  When he indicated that she was to follow him, she tightened her grip on her bag  and the luggage trolley and did so silently. 

��* * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Jason watched his new sibling closely.  Her face was guarded but her body language screamed that she had been hurt and badly so.  Her stiff posture reminded him of Damian despite her being closer to Tim’s age.  The strange thing was that as far as Jason could see the stiffness seemed to be more of a defence mechanism rather than her true personality.  He sighed, what was it with his family always attracting those that were damaged to the point where they hid?  And why was it that both of Bruce’s biological children were the worst damaged?  Did the universe hate Bruce that much?

Although Jason didn’t know it, Alfred was thinking along the same lines.  

The trip to the mansion passed in relative silence as Marinette pulled out a cell phone and quickly started messaging all of the people that had requested commissions to explain that their orders would be delayed.  Her parents didn’t know about this phone, nor did they know about the fact that Marinette was a very successful designer with an exclusive customer base. They didn’t even know about Edna Mode mentoring her whenever the designer for the heroes had time. They thought she was still trying to get a foot in the door of the industry.  It didn’t help Lila had claimed Marinette was trying to use Adrien as a way to get to his father either.

By the time the trio reached Wayne Manor she had caught up completely.  She had also managed to further freak Jason out with how quiet she was.  As far as he knew teenaged girls were ever this quiet even when they were on their phones.  From what he remembered, girls talked non-stop no matter what.  Well most girls, Cass seemed to be the exception and now, so did Marinette.

The meeting with the rest of the family was just as icily polite as the one she had given at the airport.  All she did was hand an envelope to Bruce before saying she was tired and retreating to the room Alfred obligingly led her to.  Jason turned his attention to Bruce, who had made a strangled sound.

“B?”

“She doesn’t know…” was the choked reply.

“What?” Dick queried in confusion.

“Marinette.  She doesn’t know she’s my daughter.  Sabine never told her.”

“Holy…” Jason breathed while Damian froze.  

Damian had been willing to hate her just because Marinette had a better claim on Bruce due to being older than him but how could he hate her now?  She didn’t know she was Bruce’s daughter at all!

* * * * * * * * 

Over the next three months the bat family discovered very little about Marinette.  She hadn’t reacted as they had expected to the news that she was Bruce’s daughter at all.  Instead of bouncing off the ceiling in excitement she had become even more withdrawn, appearing only for meals and to attend school as was required. 

All of the boys had tried to get closer to her but had been rebuffed which had just added to their frustration too.  Eventually Tim had turned to his hacking skills and what he had found had left him in a cold fury.

“Tim?” Dick asked cautiously.

“Is everyone here?” Tim’s voice was noticeably trembling as he spoke.

“Yes,” Bruce grunted.  He was just as frustrated as his sons.

“Spill already, Replacement,” Jason snorted.

“Right, well apparently our sister wasn’t always this cold.  Judging from the records I’ve  been able to get my hands on she used to be a virtual ball of sunshine.  She was class president, she helped at the bakery, did charity work and bent over backwards from all those she considered to be her friends.  I’m not sure what changed though.  It looks like it was almost overnight that all her ‘friends’ started targeting her over social media, she was expelled but that got repealed fairly quickly, and suddenly she was the class parier.  It doesn’t make sense.”  Tim sighed as he ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

There was silence for a while before Damian growled and stalked out of the room.  Dick shared a look with the others before running after him.

“What are you planning?”

“Just to get some answers, Greyson.”

The two soon found themselves at the door that led to Marinette’s room and Damian raised his hand to knock.  A sound made him pause, it was almost like a…

“No way, did she just laugh?” Dick breathed.  Soon both boys had their ears pressed against the door.

“Look, Uncle J, I get you want to send Fang after the little bitch but that would just give him indigestion.” Marinette was saying which made the two eve’s droppers eyes widen.  Uncle J? Fang? And did she really just swear?

“Yeah, I know you are angry but really what more could be done?  I tried exposing her lies.  I tried warning the class.  Heck I even tried taking the high road but in the end she won.  I’m now in Gotham and none of those that I trusted to support me are here.  I never thought Tom and Sabine would fall for her lies!  They know I have multiple sketch books and that one of them is inspiration only.  They know the books are colour coded.  So why would they even think I’d copy someone else’s ideas!”  Marinette’s voice was raw with pain and defeat as she spoke which stunned the boys. 

There was a pause as Marinette listened to whoever was on the other end of the call then they heard a loud sigh.

“Do what you feel is best Uncle J.  I just don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive them.  Tom and Sabine raised me yet they still turned on me and sent me away.  I grew up with most of the people in my class yet they still believed that I could bully someone. They turned on me so quickly I almost got whiplash from it.  If that’s the thanks I get for trying to protect them, for trying to make sure they don’t fail to reach their dreams, then I wash my hands of them.  Doesn’t stop it from hurting though.”

Dick and Damian shared a look.  Marinette was chatting away in French but thanks to them learning it they were still able to understand everything.  Slowly they straightened up and made their way back to the batcave to report what they had heard.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  

Marinette closed her eyes as she thought about the last three months.  Bruce had enrolled her in Gotham Academy and she was working as hard as she always did to make sure her grades were as high as possible.  She was pretty sure the whole school thought she was a total snob what with her ice cold attitude to most things but she didn’t care.  The only ones she showed her true self to these days were Edna, Jagged and the clients she had amassed before leaving France, the Kwami’s and her online Boyfriend Roy. 

She had met Roy by chance after attending a masked ball with Edna almost a year after she had started being mentored by the pint sized designer. Roy had tried to wriggle out of having to attend any future balls by behaving badly but Marinette had derailed his plan when she had simply grabbed his ear and told him to either quit his behaviour or she’d deal with him. He had tried to fight back but had found himself hogtied in a measuring tape. Once he had calmed down and Marinette had repaired the rips in his blazer the two had discovered they had a fair bit in common and they hadn’t stopped talking since.

When Jagged had called her to check on her she had decided to give him the full, unedited story. While he hadn’t been impressed he understood where she was coming from. Why should she have to keep fighting to help others when they wouldn’t do the same for her? Marinette flopped backwards on her bed as she thought about everything she’d learned. Bruce being her father had been a shock but it did explain why she had blue eyes. She didn’t care though. The family the man had built showed her he cared about family more than wealth so why hadn’t she known about him beforehand? Why had her mother sent her to him as a punishment? 

A knock at the door had her sitting up and making herself look presentable in a hurry.

“Come in.”

“Marinette? Can we talk for a bit?” Bruce asked her cautiously.

“Sure.” Marinette kept her mask of cold, indifference in place as she replied. “What can I help you with?”

“I know coming here and finding out I am your father was a shock but I was wondering if you could tell me about what happened for you to be sent here in the first place? I will understand if you don’t want to but I want you to know I’m here for you if you do.” Bruce said carefully. Marinette looked over Bruce’s shoulder and saw Tikki and Wayzz nodding incouringly at her. The kwami’s didn’t like how closed off Marinette had forced herself to be but had understood.

“Will I have to change again if I do tell you?” 

“Not change per say, maybe just drop the mask around the family a bit. As much as you are comfortable with anyway.”

Marinette studied Bruce for a moment before making up her mind. She’d tell him about the school issues but there was no way he’d be finding out she was Ladybug anytime soon. Secret identities and all that cam first. 

[bakubabes-tatakae]

The Demon’s Keeper (Part Six)

Author’s Note: If anyone wants to be added to the taglist for this feel free to let me know ! Happy to add anyone !

(Rin Okumura x Reader)

Summary: Rin Okumura is a hot headed demon who is hard to keep under control, only one person seems to be able to do it better than anyone, Y/N. For that, she’ll be known at the Demon’s Keeper, but what exactly does that entail for them?

AO3 Link

Part One, Part Two: *NSFW Ahead!*, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Part Six:

Word Count: 2219

As morning broke light it made its way through the cracks in the curtains and the sound of our alarm filled the room. Each beep from the alarm was like a jackhammer pounding in my head. This constant stress headache was going to be the death of me. Rin slowly started to stir, today was the day we left for True Cross University. He was nervous to say the least, but that was to be expected. I would have been worried if he wasn’t nervous. I felt Rin’s soft hand touch my arm. “Y/n, we have to get up. We’ve only got an hour before we have to leave. Mephesto will be here soon to get us.”

I grumbled and rolled over, grabbing the bottle of pain medicine off the nightstand along with the nearest water bottle. They went down with ease and Rin threw the blanket off of us. I cringed as the cold air hit my skin, almost hissing at him. 

He ignored me and got up, throwing on the clothes that he had left out for himself before taking mine off the dresser and throwing them at me. As my clothes hit me he laughed, the look on my face anything but amused, making him laugh even more. 

I grabbed the clothes from my lap and started dressing. I didn’t know what our new life would entail for us, but if I didn’t say I was as nervous as Rin was I would have been lying. “Rin,” He looked back at me with a goofy grin. “You should go check on Yukio and make sure he’s ready to go as well.”

“Yea.” He started for the door. “I’ll go see.”

He shut the door quietly behind him and I was left to my own devices. The sheer amount of emotions that I had been holding in lately wasn’t good for me, but my body didn’t want to seem weak. We had been through so much in such a short amount of time…

* * * * * * 

I made my way downstairs and into the living room, the only light in the room came from the half open curtains in all the windows. Shiro had always been the one to make sure everything was bright and sunny when we had all woken up. Now that he was gone the darkness loomed over us. No one wanted to take on the roles that Shiro once held. Rin was standing in the kitchen, sipping on a cup of orange juice, leaning against the counter. 

“Did you find Yukio?” I walked sluggishly over to the same counter, hopping up onto it. “We only have fifteen minutes before Mephesto is going to be here.”

Rin placed his empty glass into the sink and walked in front of me, placing his hands on my thighs. “From what the monks told me, they haven’t seen him all morning.”

“I bet he’s visiting Shiro. We’re talking about Yukio here, where else would he be?”

Rin placed his head on my collarbone and I placed my hands on his head, intertwining my fingers into his raven colored hair. “You’re right.” He looked up at me. “Want to just go wait outside? It’s pretty nice out”

I smiled. “Sure.” He helped me off the counter and grabbed our bags, following me out the front door. 

The sunlight hit my face and the feeling was almost refreshing. It had been so long since Rin and I had just sat outside and taken in our surroundings. As we took in all the familiar sounds and sights we were interrupted by the sound of a car speeding our way. When we looked up we both thought our eyes had been deceiving us. A pink limo stood in front of the walkway and when the door opened and a person stepped out we realized we should have known who it was. 

With the tip of his hate Mephesto Pheles stood before us, his white shoot shining brightly in the sun. “Well, well, well.” He smiled a tooth grin at the two of us sitting on the porch. “I see the sun's out. It’s a glorious say for new beginnings, wouldn’t you say?”

Rin stood up from the porch and took my hand, helping me up as well. He walked leisurely over to Mephesto. “You got a freaky car.”

I hooked my arm behind Rin’s back and glared at Mephesto. “How did you get us into True Cross University. I feel like we have a right to know what your connections are since we’re using them.”

He pointed his finger at us and spoke matter-of-factly. “I’m the director at True Cross University. That’s the official title anyway.”

Rin’s jaw dropped. “Huh?” 

I took my hand under his chin and helped him shut it. Yukio’s voice jumped the both of us. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He had a giant grin across his fast as he approached us. “I’m so glad this all worked out. Now the three of us can stay together.”

Mephesto turned away from the three of us and raised his voice, scaring some people walking by. “Come now my friends, True Cross University awaits!”

We all piled into the limo, the three of us keeping our distance from Mephesto. Yukio looked over to Rin. “What’s wrong?” If Rin thought he was hiding his annoyance it wasn’t working. Neither of us knew what could possibly have been wrong with him.  

“Nothing.” Rin ignored the question and changed the subject. His favorite defense tactis. ‘Where were you this morning?”

“Visiting dad’s grave. Did you go?” 

An upsetting noise came from Rin’s mouth as the realization hit him, it would probably be a while before he was able to visit him again. “No… I didn’t” He hung his head.

Mephesto broke the awkward silence now looming over the car. “Just a few minutes more and we’ll be in the center of True Cross University town.” We all stared out the window at the blossoming town before us. “Every learning facility under the sun can be found right here in University Town. Enjoy, dig in, and study until your heart’s content.”

We approached a giant building a couple minutes later and Mephesto looked at Rin and I. “Now then, we’ll step out, you two need to change into your uniforms.”

I could feel my face change to annoyance before I was able to stop it. “You couldn’t have told us to make sure we were in our uniforms before we got here?” 

Mephesto ignored the question and Yukio and him stepped out, leaving us to change. As we stepped out of the limo the two of them waiting patiently on the sidewalk. Mephesto motioned toward him and spoke. “Come now, you have orientation to get to.” He led us to an auditorium full of students. “Find a seat, they’ll give you further instructions from there.”

As the speech from one of the teachers started the two of us zoned out. There was nothing worse than listening to someone talk at you about something you didn’t have any care for. The only thing that pulled our attention back was the words “And now, let’s hear from your freshman representation, Yukio Okumura.”

Rin’s jaw dropped once again, a look that wasn’t befitting for him. “Yukio?!” 

I pushed his jaw up. “That shouldn’t surprise you Rin, Yukio’s always been a smart guy.”

Yukio stood from a couple rows in front of us. “Yes sir,” Girls around us were swooning over Yukio as he made his way to the podium on the stage below. “To be able to join you all here at True Cross, a school I’ve long admired, is something that is both thrilling and sobering.”

Rin placed his hand on my thigh. “The little crybaby that always got bullied,”

“I hope that I can live up to the standards of this place. I’m your freshman class rep, Yukio Okumura.”

Tours of the campus were starting so everyone from the auditorium made their way to the courtyard outside the building. The three of us stood together and more girls made their way to Yukio, still overcome with him, I had never seen so many girls throw themselves at him. Yukio’s face turned bright red as they all spoke to him. Rin watched him with concerned eyes. We both knew how little it took to embarrass Yukio.

As our tour began Rin couldn’t hold back his excitement. Every different area we saw he was dumbfounded. The entrance hall was the first stop, escalators that took you up to the next floor pushed Rin over the edge. “This is a school?!” That goofy grin spread from ear to ear and I couldn’t help but giggle as I watched him. The dining hall was stop two and it made his shock even more clear than the first stop. “Woah,” He grabbed my waist and squeezed me, pointing up. “Would you get a load of those chandeliers, it’s like a fancy shmancy restaurant.”

Students around us were watching, but the little raven haired boy didn’t seem to care. The tour took us to classrooms, Rin walked around, admiring every knock and cranny. “Damn, do you think they could have made this room any bigger?” He sat at a desk and his wide eyes expression made more people watch him. “Even these desks are bigger than the ones at the monastery.”

A group of girls off in the distance were speaking about him. “What’s with that guy over there, he’s freaking out.” Another girl spoke back. “I know, what’s a weirdo like that doing here?”

I started to step toward them, ready to give them a piece of mind when my jacket of my uniform was grabbed by Rin’s strong hands. “Leave it alone Y/n, they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

As we left the classroom and the tour concluded a man’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “That’s all for today, classes start next week so you should go back to your dorms and get settled in.” We made our way down the stairs and as we got to the bottom we realized that we didn’t even know where we were going. Rin threw his hands in the air. “Where the hell is the dorm, no one told us jack about that.”

I grabbed his arms and pulled them back down. “Relax Rin, we’ll figure it out. Let’s find Yukio, maybe he knows.” A strange sound, almost like a whimpering came from our feet and we looked down to see a small white dog with a pink bandanna around it’s neck. “Who let you in?”

The dog grabbed the ankle of Rin’s pants and started tugging at him, causing Rin to holler out and spin to try to get it off him. The dog let go and stared at us, slowly moving forward, clearly wanting us to follow. We followed as it ran further and further, when it was completely away from everyone at the school it climbed up onto a light pole and in a poof it was no longer a dog. Rin and I both threw ourselves backwards, basically tripping over each other. Mephesto sat before us. “Pardon me, but it would unseamly for the director of the university to be caught prowling around the halls during the day.”

Rin’s confusion was about to overtake him. “You shape shifted! Does that mean that exorcists can shape shift?!”

“God no.” Mephesto almost looked offended. “Although I am an exception.” He held up two keys, tossing them at Rin and I. We each caught one and stared between Mephesto and it. “That key grants you access to the cram school through any door at any time.”

“Cram school?”

“It’s where the two of you will train to become exorcists. Each day you’ll attend normal high school classes, but afterwards you’ll train at the cram school to become a page. While you study exorcism you’ll be considered an exorcist in training. Your high school classes don’t begin until next week, but cram school…” he stepped toward us. “That starts today.” He put his face inches from Rin’s. “I trust you’re ready to begin?” 

“Never been more ready.” The corner of Rin’s mouth curled upwards as a smirk pulled at it. 

“I have to warn you tho. It would be best if you kept the whole son of Satan thing confidential. Say what you want about your ear, fangs, and tail, but the flames are a no no.” Rin tensed. “Control yourself.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Fabulous.” Mephesto jumped on the concrete wall beside us. “Let’s get to it.” He jumped off the edge of the wall on the opposite side and we both ran for the edge, afraid that there was nothing there. Mephesto stood on the ground in front of a door on the opposite side. “Try using one of your keys I just gave you on this door.” We both hopped over the ledge and stood in front of the door. As Rin placed his key in the lock and the doors open we both stood with our mouth gaping open.

Even just the hallway was immaculate. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Mephesto started to corral the two of us. “Come on, your class is this way.” 

Taglist 💕 @thebookwormfairy @psycho-emi @pnkcts @chenosaurr​

Updated: 5/13/2020

[repo-net]

It's been over a century since I last shared an OC of mine properly here, so here's another one of em, lmfao. This little fella has slowly become one of my more favorite ones mainly because he's kind of a representation of what I was like (well, aside from his backstory) before I grew into the more social and outgoing person that I turned into mid high school, so I have a special place in my heart for him. Anyways.

• Name: Aoyama Nakazke

• Gender: Male

• Height: 161cm (5'3")

• Weight: 53kg (118lbs)

• Likes: Having his hair stroked, bottles of cola, cats

• Dislikes: The smell of garbage, belts, and being ignored

• Talent: Street Baller

• Birthday: May 28

Link to the picrew used to make the above picture:

Full body images: (left is his regular outfit, right is his gym/jersey outfit, but it's more or less just him without the jacket, lol)

Personality: Aoyama is a humble and caring boy, one that shows a lot of will to prove that he's harmless and won't pull anything suspicious. He has a genuinely kind heart, one willing to reach out to others when he has a chance to do so. Despite this though, Aoyama isn't all that he seems.

He has his own insecurities due to a lack of social interaction growing up and a lack of attention and affection ever being given to him, and thus isn't exactly the best when talking to people. His thoughts and his words, while self-deprecating at times, may contrast with occasionally selfish actions to try and survive, and thus leads to Aoyama's fear of being seen as self-centered by others.

Despite this though, Aoyama truly does try to make himself look as trustable as possible and tends to act on the good side, but his desire to survive can overcome this, and while getting close to him isn't a particularly hard task, it takes a while for him to actually open up to his problems, being rather timid. Gaining his full trust can make him very attached to you though, as he values someone who he thinks won't just abandon and hurt him as incredibly saintlike, and goes out of their way to defend them, even if said person truly is in the wrong. That can be a good or bad thing depending on who he ends up giving his full devotion to.

(Backstory coming up is kind of long and has some content warning for abuse, so I'll just point that out. It's nothing too complicated, you can summarize it in 2-4 sentences if you wanted to, but I thought I'd make his backstory more detailed.)

Backstory: Aoyama lived in an abusive and poor household growing up, his parents taking out their frustration over their situation on him, claiming that their lives wouldn't be as miserable if he weren't born.

They would constantly shelter him and refuse to ever let him out of the house despite constantly seeing other kids enjoying and living their life, and being someone who got the bare minimum in education via homeschool, he was incredibly inexperienced with talking to people, and to some extent, stil is. As a matter of fact, to this day, Aoyama hasn't even graduated middle school.

His parents would berate and get on his case whenever he made even the slightest mistake; and when he makes a larger scale one, his parents would beat him with a belt to discipline him, and this only grew his hate, for them and his want to go out even further.

One night, Aoyama simply couldn't take it any more and snuck a bag with clothes, what little money he had along with a generous amount of what his parents' wallet had and a basketball along with himself outside of the house at night and never returned ever again.

Once he left the house and had no one but himself to look out for himself, he had to turn to playing basketball on the streets to keep himself entertained and sane. But it was clear to him that he wasn't going to survive since he'd just run out of money sooner than later. So, he decided that the only way to really live is to play with other people at basketball, and gamble his money to get paid.

However, due to his small size and dirty clothes/look, he'd get picked on by bigger kids and he'd get pushed around and hurt a lot, his life became a constant competition where he had to constantly come out on top in the harsher, more physical street basketball environment he had to grow up in to pay for the food and drinks he needed just to live. But his talent for basketball from his speed, stamina, and technique would always help him defy odds and come out of matches richer.

Every day was a battle with other kids and every day he had to spend his money wisely and make sure no one would try to steal it from him; he was constantly paranoid of people staring at him like an outcast and he'd only trusted those he played with on the courts. His life for more than half a decade was just physical and bruising streetball that had him have to put his body on the line just to sustain himself in the streets. His only company during those times were stray cats, and the occasional teammates after ball games that he'd share a cola with.

One day while he was looking for a new street to stay in though, Aoyama participated in a larger scale street ball tournament outside of his home town, and he came out of nowhere as an underdog to win, defeating a mountain of larger names in the street ball genre and gaining recognition around the area. He was recruited into a major street ball team and after they learned that Aoyama literally had no place to stay in, he was allowed to sleep in the team bus + the team's dugouts/dorms.

Ever since then, his life has significantly improved, at least by his standards, he's travelled across the country with his teammates, he's gotten just the tiniest bit better at talking to people, though he's still a rather introverted and timid mess when outside of the playing court. His current goal is to win a bigger tournament with his team and use the winnings to come back to his parents and apologize for stealing the money he took from them when he left the house, despite all the abuse that he took from them, he wants to hope that they've changed when he comes back. That's what his wish and hope is.

Extra/s: His preferred position on the court is shooting guard, although due to his height, he ends up getting pushed into the point guard position more than he likes to admit.

He bought his jacket after he got recruited by his current team. Before that, all he wore were white shirts and shorts that he'd buy from low quality stores and toss out after a week because they got dirty.

His body is actually pretty muscly since he had to work on it to not get pushed around and hurt as much when playing street ball, but there are still some present scars on his torso, some caused by his parents' abuse.

Quote/s: "I don't really get how it all works, if I'm being honest. But if this sorta thing makes you happy, then I'll do it. Even if it's gonna embarrass me..."

"Hey, you leave them alone! You're just trying to twist the narrative on them with your made up story, aren't you? A person like them... they'd never do wrong! If you wanna come at them, then you'll be coming at me too!"

"S-Stop that! I don't know what the hell you see in me, but I don't agree with it if you're acting this way around me! I don't understand feelings like this, and trying to think about stuff I don't understand just hurts..."

Anddd that's more or less Aoyama Nakazke. Sorry that this was long as hell, it's probably not anything special but I like how he came out. Please give feedback if you have any, it'd be really appreciated! Thanks for reading!

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

On Bended Knee

True story, I named the doc for this Wakey Wakey Victor’s Nakey and in the end he mostly keeps on his clothes. I played myself.

Mr Love: Queen’s Choice | Victor x MC | Explicit

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Victor liked to be in control, almost to a fault.

He read the business section twice a day, checked every ingredient in what few prepackaged foods he owned, organised his schedule several months in advance.

It should come as no surprise, therefore, that he was intrigued by the things he could not predict nor control. No matter how often he checked the stock market, he could not change the weather. He could bake his own bread and brew his own wine, but he could not change the thoughts and feelings of others. He could not unsend a text, could not undo a bad decision.

At most he could keep an eye on consistencies, uncomfortable in the knowledge that human beings were almost predictably inconsistent.

Up until now, for example, MC had been only too happy to take on board his advice, particularly when it came to company dinners. He didn’t blame her, of course. Most of her own employees were her peers whereas these men were older and richer than most, with expectations and etiquette far removed from common people.

It grieved him to think of MC as common, even if he never said so to her face. Instead he would sigh at her wide eyed expression at the initial invitation and urge her to promise that she would not embarrass him in front of his business partners. He would rub his temples at her attempts to double check conversation topics, feigning annoyance in favour of openly acknowledging that her enthusiasm was impressive even if her execution left much to be desired.

He insisted on going with her when she went out to pick up new dresses for the event, complaining at her lack of taste even as he put each one on his card. He always insisted she wear flat shoes; always ignored the form fitting and mature dresses in favour of ones that cast a light on her youth and innocence, telling her that she didn’t have much of a figure to show off in the first place when in fact the opposite was true. He struggled to think straight whenever she wore a skirt and was repulsed by the idea of any of his business partners doing the same.

He hated the idea of them fawning over her. He might have told her otherwise more than once, but she had a wealth of redeeming qualities, any of which might enchant a man with a discerning eye. The thought of another seeing past her innocence to the strong will underneath kept him up at night. His peers were different to hers, after all. There was nothing he could give her that they could not.

Teaching her a new way of walking and talking was as much of a shame as spray painting over a tiger’s stripes, but any sadness he might have felt at her demure dresses dissolved the moment they left each restaurant and she slipped off her mask with as much gusto as she did her high heels. She was a near perfect picture of elegance and refinement, but he liked her best after they left the table, as she raved in the back of his car about the price of dessert and diamond inlay on the salt and pepper pots.

For this night in particular he had pointed out a conservative blue dress and matching cardigan. MC had looked confused as she took in her reflection in the dressing room mirror, somehow still taken off guard by his choices.

He had chosen the dress for its high neckline and long skirt, leaving next to nothing to the imagination, which she seemed to notice, for she frowned as she gave him a twirl.

“Are you sure about this? Don’t you think it looks a little...frumpy?”

“Frumpy?”

“Yes...I think I had a dress like this in kindergarten.”

“Well in that case it’s perfect,” he smirked, “a true representation of what lies beneath.”

MC pouted at that, still defending her maturity long after they left the store.

The day of the company dinner, he picked her up at her front door as had become the routine. She was always five or six minutes late and had a different explanation each time, from smudged lipstick to forgetting her purse. This time around, she was a full fifteen minutes late and Victor spent the time wondering what her reasoning might be. The reality, of course, was the last thing he might have imagined.

MC stepped out in a bright red dress, worlds apart from the one he had chosen. It was carefully tailored to accentuate every curve and left very little to the imagination, with a plunging neckline, that left her collarbones and the swell of her breasts tentatively exposed. She had pinned her hair high above her head, drawing the eye to the jeweled necklace at her throat.

Victor couldn’t take his eyes off her, unable to do anything but stare as she walked towards the car.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, sitting down next to him as she always did and reaching for her seat belt. “Kiki and Willow came over to do my makeup and got talking…”

Victor couldn’t tear his gaze from the curve of her neck; the way her necklace glimmered in the evening light. He was all too familiar with the scent of her perfume, of how she looked naked. He liked to be in control, to be ready for every outcome, and especially so when it came to himself.

“Are you okay?” MC ventured, that same undercurrent of satisfaction in her voice that he recognised from his own. He had never doubted it, of course, but this was all the confirmation he needed that she meant to take command and test him.

Naturally, he wouldn’t allow it. He leaned back in his seat, keeping his composure so well that no one, not even MC, would notice the slip in his facade.

“Did you forget the rest of your dress?”

“Don’t you like it?”

MC shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Victor narrowed his eyes, knowing a challenge when he saw one.

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Dinner was rather more intense than usual, though not in ways that Victor was used to. He doubted anyone but he and MC noticed the silent tug of war. Every time MC leaned forward and cupped her head in her hands to listen intently to the other board members chat, Victor made a point to change the topic, asking MC her opinions and switching everyone’s focus back to her. She fiddled with her hair, he turned away to speak to someone else. She placed a hand on his thigh, he ignored her entirely.

With every new course, he considered a new way to take command. Perhaps he would invite her back to his home and leave her gasping between the sheets. Maybe he would book a room for the night and see how she looked in nothing but the necklace at her throat. Every idea was more depraved than the next and he half wondered whose victory that was.

In the end it was MC that made the first move. She leaned over to whisper in his ear while everyone around them discussed ergonomics.

“Excuse me,” she said, “I think I left my phone in my coat.”

She got to her feet and left the table, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smirk as she headed to the cloakroom. The message was loud and clear, though he wasn’t sure if he should accept it. Going to her would almost certainly stack the cards in her favour.

He debated leaving her there, wondering not only how long she would wait but how long it would take his colleagues to end their conversation long enough to notice. In the end he gave them a nod and excused himself with some muttered excuse about checking in with the chef.

He slipped a few notes to the man at the cloakroom door in exchange for a key and stepped inside, glancing around to take note of who was there while MC stepped out from behind one of the coat racks, wearing a shit eating grin.

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing,” he said, satisfied that there was no one else around and turning to lock the cloakroom door.

“I like games,” said MC, “especially when I’m about to win.”

“Oh?” He turned to face her, taking in every curve and exposed patch of skin. “What makes you so sure you’ve won?”

She took several steps backwards, towards a dressing table and leaned back against the frame. He could tell she was flustered, but giving it all she had. She didn’t usually put on a seductive mask, after all. Generally she blushed her way through foreplay.

He wondered how long she had been planning this; how many dresses and masks she had tried before this one. He took a step closer, keeping up his own facade of cool indifference.

“I just...I know,” she said, blush creeping across her cheeks. “You followed me here, didn’t you!”

“An interesting gamble,” he said. “What makes you so sure I didn’t come here because you’d been gone for too long?”

“I...I…”

Victor had come to know MC, from her measurements to her favourite song. He could tell she hadn’t planned for a scenario where she might actually come out on top.

He took a few more steps closer, planting both hands on the dressing table and leaning forward until he was close enough to smell her shampoo. By now she was a furious red and burning up, at a complete contrast to her prior confidence. 

He grazed his lips along her neck, all too satisfied at the way she gasped without meaning to.

“Are you sure you want to play this game, MC?”

She reached her hands out to his waist, looping her fingers into his belt buckle as she pulled him closer.

“I do,” she said, then, a second time, “I do!”

Then, as if the second confirmation was for herself, she fumbled with the zipper of her dress.

She stared at it for a few seconds as it hit the floor before kicking it aside, standing in front of him in nothing more than her underwear and heels. She popped open her bra with far less hesitation and her panties none at all. She reached down to his zipper but he caught hold of her hand, guiding it away and lifting her up onto the dresser.

Only then did he kiss her, hungry and demanding. He kissed her with the same force he usually reserved for when he was buried deep inside of her, stealing the breath from her lips with every nip of his teeth. He slipped his knee between her legs and spread them apart, feeling each and every touch so clearly that they all rippled through his body, his every instinct willing him towards her sex.

Before MC he had never understood the way his peers described women; as if they were almost irresistibly intoxicating. He had always prided his own self control and the notion of losing it was both frightening and uncomfortable. He understood it now, though, that just the scent of MC’s perfume was enough to leave him teetering over the edge.

She woke the parts of him he had forgotten existed; shattered chains he didn’t know he had.

He pulled away from her, looking her in the eye as he sank down to his knees. MC watched, blushing furiously as he reached up to part her legs even further and spread her out so that all of her was on display.

“Vic-“ she murmured, lapsing into a moan at the feel of his warm breath against her cunt.

He waited, listening out for any sound of discomfort before running his tongue over her clit, keeping a strong hold on her trembling legs.

They might be at a Michelin ranked restaurant, but she was the finest thing he’d tasted all day. He couldn’t get enough of her, burying his face in her folds and sucking her clit so hard that she dug her fingers into his hair. She was so gloriously wet for him, and it took everything in him to stop himself from taking her there and then.

He let go of her leg and rested it over his shoulder, slipping a finger from his free hand into her heat and leaving her little choice but to hold her hand over her mouth to stifle her moans. He ran his tongue over her clit and sank his finger into her, once and then twice until he had something of a rhythm, however erratic.

When she came he felt it against his fingers, her soft walls ripping against them and squeezing hard, as if the pressure had come from his cock and her body meant to milk him of every drop.

He slipped his fingers out of her and looked up into MC’s face, absorbing how utterly dazed from pleasure she had become.

He let go of both of her legs and got to his feet, laying a soft kiss on her lips and pushing aside the terrible joke spinning through his mind that she had come out on top in more ways than one.

“Here,” he said, easing her down from the dresser and turning her away from him. “Just like that.”

She bent over the dresser of her own accord, turning back to watch as he finally loosened his pants. She licked her lips when he lowered his underwear and allowed his cock to break free, beads of pre cum already gathered at the tip.

He took hold of her hip and gripped onto his cock, both of them hissing in relief as he guided himself into her. Her pussy was still pulsing with aftershocks of pleasure and he knew that neither of them would last long. He dug his fingers into her hip, slamming into her with such force that she fell forwards across the dresser. He reached to grab one of her arms and twisted it against her back to steady her as he thrust into her.

Neither of them were bothering to be quiet anymore, MC gasping at every thrust and Victor groaning at the tension in the pit of his stomach; a spring wound unbearably tight.

MC was already overstimulated and it took only a few rapid thrusts to leave her bubbling over again, looking into his face as she lost control. Victor glanced up at their reflection in the dresser mirror, taking in the view of MC’s breasts bouncing as their bodies collided and his own lust filled expression. He didn’t recognise himself and didn’t are.

He slowed down completely as his own release took over, sighing as his dick quivered inside of her and all of the tension left his body, pleasure washing over him like a hot bath.

He let go of the arm he had been holding and MC rested it against the dresser, each of them so content at being connected that time fell still.

In that moment, as the dust settled, it was only too clear to Victor that he had never been, nor would ever be, the one in command when it came to MC. While on a surface level it might have seemed like he pulled the strings and made the decisions, each and every one of his actions came from a desire to honour MC’s thoughts and wishes. Swords did not rule kingdoms and she was nothing if not a queen, even with her ass in the air and his dick deep inside of her.

His every action was an act of worship, an unspoken and implicit bended knee. He pulled himself out of her and watched his seed spill from her onto the floor-the only evidence that even just for a moment they had belonged to one another.

She straightened her back and took a deep breath, resting her head against his chest without a care if it smudged the makeup she had so carefully applied to the point of being late.

“I should get dressed,” she murmured.

“Yes,” he said, “I imagine we’ll get more than our fair share of second glances if you walk out there wearing nothing but a smile.”

“You could always go out with me...for moral support.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, straightening his tie. “The world isn’t ready for such a display.”

He waited for MC to get her dress back on before heading to the door, wondering if he might have to pay more for the restaurant employee’s silence.

“That’s one point to me, by the way,” said MC, reapplying her makeup.

“Oh?”

“Yep.”

“Hmmm…interesting.”

He said nothing more of it, instead smirking to himself as he returned to their table, knowing that his silence on the matter would leave her imagination running wild.

That point truly was hers, after all, even if she had no idea he had conceded it.

[weareallfallengods]

Flight from Grace Chapter 1 - A small stumble

The long-awaited complete 1st chapter of my WIP novel! I started this over 6 months ago and I’m finally getting into the swing of it.

Synopsis: What happens when a Fallen Angel with no memory of her own eternal past meets a woman who can see her for who she really is? A head on collision between the world as we know it and an eternal battle between the immortals tasked with safeguarding the mortal realm. 

Grace can see things she shouldn’t be able to; after all, immortals have gone to a lot of trouble to make sure we can’t see them as they really are, so Something Has Changed, and she and her Fallen Angel will find out what’s going on, and why they seem to always be stuck in the middle of it all.

Themes: Angels and Demons, examination of mortality and our understanding of and belief in the supernatural as well as the eternal nature of existence. The battle between good and evil, and how no one is ever what they seem to be when we look past prejudices and social judgements. LGBTQ+, proper ethnic and cultural representation (read: most characters aren’t straight or white!).

Triggers: If you don’t like stories that put an often irreverant and sacriligeous spin on Christian mythos, this isn’t for you. LGBTQ+ romance, slow burn, non-explicit.

===================================================

“Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”

Some neanderthal interrupted my deep contemplation of the double whiskey sour in front of me. Which was very rude. Whiskey sours demand your undivided attention and get cranky if ignored for too long. He should have known that, but either he didn’t know or didnt care, so either way- neanderthal.

He was leaning on the bar with the casual air of someone who has done this same dance too many times, the practiced ease of a used car salesman slapping the roof of a car. At least this one’s breath wasn’t too foul. Not that this hadn’t happened before. Oh no, I’d never been badly hit on in this bar like ten thousand times already. No that never happened. I was able to just sit in peace with my drink for the entire night. Yeah, right. Why do I keep coming back then, you ask? Well, Grace makes one hell of a whiskey sour for one thing.

“Hey, did you hear me?”

Ugh, this one wasn't going away with simply being ignored. Lovely.

“Excuse me?” I looked over languidly, with as much disdainful irritation on my face as I could possibly muster from the depths of my three-drinks-in soul.

“I said, ‘did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’”

His stupid shit-eating leer didnt help my mood any. I wasn’t ever in a good mood if I showed up here, and that’s probably one of the reasons I kept coming back- assholes like this gave me a vent for my foul mood.

“No actually. It’s less of a fall and more of a stumble really. More like getting tossed out of a club by a bouncer than falling down the stairs. Couple of bruises, a minor scrape, more damaged pride than anything really.”

I could see his monkey-brain churning slowly to try and digest my response that didn’t fit his pre-programmed scenario. I half expected to see steam coming out of an ear. God, some men are just so... ew.

“Um, what?”

Apparently I broke him. Well, that happens sometimes, when I give someone a response they weren’t expecting. Which happens more often than I’d be willing to admit to myself.

“I said that getting tossed out of heaven doesn’t hurt as much as you’d think it would. It’s not that far of a tumble really.”

He chuckled, “That’s real cute darlin’, never heard that one before! How’s about you and me find a table so I can hear more about it? Maybe have a look at those bruises, make sure you don't need more…attention.”

Sweet Mother of Mikhail, that was bad. Like even worse than his initial pickup line. I almost had to respect his commitment to such a shitty way of trying to pick me up. He had some balls, that’s for sure, either from drunken stupidity or pure ignorant self-confidence. They say that bravery and stupidity go hand in hand, and here was their shining example.

“Believe me sweetie, you don’t want my 'attention’,” I said softly, for the first time raising my eyes to lock with his glazed gaze. “My attention can become very… uncomfortable.”

He started to smirk for just a split second, but when my eyes met his, both the smirk and the color melted from his face. His mouth hung slack as he felt his soul staring down the opening fiery abyss that he found reflected in my eyes. I watched his mind recoil in horror at the emptiness it saw as it tried futilely to pull back from the horror of empty infinity it was confronted with. I saw in his eyes the sudden awareness of how small and insignificant his place in the universe was, and shrink in horror, trying to flee internally only to find that there’s no escape from your own mind and the finality of human existence.

I looked away just as his eyes started to roll back in his head. No need to cause a scene with him passing out. After all, my whiskey sour was crying from being ignored. As they do.

“I think you should probably go home now Blake,” I demurred softly. “You’ve probably had enough, and your wife would be happy if you tucked the children into bed for once. Oh, and coffee won’t remove the smell of alcohol, so just have a peppermint. Your kids like that smell, reminds them of Christmas.”

He kind of half nodded, like a sleepwalker. I sighed. Hopefully he doesn't have an existential crisis later and just shrugs it off as being too drunk. Hell, maybe he’ll cut back on the sauce. I hate it when I hear about someone offing themselves after meeting me, especially if they have kids. Well, hopefully he just takes the daily inebriation down a notch or two. I can hope, can’t I?

As he shuffled off, lager forgotten at the bar, I hoped he’d be alright. Genuinely. Sure, I enjoyed taking my frustration at being stuck here out on them, but I didn't actually wish them lasting harm. A lesson or two in politeness and decency, a minor scuffle to break up the monotony, but no real damage. That’s what I told myself anyway. Made it easier to pretend to sleep at night. Hope he makes it home ok. Hope his kids get a happy memory of daddy saying goodnight for once. Hope he says he loves his wife, and apologizes. Hah. Yeah. Like that’ll happen. But, what can I say, I’m a foolish optimist at heart. And nothing hurts more than having your hopes crushed. I should know.

Damn. My drink was crying, a small puddle of condensation soaking into the bar napkin it rested on. Again. Another sigh. And one more for the first sigh. I hate sighing. It’s the most comprehensive sound of the acceptance of defeat ever created. The acknowledgment of futility. And I hate that. I thought I’d be fighting to the bitter end, but apparently Destiny had other plans. Fucking Destiny. She’s the whole reason I’m even drinking in the first place.

“Get you a fresh one?”

A sweet silver-bell tinkle of a voice broke my unintentional reverie. Grace was back, checking on me. She knew my peccadilloes by now. She knew how much I hated when my drink got watered down by the ice melting if it got ignored for too long. I nodded.

She smiled pleasantly and slid over a new drink, already prepped.

“I figured, after that creep pounced on ya.”

I frowned slightly. There was something different about this one. Hunh. Oh, the ice. There wasn’t any. There were two black cubes sitting in it instead. OK, why are there rocks in my drink?

I looked up at Grace, still slightly puzzled.

“Oh those? Yeah I noticed you didn’t like it when your drink gets watered down, so I bought some Irish whiskey stones! That way your drink stays cold, but doesn't dilute. Got 'em special, just for you.”

I cocked one eyebrow slightly, “Just for me?”

“Yep! Let’s face it, you’re the only one who comes in here with that kind of class, so I put 'em in the freezer back here with a big 'ol note so Jimmy doesn’t think I’m crazy for keeping rocks in the fridge,” her airy chuckle sprinkled across my ears.

I stared. I was in shock. OK, well maybe I’m being dramatic, but I was still surprised. People don’t normally do nice things for me. Or to me for that matter. If I’m honest, they mostly run away.

“Why…” I couldn't even formulate a coherent sentence. Jesus, get yourself together!

“I dunno, I just figured you don't seem like you have anyone looking out for you, and you seem to attract a lot of the wrong sort of attention, so I thought you could use a nice surprise, y’know, cheer you up a little.”

I nodded, more in surprise than agreement. I literally couldn’t recall the last time someone voluntarily tried to do something nice, just for me, no hope or expectation of reward or compensation. I was probably silent a little too long for a comfortable conversation. Hey, I was revelling in the new experience, cut me some slack.

“Well. Wow, um, thanks.” Yeah real smooth. Sweet Mikhail’s Grave I have no idea how to actually talk to this woman.

In retrospect, that should have been my first clue, but hey, I was a little distracted.

“I appreciate it, that’s really sweet of you.” Ok that’s slightly less glaringly awkward.

“Not trying to be rude at all, but I gotta ask- what’s your deal? Like you come in here all the time, lookin’ like a million bucks, never talk to anyone, get in fights every so often, get harassed like every single time but you keep coming back? I mean, I’m not trying to pry if you don’t wanna talk, but you know, like I’m totally trying to pry!”

Now it was my turn to stare slack-jawed. Oh Fates, how your twists are cruel. I closed my mouth a lot faster than the sot from earlier though, so my pride wasn't too damaged.

“It’s kind of a long and uninteresting story really. Mostly, you make the best whiskey sour. And the people here are…interesting.”

“Honey, there’s no way a story coming from someone who looks like that,” she waved generally up and down at me, “could possibly be boring. Plus, it’s slow, as always, so humor me.”

Sometimes, I can be kind of thick. Slow. Moronic. A nincompoop. A maroon. Several minutes of conversation with this girl and I only just now noticed- she hadn’t looked away from my eyes. She was meeting my gaze with no problem. She wasn't sweating and shaking and passing out. She was looking me right in the eye, just like a normal person, no fear showing on her face. No reaction at all. Just a normal girl, having a normal conversation, with what she thought was another normal person.

“Are…you OK?” Grace looked a bit concerned.

Aw shit, I was staring, and not even trying to hide it. Well now I felt dumb. And, why did I feel dumb? What was up with this girl that she made me feel so self conscious, so uncomfortable, like one of those fainting goats that just freezes and falls over when you blink too hard at them. Speaking of blinking really hard.

“Um, oh, yeah, sorry, I’m fine. Really. Sorry, just not many people actually want to have a real conversation with me.”

Grace leaned over the bar a little, propping up on her elbows, lowering her tone a bit. “Well, I don’t know why, 'cuz you sure seem hella interesting to me.”

“Hunh. Well, I don't know about that. But I would like to ask you something first, if you don't mind?”

“Fire away honey!”

“This might sound odd, but, why aren’t you looking away? What do you see when you look at me?”

She pulled a tiny bit closer. “Nothin’ more than just about the sparkly-est green eyes I ever seen; a dash of blue, like the Bahamas. Somethin’ else I can't quite put my finger on…” as she trailed off, I felt her finger lightly brush the knuckles on my hand that was still holding my drink. “I kinda wanna find out though.”

OK, now that was smooth. Holy fuck, that was really, really smooth. Like two hundred year old Laphroaig single malt filtered through the blessed socks of His Holiness the Pope smooth. Hold up, now she was trying to pick me up? What the hell universe? What’s going on here?

I swallowed, unable to look away now myself. “That’s all? Nothing that scares you?”

“Not yet, sugar.”

Alright, that’s different.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I grabbed her hand. Maybe a little too hard from the slight wince I saw.

“OK we need to leave. NOW.”

“Hold up honey, we were just talkin’, we ain’t there yet!” She tried pulling back a little.

“No, no, you don’t understand! I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t be able to see that. I can’t explain right now, but we have to figure out how you can see me that way.”

“But my shift’s not over for a couple more hours!”

“OK OK, I’m not being clear, sorry, this is the first time this has happened, so I’m a little shaken.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” She actually blushed a little. “I just saw how you shot down every guy who came up to you, and I thought….well, you know, maybe…omg I’m sorry I didn't mean to upset you! I come on strong sometimes, when I’m interested in something, and when you first walked in, I saw those heels and that dress, and I just was like ‘oh wow’ and kinda couldn’t breathe for a minute, you know I don't see many girls come here lookin’ like that and oh God now I’m babbling and someone please shut me up I'm so sorry…”

I put a finger over her lips, gently.

“I’m not upset. Far from it actually. But we have something a tiny bit more urgent than that to address. I’m not who you think I am. Or what, I should say. But more to the point, there’s something bigger going on here. And I need to find out what. Fast.”

“Wait, so you’re not mad I hit on you?”

“We don’t have time for that now!” She recoiled slightly at my vehemence. “No, I’m not upset, but that’s not the point! You shouldnt be able to see my eyes. My real ones anyway. I was too slow on picking that up right away, and I’m sorry, but we have to get out of here, now, because something is different, and in my world, that’s never a good thing.”

“Your world?”

I was getting frustrated. “Yes, but I’ll explain later! I need you to come with me now. We need answers, and we need them fast. So, do you trust me?”

She hesitated. “Yeeeeees? I think? Like I wanna, but I don’t really know you?”

“Good enough for now! Let’s go!”

To her credit, she just dropped her bar towel, grabbed her phone from under the bar and came out from behind it, grabbing my hand as she yelled to the back, “Hey Jimmy! I gotta leave! Personal thing- cover for me?”

Just then, there was a bit of a commotion at the door. Grace turned to look, but I didn’t need to. I already knew what was there. I just clutched her hand even tighter and yanked her towards the back; there was an emergency exit near the bathrooms from what I remembered of that one really bad 'birthday’. Yeah, that was a bad one. But we ran.

Good thing I’m not super tall, wouldn’t want to draw attention, I thought to myself sarcastically. Goddamn heels. Why do I even wear these?

Sounds of glass breaking and shouting reached us as we plowed through the emergency exit into the alleyway. Don’t worry about that now, just keep moving.

“This way!” I pulled her to the front of the alley.

“Holy shit, that’s your bike?” She sounded genuinely impressed. Finally, I wasn’t the only one who had that reaction at seeing it. 

“Oh yeah, she’s a sweet ride, and perfect for this situation. Or any situation, really. Jump on.”

I probably should have shut the door behind us, but hey, it was a day for me missing obvious things. The noise coming from the bar was getting louder.

“I’ve never done this before!” Grace exclaimed excitedly in my ear as I kicked my beast to life.

We roared out into the street, my white and gold Valentino’s left sparkling on the pavement where I kicked them. Fuckin’ useless, beautiful shoes. Sigh, they weren’t cheap. Oh well, they’re just shoes.

“Where are we going!?” Grace yelled over the rush of wind whipping our hair like tiny flails of purgatory.

“Not sure yet! But we’re going to find out!”

“I don't even know your name!”

My heart sank a bit.

“Don't worry! Neither do I! ”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The bar exploded behind us as it faded into the night thanks to the fabulous Ducati between our legs. Oh and that wasn’t metaphorical- I glanced in the mirror at the sound; it literally exploded. Ball of fire and all. I guess that’s to be expected, what with all the alcohol and what I’d suspected for a while was going on in the basement. Way too many flammable liquids in one place. But that didn't really matter now. All that mattered was getting away from what caused the explosion as fast as we possibly could. 

“What the hell was that!?” Grace yelled in my ear. Again. I’m going to have to get some headsets or something if this is going to be a habit. Well, the riding together part, not the fleeing for our lives part anyway. 

“I’ll explain as soon as we can talk, promise! For now, just hold on! And don't look behind us!" 

“As if I’m gonna let go now!”

That glance in the rear view told me as much as I needed to know, which was more than I wanted, but enough to have an idea of what we were running from. I mean, I figured that’s what it was, but I’m still tired of being right, even after all this time. You’d think I'd be used to it by now. 

That pale blue and red glow was enough. Hell, the noise it made had been enough for me to know what it was. And trust me, I was not overreacting by running first. I’d seen that color a few too many times in my life to think that there was anything else to be done except run. Once was more than enough for anyone. Who am I kidding? Most people don't get a chance to see it more than once. Guess I’m just lucky. Or the opposite. Pretty sure I’m the latter actually. 

Grace was shivering on my back as we sped away. She’d gone quiet, her mood matching the night around us, the neon signs and street lights reflecting their multi-colored halos in the rain-slicked streets. Fog was starting to rise from the pavement, adding to the soft glow the streets were taking on. Thin, wispy strands curling around street lights and bus stops, blasted into nothing as the bike tore through them, the roar of the exhaust shattering the relative quiet of the late night calm. 

Well, it should have been quiet anyway. The explosion of the bar kind of changed that. Then came the sound. 

It mixed with the growing whine from the crotch rocket under us, which seemed like a fitting counterpoint to the cacophony of something that sounded like if you’d thrown a hundred maltese dogs into a tornado and then blasted it over a crappy school intercom. I hated that sound. Almost as much as the dogs it reminded me of. 

“Aw shit, it saw us.” Time to see if the tires on this baby gripped as well as the kid at the shop claimed they did. 

Well, at least there wasn’t too much traffic. Still, even though there weren’t many trucks and accountant-driven sedans to weave in and out of, there were still enough of them that it took a hell of a lot more concentration than my alcohol soaked brain was ready to deal with. Definitely hadn’t planned on being the next Lewis Hamilton after a night at the bar, that’s for damn sure. 

“What the fuu….?” Grace’s expletive trailed off in the whipping wind as I kept us weaving in and out and through, gunning the shit out of my bike whenever there was an opening big enough to do so without turning us into extremely messy, if fashionable, pancakes.

“Try not to worry about it! OK I mean, yeah, worry, but not like understand worry!”

“How the hell do you not worry about...that!?”

I took a good look back for the first time as we whipped around a corner, using the rain-slick street to slide without losing any speed. My heart sank. At least it wasn’t in my throat choking me anymore. Sarcastic positivity in the face of death? Yeah that’s my jam. Even if I do keep it to myself. Most of the time anyway.

The damn thing was getting closer. Faster than I thought it could. Damn, tonight just wasn’t my night for noticing things, now was it?

That second of splitting my attention nearly sent us flying and a tired busboy standing at the corner bus stop to the hospital, but we only just missed him, with barely enough room to avoid slamming into the back end of something that should have been parked at a kids soccer game, not getting on the expressway at this time of night. 

Slipping into an alley entrance, Grace’s nails dug through the flimsy material I was wrapped in, making me yelp in surprise. 

“Sorry,” she muttered.

I was about to tell her it was cool, considering the circumstances, and given that I wasn’t sure if it made me jump because it hurt, or her hands were cold, or because of where they’d slid down to, when we blew out the other side of the alley, causing a literal postcard explosion from the stand I clipped as we bounced out on to the main road again, just in time to swerve hard to avoid becoming Penske poster-girls for a single truck. 

"Sweet Jesus fuck! What the hell IS that?"

Goddammit, didn’t I tell her not to look back? I wasn’t going to tell her how the beast chasing us had seen us dart down the alley, and since it couldn't fit through the traffic as neatly as we could, silently charge down the side of the building, slamming into the same shop front that had so recently lost it's postcard stand as it tried to take the same corner, still snuffling the ground and air to track us. I managed to gain us a few precious seconds of lead as it disentangled itself from the fruit cart, re-launching itself down the alley, bicycle wheel still caught in it's whiskers that streamed and whipped behind it.

“It’s running fucking sideways on the buildings!”

Aw shit. She can see it. I was afraid of that.

And that was all the distraction it needed too. 

With a last spring off the corner of an empty flower shop, the beast took a massive swipe at us. Come on, come on, make the corner! It's thick talons cut a blazing arc through the rain as it howled. One of its claws caught the rear end of the bike, knocking it heavily to the side, and nearly throwing Grace off. Good thing she’s got a death grip on my hips right now. Oh boy don’t think of that, too distracting right now, that’s how you get killed!

Grace screamed again as the bike was whipped around violently from behind, and Grace she was confronted with a vision not even her wildest nightmares could have come up with. At least, I hope she doesn’t have nightmares like this anymore. 

The beast’s jaws opened wide to crush us like a nutcracker on adderall, glowing drool whipping around in thick, viscous strands from teeth bigger than my hand, while she seemed mesmerized by the halo of tentacle-like whiskers that seemed to float in slow motion, despite how fast everything was happening. The beast looked at me, it’s eyes burning red meeting mine as I tried to maintain my grip on the bike that was rapidly being torn from my hands. I was holding on to that tank with my knees in a way that would have made the Russian Women’s weightlifting team proud. I could hear the scream that tried to jump from Grace’s mouth only for it to turn into a slow rush of soundless breath as she slammed into my back from the force of me yanking that bike around as hard as I could possibly manage. 

Ground. Street. Tires on. People off. Stay upright. Don’t let go. Run.

The bellow from the beast behind us meant nothing to me now. I was numb, my world narrowing to the few feet in front of me, and Grace behind me. Swerve. Dodge. Car. Bike. Red light. Faster. Green. Faster. Faster. Get away. Car. Car. Bus. Turn. 

Suddenly the cars all dropped away. The turnpike. Oh thank God. I opened up the throttle all the way and finally realized I should probably start breathing again. 

Grace was trying to yell something, probably wanting an explanation. I mean I can’t blame her, but I said I’d explain! Did it look like now was suddenly the time for it? Then again, maybe it was important. 

I turned my head a bit to try to talk to her, but I paused with my mouth still open. The beast was gone.Like gone gone. Vanished. Vamoosed. Not even like really far away gone, just not there any more. I squinted. Yeah, that was a little too easy.

“Did we get away?” 

I was actually about to answer her, when a glowing blue shape cashed into us from the side, just as I was starting to finally let my legs relax a little. Everything seemed to slow down. I know, everyone says that, but it’s true! I don’t know, maybe it was the whiskey sours, but as soon as we got hit, the world turned in to super slow-mo as the bike was ripped from my hands, and I felt Grace be pulled away from me. 

This thing tossed us like a couple of rag dolls thrown from a child’s stroller being kicked by a football player. Or at least it started to go that way. Somehow, as the bike ground across the pavement, with just my left hand managing to keep any kind of hold on the bike, I managed to swing myself around it like a gymnast on a gold-medal winning vault-horse routine, snagged Grace’s bar apron with my free hand, and with sheer desperate strength, yank all three back together, right as the beast’s slavering maw snapped shut on empty air where Grace’s head had been just milliseconds before. Through pure accident of positioning, my toes raked across it’s eyes as my leg swung around and I slammed them back down on the pegs, jammed the throttle all the way open, even as Grace somehow managed to complete the circle I’d pulled her in, ending by straddling my hips, arms and hair akimbo while we slid sideways, fortunately tires first. 

Grace’s eyes were wider than a kid who opened their eyes to Disneyland on a Christmas morning as she slammed into me, and I used our momentum to get the bike fully upright, only barely escaping a second snap from the beast as it lunged again, trying to tear us apart. 

That near miss, and the sigh of relief I almost let happen, didn’t get a chance to last long. 

Her damn hair was in my face, which at any other time, wouldn’t have been a problem, really, but just at that second, was incredibly, blindingly, distracting. And it might have saved our lives. 

Something hot burned into my shoulder and face as the sound of crashing metal and people yelling slammed into me. Hm, spicy.

“Shit! Watch out! Sorry!” Grace called to the one lady who wasn’t running for the hills as we smashed through her food cart. Can you get third-degree barbecue sauce burns? Food trays, sauces and meat all went flying as we dervished our way right through the middle of her street-side restaurant, sweet and spicy and sticky all at once, all over the ground, and all over me and Grace as well. I couldn’t think of anything more than just keeping everything together and moving forward. Run. The only thought occupying my mind. Just run.

“Hey.”

The softness of her voice is what brought me back to the girl squished up against me and out of the rabbit-instinct flight mode I was in. 

I don’t know why but for some reason, my brain decided that was the perfect moment to notice that I’d never realized how captivating the color brown could be. Grace’s eyes were less than inches from mine, and I froze for a second. Again. 

“I think it’s stopped.”

I glanced back. The beast had been right on top of us when we hit the food cart, but now it was standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, sniffing around for all the world like the biggest, dumbest, glowiest dog you’ve ever seen. OK, a dog that could tear a truck apart like a box of tissues, but still. 

“What the hell is it doing?” 

“Maybe it’s hungry.”

I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud. I’d never seen one of these things just...stop like that. It didn't make sense. 

No time to think of that right now, just enough time to dart down another alley, blocking the beast from view as it sat down to lap up all the spilled barbecued beef at its feet. 

As we weaved and darted through alleys and parking lots, squeezing through sidewalks and darting across small streets, I started to recognize where we were now, and had the barest inkling of a plan besides ‘get away without dying.’

“Whatever that thing is, I think it likes barbecue.”   

Grace’s whispered comment snapped me back to what was right in front of me, the whole reason I was in this kind of mess again in the first place. . 

“Hunh?”

“I think it stopped to eat at the barbecue stand we knocked over. It’s not chasing us anymore- look.”

I tried to check the mirror again, only to find they’d both been ripped off by now, so switched to glancing over my shoulder quickly, and saw no ominous glow behind us, other than the few street lamps on the small boulevard we were going down. 

“Barbecue?” I was still pretty confused. Probably drunk too. But definitely confused. 

Grace’s laugh was carried away on the night like fireworks swept away in a light breeze. “Well, I dunno what the hell that thing was, but I haven’t met anyone yet who wouldn’t drop everything for good barbecue, honey.”

Raising an eyebrow, I laughed, “Well it’s good to see I’m not the only one here who can make wildly ridiculous comments with horrible timing!”

“Funny the things you think about when you should be focusing on other stuff that’s a little more important, hunh? Like right now, all I can think about is a nice rack of ribs.” Grace grew quieter as her head sank back down on to my shoulder. “Where we headed, sugar?”

“Somewhere close. Safe. I think.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The old loft was just as dank and dirty and run down on the inside as it looked on the outside. Probably worse. No diamonds in the rough here, that’s for sure. Broken glass scattered on the beat up industrial floor scattered the glow of the streetlight through the mist that filled the space. Definitely not up to my usual standard, but hey, we couldn’t really complain too much.

Throwing an old, discarded, and probably moldy, but definitely more disgusting than I wanted to ever touch again, mover’s blanket over the plate window helped to at least hide a little bit of how gross this place looked. Plus, privacy. A quick scan around and I found a pile of old tarps and a couple skeezy mattresses that I definitely wasn’t going to think about where they’d been or who’d done what on them for how long. It’d have to do. A dirty mattress was a small price to pay for still being alive.

"It's not the Four Seasons, but it'll do for now. It's kinda cold- I don't think the building even has heat, but I think we can keep warm enough to make it through the rest of tonight at least."

Grace flopped down heavily on the mattress, exhausted, shoulders slumped, staring vacantly at the floor.

"That was...was that...I don't even know where to start. My brain's been turned to oatmeal. What…? What happened? What in the name of all fucks just happened?"

“Yeah, there’s kind of a lot to unpack here isn’t there?” I just crumpled down into one of the old blankets like a sock puppet being dropped into its nest. “I’m not even sure where to begin.”

“Ya think? Like one minute, I’m trying to mind my business, working my shift at the bar, wondering whether I’m going to have to give another statement to the cops after another bar fight breaks out, and the next I’m getting tossed around like a hot sweet-potato, almost get eaten by a glowing, walking catfish that got beaten a little too hard with the ugly stick, get covered in barbecue sauce, do-si-doed by a goddamn motorcycle ninja, only to wind up in some place that looks like it was lifted straight out of Zillow for Crackheads!”

A snort of wry, tired amusement escaped me. “Yeah, I guess it really does look that bad here. I mean, I’m surprised this place is even still standing after all this time, but you’re right, it definitely looks a bit sketchy.”

“Way to avoid the point, hun.”

“Yeah, I know.” Not sure why, but she kept making me nervous, and the way she was sort of frowning while pinning me down with those sparkling coffee eyes definitely wasn’t helping. Probably just wasn’t used to people making eye contact. Which was the whole reason I was in this mess to begin with. Another sigh. 

“Alright. I’ll explain as much as I can. You deserve that much.”

Grace flopped down on the edge of the mattress, chin propped in her hands for all the world like a kid during goddamn story time. How the hell was I supposed to concentrate when she’s doing things like that? Look away! Only way to save myself for now. 

“OK, here goes. So the thing you saw? Well, it’s a…” I scowled. “It’s a...sunuvabitch, I don’t really know what it’s called. Alright, further back then. The basics. Got it.

“Supernatural things exist. Like you believe that humans are the highest species on this planet and that you’re all alone in the universe, and no one can quite agree on whether there was anything before or after this life or what happens when you die, right? Well, a lot of what most people believe to be myth or religious superstition is actually, um, real.”

So she hasn’t tried to run away just yet. That’s a good sign, right?

“From what I’ve been able to piece together, from the bits I can remember, what you would call ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’ are real places- they’re just not really visible to mortals. Most of the time. ‘Angels’ and ‘demons’ are real things too, but they’re a little bit different than most people tend to think of them from what I’ve seen. 

“I don’t know how many there are, but there’s angels and demons walking around, living just like you and me, every day. The thing is, that mortals like you can’t see them. And that’s where the problem is.”

“Like me?” It wasn’t really a question. Her tone made that clear enough.

“Oh boy. OK, here’s the big one- because with the heaven and hell stuff, most people can be like ‘meh, it’s all superstitious nonsense anyway’ and brush it off. This? Not so much. 

“I’m not human. Or mortal. I can see angels and demons walking around plain as day, just like the ones I’ve met can see me. Mortals...see something else.”

“Like the creep at the bar earlier? Did he see...something else? In you?”

“Yeah. On the outside, at first glance, I look like any other girl. But look closer? Well, you saw what happened. People just aren’t ready to see my real nature.”

“But that didn’t happen to me.” Now Grace was looking a little bit confused- but the kind of confused you get when a teacher is explaining something that you know should make sense, even if you were having a hard time getting it. 

“No, it didn’t. And it took me way too long to pick up on that. I should’ve realized right away. If I had, maybe I could have gotten you out of there faster and that whole ‘sweet potato’ thing wouldn’t have happened.”

“So what should I be seeing? When I look into your eyes I mean?”

“Probably something along the lines of falling through an eternally expanding universe, a sense that you’re tinier than a piece of sand in the scope of the cosmos, that sort of thing. At least, that’s what I’ve heard from a couple of the ones who were able to be slightly coherent afterwards. There haven’t been many of those over the years.”

“Wow. I definitely don’t see that.”

“And that’s the problem, really. I’ve never heard of something like that happening before. I don’t know what it means, or why you can, or anything! All I know is that something is very, very different, and very, very wrong, otherwise that thing wouldn’t have been after us. And right now, I don’t know if what’s wrong is you, or me, or both of us. But we need to find out if we’re going to not be looking over our shoulders for...what did you call it again?”

Grace laughed. A genuine laugh, not weighed down by worry or terror. “A glowing, walking catfish?”

“Ha ha, yeah, that got beaten too many times with the ugly stick!”

Grace sat up suddenly, nodding sharply to herself. “Alright, well, you’re either batshit crazy, or I owe my gran an apology.” Grace was still half chuckling, but looking very intent. 

“Your gran?”

“Yeah, she was super religious, always prayin’, talkin’ and singin’ about god. She must’ve gone to church three times a week! Boy, would she have loved to hear all this.”

“I’ll bet!”

“So, I just wanna make sure I’ve got all the stuff you said- angels are real, and something’s wrong with the fact that I can see your real eyes, and not like, the fires of the Big Bang or something, but you don’t know why that’s a problem or what caused it.. Right?”

“I’d say that about covers it for now, yeah.”

“Alright, I can live with that much for now. I’m clean tuckered out, and you look like you’re about to just fall over any second now. Whaddya say we call it a night?”

“Yeah.” I really could barely keep my eyes open at this point. I guess pretending my motorbike was a juggling pin kind of took it out of me.

Grace popped up, suddenly all business.

“So doesn’t look like this place has a big ol’ tub to dump you in, so we’ll have to settle for a couple of wet wipes. Here, help me get these blankets on to the mattress here. They’re gross, but it’s better than freezing to death.”

“You’re the boss!” Those wet wipes were a pocket-sized blessing, wrapped in foil paper. I’m more of a Chanel and gunpowder type, not so big on the earthy, barbecue scents.

I was starting to stumble a bit as we plopped the discarded blankets down as well as we could in the relative darkness of the loft.

“Probably better to stay dressed with how dirty these blankets are.” Grace frowned as she watched me struggle to pick up one of the heavier blankets a couple of times.

That didn’t even register until much later.

“OK, you, lay down. No more for you tonight. Sleep.”

I couldn’t even argue with her. I just curled up in a ball on the bed, barely aware of Grace pulling a couple of the blankets over me, but I thought I could just make out her arm resting on mine as we both drifted off into the heavy, dreamless sleep that comes when you’ve been pushed to your limits. At least, I kind of hope it was. 

=============================================

Story tag list

@random-with-garlic @a-dinosaurs-left-phgkneecap @flower-in-the-ashes @nixabee @luvnaught @pens-swords-stuff @alice-and-cheshire-cat @humans-are-seriously-weird @flying-f1shsticks @Neil-gaiman @glumshoe @lykanyouko @kaylewiswrites @just-a-bit-paranoid @thatsmybluefondue @Alice-and-Cheshire-cat @violet-galaxies @biggest-gaidiest-patronuses @midnight-spectrum-again @slytherinlovespuff @friendofcybermen @hemi528i @mirbisduschoen @khelladon @walkin-in-the-cosmos

As always, if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list, just shoot me a message and your wish is my command. 

[ruckusheaven]

A Coon In A Colorful Heaven: Chapter 3- “So Where Should We Begin?”

Coon-  A black person who is ignorant to white discrimination and unknowingly suffers with self hatred.

This chapter continues to follow the eternal story of a man named Damien. When we last saw Damien he had finally arrived into Heaven after mysteriously being let through by his personal Angel “Angie”. But not long after arriving to Heaven, Damien soon discovered that the pain and damage that he caused as a Mortal still continues to follow him as a Spirit. After having a small altercation with his Aunt Pam, Damien began to wonder if being in Heaven would truly be paradise for him; But within that same instance he realized that he was starting to deteriorate just like his “judgment room” began to when he was being Judged. Now his only chance of staying in Heaven will comes from the assistance of his Grandson Chris...

Damien: *staring in shock* My.. Grandson?... Veronica had a child

Chris: Ya’know even though i already knew you didn’t know this.. Hearing you so surprised really shows how disconnected you two were..

Chris: Well are you gonna let me help you up or would you rather lay here until you disappear?

Damien: *grabbing Chris's hand* sorry im just a little shocked is all... I never knew..

Chris: *pulling Damien up* Well how could you have known? Leaving your wife and child behind will do that

Damien:  *staring down at the ground in shame*...

Chris: Come on, i’ll take you some place we can talk quietly

*Damien and Chris begin to walk down their street*

Damien: *looking around* Our zone really is beautiful.. it feels like i’m back in Philly but nothing looks like Philly

Chris: Yea i know what you mean. Our zone was created a few hundred years ago by one of our elders.

Chris: Since then hundreds of our family bloodline began to add and change it more and more. From adding new structures, to changing how the air feels

Chris: But what amazes me most is that no matter what changes, everything still feels perfect.

Damien: *sees little kids flying thought the sky* yea.. i think i get what you mean

Damien’s Family Zone was like no other.Their Zone had a very odd mix of  typical city blocks mixed with rural areas.The buildings themselves had their own unique feel and shape. Some stretched almost endlessly into the sky while most stood only few feet high. Some were made out of brick and wood, while others were floating in the sky made up of soft fabrics. People flying and walking, kids playing and running, Men and Women dancing and talking with soulful music playing in the background. The Zone itself just felt like a relaxing Fall afternoon mixed with a chill breeze carrying a very slight scent of Vanilla and Honey.

Damien: This place.. this realm.. it’s like i have so many questions about it but it truly feels like there’s no point in asking anything about it.. like there’s no reason at all..

Chris: Oh trust me you’ll definitely have an almost endless amount of questions. But i honestly think that the most beautiful part about Heaven is that i can take my time to understand every detail if i wanted to, and still discover something new or create something new. And whatever matters or doesn’t is truly up to me

Chris: I can ask questions or i can just enjoy not knowing which is something that isn’t punishing here.

*Chris and Damien walk into a park, where they both sit on a old Wood Park bench*

Chris: So before we began, do you have any questions for me?

Damien: Honestly i don’t know where to begin..

Damien:  Like i have so many questions like; How were you in Heaven before me? Where’s Veronica and Lexis, and what’s happening to me?

Chris: Ha, you’re really do have some heavy questions.. But for no lets stick to the one’s that will help you the most before you disappear 

Chris: First off what you’re going though is basically called a Soul Confliction

Damien: Soul Confliction..

Chris: Yea basically your soul can’t decide on whether it should be here or not.

Chris: Judgement isn’t done God or Peter it’s done by you yourself. You truly know if what you’ve done in your life is wrong or not, which is why the judgment room prevents you from being able to lie

Chris: Deep in our hearts we know our truths and what we did. The people that can truly accept their failings and are able to learn and change from them can make it into Heaven. But those that refuse to believe what they did was wrong and basically rebuke what’s going on, goes to Hell.

Damien: So basically i’m in the middle..

Chris: Bingo, It’s not uncommon tho. I say for every 1 million souls a few thousand are Conflicted. What’s alarming to many is that the number of conflicted are being to rise more and more.

Chris: But that’s a whole nother fiasco

Damien: Well what is it that i need to do to get rid of my conflictions..

Chris: That leads into what happen to mom which leads into what happened to me..

Chris: See.. whether you know it or not you hurt mom to a point of almost no return.

Damien: Bullshit! i never once hurt Veronica. I gave her the world when i was around. From toys to great schooling, there was nothing that she ever needed that i couldn’t provide.

Chris: And yet somehow she had a terrible life where she hated herself, her mother and never felt that she could be the perfect girl that you wanted her to be, which cemented multiple personality and mental disorders for her.

Damien: 

Chris: Yea, excellent parenting 

Damien: Look, how was i suppose to know of anything like that would happen to her. Any problems that happened between me and Lexis stayed between us.

Damien: I never took out my anger or frustration on Veronica

Chris: Do you honestly think that because you didn’t yell or hit her, that she wasn’t severely affected by your actions.

Chris: It’s not about what you did say to her, it’s what you didn’t. It’s not about the amount of money you spent on her, it’s about what you bought. And it’s not about the problems you had with grandma, it’s about how you handled them.

Chris: Every careless and thoughtless action you made she saw and she made her own reasoning's for them. 

Damien: Like what!? what did or didn’t I do that affected her so much?

Chris: Your input on her self worth

Damien: Now this is definite bullshit. I always called her beautiful and brought her tons of dresses that she wanted!

Chris: You do know there is a difference between calling someone beautiful and actually treating and showing them that they are.

Damien: What are you talking about?

Chris: Let’s start off small. What kind of toys do you remember buying her and what affect do you think they had?

Damien: I don’t know.. shit like barbies and dolls similar to them.

Chris: Right, you gave a dark skin girl a bunch of toys and dolls that looked nothing like her nor were there any positive representation of women like her besides her mother.

Chris: But thanks to you her she never looked at her mother in a positive light nor did she want to be like her

Damien: Ugh, please don’t turn this into a white vs black bs. I heard enough of that bs before i died and i rather not hear more while i’m dead.

Chris: This isn’t about white vs black you idiot, this about the start of a girl looking in the mirror and hating what she sees

Chris: You take a black girl and put her with a family where the father hates her mother and doesn’t talk or spend loving time with the daughter; and surround her around a bunch of examples of what being beautiful and perfect is but none of them look like her. What do you think will happen?

Damien: But what you’re talking about are dolls. They’re just toys!

Chris: Toys that she spent more time with than her own father

Damien: ...

Chris: Yes the toys played a small role in the grand scheme of things. But most big problems are complied of small things like it. But as you’ll see, Mom had bigger problems than you know

Damien: What do you mean i’ll see..

*Chris goes to put his hands on Damien’s head, But is interrupted by Angie*

Angie: Sorry to intervene but i can’t let you take him there.

Angie: I get what you’re trying to do but you’ll only cause more damage than good!..

Chris: *staring at Angie shocked and confused* what do you mean i’ll do more damage than good and why do you look like-

*A Bright Light crashes down on Angie and Damien taking them away*

Chris: What the hell!

Chris: Will seeing what happened to Veronica really break him as he is?

*A Bright Light crashes down leaving behind Angie and Damien in a new location in front of a huge club with blasting music*

Damien: What the hell Angie!? why did you take me away from Chris?

Angie: Listen that kid was going to take you someplace that i don’t think you’re ready to see yet. And since you only have one shot at this i rather take things a little slow to make sure you won’t get broken.

Damien: What do you mean broken? and where are we?

Angie: How about you find out *pushes Damien through the doors*

*Damien stumbles into the building, tripping over a bottle and falling forward*

Damien: *falls on his chest* oof! *slowing picking himself up* Someone needs to explain why pain is still relevant here..

???: Nephew you got alot more stuff to learn before we get to that

Damien: Huh? *looking up*

Damien: UNCLE CRAIG!

Uncle Craig: So we meet again nephew, perfect timing too *grabs Damien by the back of his collar lifting him up in the air*

*Uncle Craig carries Damien into the main floor filled with people dancing and drinking, while “Frankie Beverly- Before i let go” plays loudly*

Uncle Craig: AYE LISA!! I DONE FOUND YA COON AS GRANDSON AH-HAHAHEY!

Lisa: *Stands up waving her arms* Whaaaat! Bring My GrandBaby over here!!

Damien: Grandma Lisa!? Great Great Grandma Lisa!? Why does she look so young.. and fine!?

Uncle Craig: Don’t be weird nephew that’s ya grandma. You can take that freaky talk to those weird white country zones i hear about

THE END OF CHAPTER 3

[charlottedabookworm]

Not-entirely-serious-thought - You've already turned Nyx into a dragon and a phoenix; honestly, now all that's left to complete the trifecta of Magical Beings is to turn him into a unicorn.

A unicorn!Nyx would have blood on his horn and ‘say something, I fucking dare you’ in his eye. 

Damn you, because you are right and the moment that you pointed it out my OCD would not let me rest until I’d written something for this. So have like, 1600 words of Unicorn Nyx - featuring a very dead DRautos and also, ‘Say something, I fucking dare you’

—

When Nyx learns how the world outside of Galahd views his kind, he has to fight to keep a straight face.

Because, peaceful beings representing innocence and purity?

He doesn’t know whether to choke in outrage or to cry tears of laughter or to stare in complete disbelief. Peace, purity, innocence – none of those things are represented by a being that quite literally has a weapon attached to its skull.

Fuck knows how people haven’t realised this. But then, the world as a whole doesn’t seem to realise that his kind exists outside of mythology – so he could maybe forgive people for the insults that they pay to his kind.

Maybe.

(Because, honestly, it doesn’t take much digging for someone to realise that the majority of the mythology about his kind originated in Galahd – before being twisted so completely that it was almost unrecognisable. 

And, if people would just stop and think, they would realise that no creature like that in their myths would have ever be borne of Galahd.

But people are fucking stupid and Nyx can blame them for that)

It would be easier if all of Galahd didn’t tease him about it though.

(He keeps the plushie that Libertus lobs at his head as a gag gift though. No matter how much he had grumbled about it.

It might be a horribly insulting representation of his kind done up in hot-pink and sparkles, but it’s also soft and fluffy cuddly and honestly sort of hilarious when he can forget to be outraged about the entire thing)

—

It wasn’t completely unexpected when it happened.

Everyone had known that the Nifs were planning something – they’d been too quiet, had pulled back slightly at the fronts, and attacks at the borders were more small half-hearted skirmishes instead of actual battles – but, even so, they weren’t prepared for what happened.

Of course, nobody expects a spy.

Nobody ever fucking expects a spy. Just like no one ever expects a bomb in a place that they deem safe – like the Citadel. Just like nobody ever expects an attack from within, instead of from outside. Just like no one ever expects their magic to suddenly stop working – without the Kings say so.

Just like nobody ever expects someone that they trust and respect to try to kill them.

(and Crowe and lib are never going to let this go – when they could all think past the anger.

Because there had always been a part of Nyx that hadn’t trusted the man – a purely instinctive urge that had whispered threat in the back of his mind – but he had ignored it after years had passed with nothing happening.

He’d ignored it – despite everything that he’d been taught about trusting his instincts – because he’d wanted to be wrong, because he couldn’t deal with another betrayal.

But he had known, and Crowe and Lib wouldn’t let that go – not after nearly a decade surrounded by Lucian depictions of his kind. He was going to spend the rest of his life haunted by the idea that unicorns knew whether someone was trustworthy or not.

Fuck his life)

They didn’t expect it. But that didn’t mean that they didn’t react.

It’s the Glaive that react first – they’re the people who practically live on the front lines, the ones who are used to bombs and disorientation, the ones who half expect safe places to be suddenly not, they’re the refugees who are used to this sort of thing, and to be a glaive you had to be adaptable or you didn’t last long.

(And the Glaive is mostly staffed with Galahdians. Nobody – not Niflheim, not Lucis – stops to think about what that actually means. But the Galahdian Glaives saw the fall of Galahd – they fought in it, watched people they loved die one after another and their home burn as they tried their best to get their children to safety – and they are used to betrayal in a way that the Lucians are not. They fought – even as their King fell, even after their home was taken, even after everything was lost – because that is who they are. And so they are surprised, but they are experienced, and that makes all the difference.

They react first, instinctively, and the rest of the Glaive follows their lead)

When the bomb goes off, when the traitors reveal themselves and attack, when Drautos turns against them (reveals himself as Glauca – and how dare he. Galahd remembers the monster who had slaughtered his way through their people and they hate the man who was once their Captain with a quiet rage) and attacks the King in the chaos, they fight back.

Or, they try to.

It takes about half a second for them to realise that they have a problem, and several seconds more to share confirming glances between them as they fought. By that point, the nearest glaives have already been tossed aside, taking blows when they weren’t able to warp away as they normally would be.

Because their magic wasn’t working.

None of it – no warping or spells or elemental manipulation or weapons storage, hells but Nyx could hardly feel the space where the Kings magic had made itself home all those years ago. He glanced over at the King even as he drew his kukri’s, but the man looked just as shocked as the glaives and – from where he, Cor, and Lord Clarus were battling against Glauca – his own magic was noticeably sluggish.

‘Whatever it is that the NIfs have done,’ Nyx mused, even as he spun away from an attack to strike from behind, relying on his two decades of training and fighting without Lucian magic. ‘Obviously affects Lucian magic. Enough that the glaive and our borrowed magic is completely affected but the King himself is only weakened.’

‘It’s incomplete,’ he concludes, ‘but they’re pretty confident about it to use this as a test run.’ Nyx grimaced, taking out another assassin – this one dressed in a servants uniform.

“Lib! Down!” His friend dropped instinctively, and Nyx’s thrown blade buried itself in the eyes of the man dressed in a Crownsguard uniform that had been sneaking up on him. The next time that someone told him that he was paranoid for carrying so many weapons on him at all times he was going to fucking laugh at them.

A brief lull in the battle allowed Nyx to take another glance at the King. Lord Clarus was doing his best to defend his King against Glauca, even with a rather serious wound to his leg, while Cor had been drawn away by several other attackers – Niflheim had obviously thought this through, sending several of their best against the Marshall of the Crownsguard so as best to have an opening to attack the King while everyone else was held up and unable to help.

They’d planned this well, Nyx could admit that.

Even as he watched, Glauca struck again – this time with a blow that Nyx could tell would be fatal for Lord Clarus, with the way that the wound and exhaustion were slowing the man.

And Nyx? Nyx couldn’t just stand there and let that happen.

“Fuck.”

There was no chance that he would be able to make it across the room – not without being able to warp – at least, there was no way that he could as a human being.

Without another thought, he gave in to the burning in his veins.

The shift – always natural, because Nyx was as at home on four legs as he was on two, because for all that he played at it he wasn’t human – came easily. Easier than it had since the fall of Galahd, because his friends – his family, his people, his home, his pride – was in danger, and a predator’s instincts to protect his territory and what was his was a powerful thing.

He’s moving before he’s even finished shifting, hooves pounding against the stone floor – a sense of freedom filling his heart even as rage burned in his blood. There was nothing more freeing than being himself, all of himself.

(And maybe there was a little smug pride there as well.

Because the Nifs hadn’t even thought to block this, and now they were going to find out exactly why his kind had been so feared by the world over centuries ago)

Head down as he charged, the few enemies who weren’t frozen in shock ended up impaled on his horn or trampled underneath his hooves when they tried to attack - even with his instincts at the fore, Nyx still knew better than to attack allies – Nyx slammed into Drautos’ back even as the spy (oathbreaker, betrayer, traitor – his brain whispered to him) swung his blade.

With his speed and his strength and the sharpness of his horn, it slid past the armour that he was wearing – parting it as easily as it did the skin and muscles and bones in the way – until he reached the heart. Glauca’s dying gasp echoes in the room – despite the few fights still finishing up – even as Nyx jerked his head sharply, flinging the body to the side.

Whinnying, he kicked out at the traitor’s head and torso – crushing the skull and ribcage – annoyed at the lack of suitable revenge for his betrayal.

Tossing his head in irritation, Nyx turned – catching movement out of the corner of his eye.

Lib, who was moving towards him having finished off his own opponents, took one look at the gaping faces of the Lucians – including King Regis, and he felt a spark of pride for having made someone who was literally trained since birth to hide his emotions gape in shock – around them and opened his mouth with a shit-eating grin.

Flicking excess blood from his horn, and ignoring the blood that already stained his mane, he glared at him.

Say something, I fucking dare you.

Libertus, the little shit that he was, just carried on grinning at him. However, before he could actually say anything, one of the younger – non-Galahdian – glaives spoke up.

“Okay, since when is Ulric a fucking unicorn?”

[alliswell21]

I wish you would write a fic where... vampire!Finnick and vampire!Peeta try to understand human's modern-day social media! :P

Hi @thelettersfromnoone!!! Sorry it took me so long to answer your ask… I have to admit, when I first read the prompt I laughed, I envisioned it as a cheerful piece of comedy, but when I started writing it, it pretty much beat my hiney. I just couldn’t get the voices right, and the tone was all wrong, I think I rewrote it 3 times… it’s still not exactly what I set out to do, but it’s close enough… I hope this is ok.

Rated G

Louis de Pointe du Lac and Lestat de Lioncourt meet Vincent Vega and Jules Winnfield in this Peenick fic. Enjoy. (Most of the dialogue are actual rants I’ve heard from my husband’s grandfather, plus a few debates between my husband and his best friend from high school)

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Daylight Savings Time is finally at an end. All the clocks have been set back an hour, and sunsets come earlier each day… too bad I can’t see the glorious colors painting the sky with my own eyes tracking the sun’s slow descent into the horizon while the scattered clouds turn gold, orange and intense pink. It’s the thing I miss the most about being alive. The good news is that cinema is there to provide glimpses of my beloved sunsets, even if they are a flat replica.

I take a look at the clock on the wall, and then eye the sun setting charter taped directly under it. Fall is our favorite time of year, with its longer, darker nights. We are free to leave our den and roam the town, we can even walk into any establishment while it’s still regular business hours like normal people, because while the clock says it’s 17:00, it’s inky black outside, and no trace of the cheerful sun can be felt.

Today is special, though. “We are renewing our wardrobes!” Announced Finnick earlier, so as soon as the sun goes down, and it’s safe to leave our place,1 we’re heading to the mall on a business call errand.

“Is it time yet?” Asks Finnick entering the room, wearing a different outfit than the one I saw him in 10 minutes ago. He’s anxious. We haven’t been out in a while, and I know he’s both looking forward to this and nervous at the same time.

“Two more minutes, then we can go.” I tell him.

He makes a face that’s full of annoyance. We just heard the weather report, and it’s supposed to be a gorgeous evening. He hates going out on nice evenings to run errands when he could be luring beautiful, warm-blooded gals into the darkness of his bedroom. He considers it a waste, if he’s isn’t hunting, but he was the one to call for a day of shopping, I could care less about clothing.

“You know most everything can be acquired online nowadays. There’s very little instances your physical presence is required for a transaction to be made.” I offer softly. His glare is immediate and expected, but there’s mirth behind it as well.

He wrinkles his nose in disgust, but smiles nonetheless. “So impersonal, Peeta. Not at all how a gentleman should conduct business.” He says in his usual debonair tone, “It’s almost as if you don’t know me at all!” He flashes me that smile he uses to enchant his victims before his fangs graze along smooth, pulsating, bare necks, like a deadly caress.

I simply avert my eyes. Finnick is not my creator, but he was made 50 years before I was even born, and that makes him my elder, but sometimes, he can be such a brat! Is hard not to think of him as a child at times. His smile doesn’t have quite the same effect on me, though. I’m not a living woman, so I drawl out a response.

“With all the technological advances of the time, why bother going out, for something you can get from the safety and comfort of your lair?” I shrug, then smirk, “I’m sure you can find other, more suited pursuits for a night such as this.” I fan out a hand.

Finnick’s devious smile widens, a dangerous glint takes over his eyes.

I was told once, that Finnick used to have a lovely set of eyes, the color of the sea; that his gaze held the warmth of the tropics and the light of the sun. But when I look into his eyes now, all I see is a washed down shade of green, with pupils as dark and empty as the abyss and a danger that thrills as it pulls you in the darkened recesses of his penetrating stare, where natural light is nonexistent.

“Humanity has made the current time a very convenient era for our kind, hasn’t it?” He says taking a sit and crossing his leg over his opposite knee. “But first impressions do matter, my friend. You can’t just buy clothing from stock. Tailors exist for a very, good reason!”

This is just a variant of his many sayings of ‘the suit makes the man’ sentiment. I check the clock again, nodding in agreement, “But the internet is so much safer, what with all the ways you can interact with others, without really doing it.” I say more to myself than him.

“Why yes, one only needs to fiddle a smart phone apparatus, and everything’s there at your fingertips… what’s the fun on that?” He sounds partially angry.

“It’s convenient.” My voice is soft and monotonous. “Efficient and saves you the hassle of having to interact with vendors that may be irritating.” But for me, is more than that.

I’m not really into eating humans all that much, I rather take a stroll to the blood bank and peruse through the samples until I find something I want. I hate looking at the lifeless eyes of my feed providers after. So gruesome, ugh!

“It’s boring,” He states. “How much longer?” He asks impatiently.

“Take your coat and we may go.”

The drive to the mall is uneventful and quiet, but as soon as we step into the building, we both wince at the brightly lit entrance, artificial light bathes everything the eye reaches, but at the end of 10 seconds, we grow used to the glare. Our instinct is to flee the light, but our reason tells us it’s harmless so we walk right in. While we could smell the whole town since leaving our house, the scent of fresh blood assault our senses like a tide wave; I inhale deeply and allow a satisfied smile take over my features, but next to me, Finnick hisses in displeasure at the throng of people meandering about, as if he just walked into a fresh meat market, after pledging to be a vegetarian under duress. I wished I could say I was sorry to find enjoyment in his pain, but it’s actually kind of funny.

We make a left turn after passing the hubbub of the food court, and then we see them: people meandering around with their cellphones aloft, heads bowed towards the luminous screens, while ignoring anything and everyone else around them. Is one thing to see someone checking their email while sitting and consuming a tray of food court bourbon chicken and a 32 ounce Diet Coke, but another one to see an almost accurate representation of a zombie apocalypse, where the undead only respond to pings and blips. I know in my frozen heart, there will be no shutting him up until we get to the menswear store.

“Why do they do that?” Finnick asks under breath. “They look like sheep. Silly ones at that.”

I observe the few people so absorbed in their phones that narrowly avoid crashing into things along the way by sheer good luck with mild interest while we take the escalators in the middle of the first floor, then shrug.

The whole ride up, Finnick rambles, watching the hypnotized humans with contempt. “Why do they insist on developing this, so called, ‘virtual community’ nonsense? It keeps them from real life interactions, everyone so enthralled with their media devices?”

We climb off the escalator and fall into step side by side.

“It keeps them informed, connected with people they don’t normally see.” I tell him as we pass a kitchen and baking supply store, my head turns to look at a handsome set of measuring cups… you can take the corpse out of the bakery, but can’t take the bakery out of the corpse. “It expands their horizons even from the confines of their homes.” I say calmly, like I’m speaking to an overexcited child. “It’s in their nature to network and exchange opinions. Man was not created to be isolated, Finnick. Humans have a driving need to belong, and social media satisfies the void.”

“They abuse it, Peeta.” He says easily as we take a right turn, “Give a person an internet capable device, Twitter, Facebook… hell! Give them a comment box on a news article! humans can’t shut up! People behave poorly and opts to ignoring their sense of decorum. Is like they lack a filter, they become rude and attack one another when their ideologies don’t match completely.”

“Humans depend on social media now, there’s nothing else to it. It’s not a perfect development, it has its drawbacks, but it also has many pros and benefits. There’s no need to write it off entirely because humans are naturally imperfect and they tend to use their tools inappropriately at times. It happens.”

Finnick stops and sighs exaggeratedly. We really don’t need to breathe, but we still need air to pass through our bodies just the same, he just does it out of habit. He glowers at a passerby that makes the mistake of looking up when he feels someone staring, and judging by the way he trips while rushing to get away, he’s scared witless. I shake my head.

“I hate it when humans lie online!” Finnick mutters sullenly.

‘Ah! the truth at last’, I think to myself, understanding dawning on me. Finnick continues, ignoring my knowing half smile.

“You try to make acquaintances online, you find people that pique your interest and their life story at your fingertips, you could’ve very well just st found your next conquest, but if the information on them is false, further interaction gets hindered.”

“And if they decide no to meet in person?” I propose, taking a step forward.

“It’s truly inconvenient, not to mention disappointing especially when you need to feed.” He smiles, flashing his fully extended fangs, and then retracting them back into his skull.

“How romantic.” I deadpan. “You sound like one of those desperate types that uses date sites… wait, you are one of those.” I say in fake surprise.

Finnick discovered one questionable such site, and had one extremely bad online entanglement with what he thought was a living women; it turned out, he’d been chatting and enchanting an overweight, greasy hair, foul looking fellow that posed as a girl looking to befriend other girls for his own nefarious agenda. Of course, Finnick really wasn’t there innocently trying to make friends either, but he never pretended to be an oversharing teenage girl to lure anyone to him. Somehow Greasy Hair Fellow- I like to think of it as providence- crossed paths with Finnick, and when finally the truth came to light… let’s say, a number of unsuspecting girls got spared both Finnick and Greasy Fellow for good. At the end, Greasy Fellows remains. were a real messy business no one likes to reminisce about.

Finnick values my partial humanity warring with my undead nature most of the times, it’s what called to him when we met, but sometimes he hates the fact that I still have morals.

“I know how you feel, about it Peet!” he defends. “Social media may suit you as it is, but not me, I see it as the biggest pest the world has seen, and I’ve seen pests in my time roaming Earth.” He ‘dusts’ himself, as if merely talking about it has made him sooty. “Facebook will be the demise of mankind, mark my words.” He enunciates each word for emphasis.

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” I tell him, bored. “You make it sound like it’s impossible to find people out in the streets. Plus, there are a great deal of amazing things online. For example, Wikipedia is possibly the crowning achievement of humanity. People of all backgrounds have come together to record an amalgamation and collection of knowledge, that can be expanded, corrected and consulted when needed. That’s a good part of social media.” My tone is monotonous, because I really cannot muster the energy to be excited. Finnick says it’s a side effect of my dietary restrictions, that if I fed from a fresh live donor, I’d be healthier and livelier. I cannot dispute him on it, but I won’t go tempting myself with someone’s life, just to feel peppier.

“People can get facts wrong on Wikipedia.”

”That’s why there’s other people scouring over it at all times.”

“If you enjoy it so much, then donate to its maintenance.” He sneers childishly. “People hide behind their anonymity shield, and act and talk as nasty as they can. There’s no respect or consideration anymore.

“Back when I was a child, no one even had a telephone! If a person wanted to chat with another, they met face to face. People used to visit one another. Letters where the way to communicate with long distance acquaintances. None of this nonsense!”

“Finnick, you truly sound your age.” I drawl annoyedly.

This causes him to snap his eyes at me scandalized. “Take it back,” he hisses lowly.

Then, give. It. A. Rest! Social media is a useful tool.”

“A tool? Social media is not merely a tool anymore, Peeta, it’s part of their culture, they need it, they crave it, they can’t go a moment without it… why it’s like they’re addicted to it!”

”That may be, but the same can be said about food, oxygen and sleep. Social media aids as the ability to reach others. Now shut up and shop!”

I arch an eyebrow at him and he finally grunts in displeasure but walks purposely ahead. I just watch him as he rattles the door to the store open and steps inside smiling a beatific grin.

“Ah! Wonderful! Colorful display. That should cheer you up, Peeta!”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes, since he’s making it sound like I was the one raving and raging our whole commute about social media and it’s dangers. He’s finally changed the subject, there’s no need to rile him up again, which still does not change the fact that he’s insufferable.

“Absolutely gorgeous,” I whisper relieved and step inside.

[benbarnesescape]

A Taste for Danger

Part 2 - Crossed Paths

Logan Rossi is a Sicilian Mob Boss that is known to the world as a top CEO in cyber security. You are a PR Coordinator for one of England’s top agencies. What happens when both your paths cross and you are pulled into his world? Will you both choose safety or will you choose love?

Rating: M

This story will be written from the readers and Logan’s perspective - it will be noted at the beginning of each chapter

A/N: Pardon my french but that photo of Ben as Billy Russo has me all kinds of fucked up. Goddamn. So you’re going to get powerhouse stories about Ben playing bad men that you wish you could fuck tonight. Because who doesn’t like a bad boy - especially when they’re played by Ben

Permanent Tags: @la-fille-en-aiguilles, @ladyblablabla, @starless-skyox @livelearnandtravel @@sci-fi-and-funny @thelagunabitches

Logan POV

I took in the bustling city of Monaco, a cup of coffee in my hand that had been long forgotten about as my brain tried to process the past 24 hours.

You left me.

Last night had been…..different. I hadn’t expected to take you back to my room. I never took women back to my room. I had mastered coaxing them back to their room, waiting until I knew there were fast asleep after a fun night before I slipped out unnoticed.

But you were different.

You were beautiful but I’ve slept with beautiful woman before. Beauty didn’t really matter to me in all honesty - it was a superficial vice that people invested too much time in. It was your personality that I was more curious to know. When you walked into the room you had a different energy to you. Confident yet uncertain. You obviously didn’t come from money or if you did it wasn’t a major factor in your life. Obviously didn’t care for attention or you would have been bathing in it the way men were practically tripping to ogle at you. Prideful for sure. Independent. A fiery spirit that drove me nearly sideways last night.

You were just - different.

When I woke up that morning, it was to empty sheets. No note, no goodbye. Not even regret sex. Just an empty indenture in the comforter with the remnants of your scent lingering on my hotel pillow.

I didn’t know why but I was unsettled by the idea of you being gone.

There’s a sudden light rap on the door, followed by the soft squeal of the door opening and I keep my eyes focused on the sparkling Atlantic ocean. I ignore the sound of soft soles entering the room, or the way they carry towards me.

“You’re meeting is in ten minutes. You sure you want to go through with this after your little disappearing act last night?”

I give an offhanded glance to Antoine, my right hand man and longtime est friend before returning my eyes out the window.

“You managed without me.”

Antoine smirks, standing beside me as he looks out the window.

“Yes because I thought you were taking care of the situation with a certain Mr. Dirick. I didn’t expect you to go MIA for your night of honor for pussy.”

The sharp accent hits my ear and I flinch, looking over at him.

“Is that what you think happened?”

“That’s what I know happened,” he chuckles turning toward me. “Never knew you to bring a woman back to your room. Or for a woman to want to leave you as quickly as she did this morning.”

I raise an eyebrow and he stuffs his hands in his pockets, returning his eyes outside.

“Its my job to know your whereabouts at all time. And, I ran into her this morning as she was dodging out. I get why you left with her - she’s a beauty - just curious on why you ignored two important, vital meetings for a dame.”

He looks back at me with that same stare of curiosity and I roll my eyes, taking a long sip of the cold coffee in my hands, flinching at the bitter way it mingles on my tongue. When I pull back I shrug.

“You have never had the pleasure of being with a woman Antoine so I doubt you’ll understand. Besides - Mr. Dirick and I had a fantastic conversation this morning over coffee. And I ran into the committee chair afterwards - seems like you gave a solid explanation for my absence at my honorary dinner.”

Antoine looks at me long and hard before shaking his head sighing.

“You’re not understanding Logan. Your men are curious to why you have been missing. People are asking questions. When humans get restless, some form of war unfolds. And that’s the last thing we need.”

I smirk, turning on my heel and walking to my desk.

“I’m not worried about some quiet murmurs. They’ll dissipate by noon. Mr. Dirick’s physical condition will set those things straight. I can keep my affairs in order Antoine - it's your job to make sure that my image isn’t tarnished.”

I lean against the marble desk in the large space as I quirk an eyebrow at him and he clears his throat, shaking his head.

“I’m just telling you as your friend. I know you can handle your shit.”

“Then you’ll let my 11 o’clock appointment. Its their job to maintain my image to the public and right now - according to you - that's what I should be focusing on.”

I throw my cup of coffee in the trash can, turning and Antoine gives a low chuckle shaking his head.

“Whatever you say Logan. Whatever you say.”

He’s only gone five minutes as I sit at my desk, opening up my computer and scrolling through my endless emails. Sorting out what the rest of my day will look like and how I can find out more information about her without Antoine knowing.

Because even though I hated being lectured, he was right. I couldn’t afford to get distracted. Not now - not after all the hard work I had put in.

It's the laughter that snaps me from my trance. It rings high mingled with the darker chuckles. When the doors are opened up and Antoine walks in, his face smug and amused, I should know that its her. Instead I have to wait for her to walk in beside her colleague, the navy dress she’s wearing hugging her soft curves as her eyebrows fly up in surprise and I know I’m in as much trouble as she feels.

Why the hell did she have to be different?

The silence in the room is deafening. It consumes the space, ignoring the soft whirl of my desktop or the faint sounds of traffic from the street below. Her eyes are locked on mine, trying to read me and it's only when Antoine clears his throat that she pulls away to look at him, things registering in her brain and she gives  low, awkward laugh. The man beside her is watching her amused curiosity, confusion playing over his defined features before he turns to me and says,

“I’m Luke Jordan. This is my colleague Y/N Y/L/N. We’re here on behalf of Sweetwater Relations.”

Everyone knew Sweetwater Relations. If you needed good representation - representation that could get you out of an sticky situation with fidelity - they were your people. Presidents of countries even had paid to have them advise their relations team. They only worked with the best - the primary reason why I flew two of their top agents out to meet me.

Of course, she had to be one of them.

I stand, buttoning the front of my jacket before walking toward her. Her eyes drink me in, her bottom lip tugging into her mouth and I have to bite back my internal groan as I stick out my hand to Luke.

“Ms. Y/L/N, Mr. Jordan. Pleasure to finally meet you. Thank you for meeting me in Monaco - I figured it would be a nice vacation for the top agents at Sweetwater Relations.”

I turn toward her, my hand enveloping hers in a tight squeeze before I turn on my heel, walking toward my balcony.

“I’ve prepared a light brunch for us to have while talking business. Please, join me on the terrace.”

I don’t turn to look at her but I know there’s a hesitance in the way her heels click against the tile, before they are all following me.

I was going to kill Antoine. He knows it, watching me with mild amusement as I sit at the head of the table, my dark eyes watching them her carefully.

The table is small, intimate, and she’s forced to sit to my right as her partner sits to my left, still watching her in amusement as she places a folder portfolio in front of me.

“Normally I’d urge our potential business partners to read over the materials of our company but,” her eyes flint over to me, a quiet anger boiling behind her soft lashes, “you seem like the type of man whose done his research and already knows what he wants. So tell me, Mr. Rossi, why is it that you asked for Sweetwater’s help.”

Its tactical and bold her ask. Its also obvious that its not part of their strategy, Luke’s eyes barreling into her own but she doesn’t move as she leans back in her chair, her arms resting easily on the armrest. Antoine smirks, sitting back in his chair watching the interaction unfold.  

“I’m a man of fortune. My cyber company has launched off the roof and as I grow, so do my enemies. I need someone - people - who understand the importance of being discreet and transparent. Someone who knows the tango of giving the world what they want to see while proving to the kings in power that I’m a worthy opponent.” I lean into her, expecting her to backpedal. Instead she stands her ground, never flinching from her seat as I get closer.

“I need an equal to make sure that I stay clean while I get my hands dirty.”

She gives a smirk, before chuckling lowly and grabbing the mimosa that is placed in front of her. She takes a slow sip before turning to Luke.

“Luke, do you want to assure Mr. Rossi how efficient of a job our team can guarantee him.”

Luke, who had been watching in fascination waits a beat before nodding enthusiastically, flipping open the folder and stumbling out his sale. She had thrown him off guard and he was sloppy but she knows it doesn’t matter. Knows it doesn’t matter because she knows that I’m going to hire them. She’s shaking her head, her eyes looking out in the distance as I try to stay interested in the pitch.

When he’s done, he’s looking over at her as if to save him. She doesn’t. She keeps her eyes firmly on the city skyline, only moving to take long slow sips of her drink.

The anger she was trying to contain was radiating off of her strongly and I’m reminded again of the way she felt underneath me, the way her body moved against mine. All that energy that she gave to me and I want, need more. 

But she left me.

“I’d like to have a conversation with Ms. Y/L/N,” her head snaps at me as I continue. “Alone. About all of this nonsense. Of course, only if she’d allow me.”

She places her drink on the table and looks at Luke and nods.

He clears his throat, standing as he grabs his drink as Antoine pushes his chair back.

“We will leave you to it. Tell me, Mr. Jordan, what else do you envision for Delos Technologies rebranding?”

He throws his arm over the man's shoulders, giving me one last warning glance before the doors of the terrace are closed behind him. She pivots her head slightly, trying to gauge how far they are to the glass windows before she hisses,

“Were you ever going to tell me you were Logan fucking Rossi?”

The words aren’t unexpected but the venom takes me off guard and I lean into the table to grab a grape, popping it in my mouth as she watches me. She shifts obviously suddenly uncomfortable and I grin, sitting back. Knowing that she was affected by me as I was to her.

“Were you ever going to tell me why you left this morning without a goodbye?”

She snorts, crossing her arms and I try to ignore the way her arms push up her cleavage.

“You hardly seem like the type of man who needs reassurance. especially from a woman.”

“Perhaps I enjoyed your company.”

I can already tell by the way her face shifts that I’ve chosen the wrong words for the situation.

“Are you saying my fucking you got us the meeting.” the ice behind her whisper can be felt and it does something inside me. Stirs me.

I could never resist a woman of passion.

“While I would say that last night's fucking session was worth at least twenty one on one meetings with me, I’m afraid you’re wrong there doll.”

Her eyes narrow at the pet name and I know how I’m going to spend the next couple of months getting under her skin.

“I had no idea you worked for Sweetwater but makes sense. Of the pair, you seem the most intelligent and competent. And you’re not afraid to stand your ground. All admirable traits that I look for in my close employees.”

She raises an eyebrow and I smile, standing up and looking out at the horizon.

“That’s right doll,” I stress the last word as I glance over at her. “You and your friend are hired. You start today.”

Present Day

Logan barrels out of the parking garage and you clutch the door as he drifts down the narrow street, distinctive of the old Spaniard town you were in. You try to ignore the weight of the gun that you have in your other hand, hoping to any and all the Gods you don’t have to use it.

You had used a gun before, in a range alongside your uncle who was a retired cop. You weren’t unfamiliar with the small, metal machine. You just never had to use it against human life - never wanted that burden. Neither did your uncle but he also believed that as a woman who tangoed to dangerously with shifty humans it couldn’t hurt to know how to use one.

How Uncle Liam would be so proud to know his paranoia would pay off.

Logan suddenly slams on his breaks and your thrust folder, the seat belt barely keeping you in your seat. He’s looking at the police car that has halted in front of you, his sirens blowing wildly as pedestrians watch on in curiosity and fear.

Logan takes in the landscape, noting the sidewalk to the left of the opposite vehicle that's clearing up before grabbing his seatbelt and clicking in.

He looks at you and for the first time gives you a playful grin, the kind that usually had your stomach dropping and you give him a shaky one back.

“Do you trust me?”

The words are useless you both know. Of course you did. That was how you got in this mess to begin with.

Instead you give a nod and he returns his eyes to the front of the road.

“Then you might want to hold on. It's about to get very interesting.”

He shifts the gear of the car and you hold your breath, knowing what he’s up to.

Why the hell did you have to fall in love with Logan Rossi?

[pizzamanteachings]

In My Time of Dying: The Camping Trip Flashback (Part 1)

In My Time of Dying, The Camping Trip Flashback:

Warnings: Swearing, gore, and a the description of a monster (I don’t think it’s triggering but be warned?) 

     Life had just gotten good, college was going well and you were finally on spring break, relishing in the springtime warmth that you missed oh so much. Your major was psychology and planned to work in a children’s psych ward, but you didn’t want to think of that right now, because you were in the middle of packing for a camping trip.

                                                      Present day

    It was only a week ago at some shitty dive bar when you overheard these guys talking about some trail up North in Callmyre woods, which were acres of pure forest your friend Avery and his family owned. You were originally going to go up to Moose Mountain but it was known that there were bears and coyotes up there so you and your friends didn’t want to chance it, plus your friend had a shit ton of land that no one ever went in. 

     You met Avery in middle school and he was a nice kid, now though he was a little douchey 5’11 white kid with moderate strength and a walking representation of anxiety. He was a little rough around the edges but in your heart you knew he meant well. He had always been the rich kid in school which made it hard to relate to him since your families income could be unpredictable and spread apart. One thing that always bothered you about Avery was that he hated nature and the forest. He had been lucky enough to get four thousand acres of land, but he refused to go in. You knew a little history as you eavesdropped on the pair of men, them saying it was “Native American land” and how “weird shit goes bump in the night”. You had always been skeptical about the supernatural, you know, wendigos and vampires and stuff alike, but if it was real, wouldn’t more people know about it?

------Present day------

     Now that you had all of your stuff packed and you picked up Avery, you started driving down the highway to meet your other friends Morgan and Dale who would meet you there (since legally you could only fit two people in your car). You drove a shiny black 1967 Chevy El Chamino the “mullet of cars” as you claimed. You loved this car more than most people as it was all you had left of your late Grandfather who had restored it for you and taught you a thing or two about cars.

     The trip was mostly silent, aside from the low grumble from Clint (your beloved car) and the light clinks of your talismans around your neck. Avery didn’t want to camp on his family's land, but no matter how you asked or how many times he refused to give you a straight answer. All you got was “Because I don’t want to” and “You don’t know what’s out there”. He was just trying to scare you, and you didn’t appreciate that. “What and you do?” You retorted. He didn’t answer which made the silence between you make your skin crawl and the tension gnaw at your knees and fingers, begging you to do something. Within your stomach you felt a sizzle of anger that was turned up to a low boil as he was looking out the window huffing and puffing being the spoiled brat he is. At one point you almost stopped the car to tear him a new one as he began to chew his fingernails and throw them on the floor of Clint, who he knew was your pride and joy, but you refrained from curb stomping him as you hated confrontation and new in the logical part of you brain that he was anxious, so you let it slide…barely.

     “You want to tell me why you don’t want to go camping in your woods yet?” You managed to say in a calm tone that came out breathy enough not to sound like you wanted to smack him silly until he told you.

     “You wouldn’t even believe me. No one ever does.” He said, just above a whisper, looking at you for a moment and then back at the road ahead.

     “What do you mean ‘no one ever does?’ You were the one who suggested it and then got all weird yesterday when we started packing!” The whole ‘staying calm’ thing went out of the window as you became more and more upset, because there was something you hated more than Monopoly, it was liars. He had made it out to be that it wasn’t him who suggested his family's land, which pissed you off more than anything. He was all smiles and full of giddiness a week ago, he made it seem as if he was excited but now he acts as if he would rather die than go near his land. The weird part about his family is that they don’t live on the acres upon acres of land, actually not even near it. They live fifty miles away and didn’t plan on building anything on the land. It was nice at first because like ‘yeah save nature!’ but they never let anyone on their land. No one.

     You were finally at the meeting spot and saw Morgan and Dale making out in the car which caused you to beep the horn of your car, making them jump and in turn lifted your spirits a little.

     It was early morning when you had left for the trip, leaving you and your comrades plenty of time to set up camp. You drove Clint down the worn dirt path, which made you question whether or not people came out here a lot considering the amount of “Stay out” signs littering the entrance area, which was also gated and locked with seven giant padlocks. In your head, somewhere in the back of it brought a pestering pinch that undoubtedly warned you to leave. You weren’t by any means psychic but you had some crazy intuition (which you mostly used in Clue, making you get a hustler title). You should’ve used it on Avery but you knew you couldn’t force it as it would be a biased read.  

    The nagging in your head wasn’t going away, but you kept ignoring it as you ventured on with Morgan and Dale (aka the “Love Birds”) in the truck bed area clutching all of the supplies.   

   About sixty miles into the woods (much to Avery's dismay) you stopped and turned Clint off of the path a little and began to unpack in a clearing you had pulled into. Everyone got out and off the car to stretch silently, breathing in the woodsy scent which had your nostrils flaring. The tree’s were ridiculously tall, looming high above all of you, with their barked extremities going every which way, causing some light to enter the area.

     Everyone began unpacking tents and everything, but after a while you noticed Avery sitting off to the side, staring off into the surreal scenery. It was as if he was looking for something. As his eyes roamed every inch of the Earth pills were being popped into his mouth. His anxiety must’ve been through the roof as he took the full dose (which is very unlike him as he feared of overdose). Although the rest of the crew was annoyed that he wasn’t helping no one wanted to ruin the first day here, and it is his land so you are guests (and he is a shit host). It was about nine O’clock in the morning by the time you finished setting up. After your tent was set up in the flatbed of Clint your eyes roamed around seeing where everyone was. The lovebirds were next to a few stumps, leaving Avery near the entrance of the path.   

   The campfire was set up but you all agreed on waiting till nightfall to ignite it as to save fuel, but everyone mostly hung around the area for an hour getting accustomed to the sounds and scents of the wild. With your camera ready within the hour getting ready for some badass nature pics. The only part that was stopping you was getting someone to go with you. Morgan wasn’t up for a hike (as you tended to drift off and have ADD moments) and Dale wanted to plan the hike that would take place tomorrow. All who was left was Avery and he wouldn’t leave his tent. You padded up to his make-do home and opened the flap announcing yourself with a “Ding Dong” Avery was reading, only looking up at you when you entered and refocused on his book soon after. “Can you come with me while I take some pictures?” You asked, your voice laced with excitement.  

    “(Y/N) why can’t we just stay here? It’s safer here and I don’t want to get lost.” he stated. He didn’t leave any room for argument, but you didn’t need to go with anyone. You left with a huff and began to scan which direction you should venture off in. You just walked straight ahead and looked at the greenery in awe. A part of you understood why the Callmyres didn’t want people here, as everything humans touch inevitably gets corrupted, and this was true beauty. You weren’t one for God as you have always had so many questions on why he would let stuff happen which really stressed you out, but real or not you couldn’t just imagine that all of this came out of random, so you will give God the benefit of the doubt that he exists and created true beauty. Your walk was peaceful and a good time for you to let your thoughts wander as you took some poppin’ pictures of anything and everything.   

   Your serenity was cut short though as you saw suspicious looking marks on some trees a little way up your make-do path. As you neared the tree the nagging feeling to leave the forest came back and with more strength than ever, causing you to hold your head due to the immense pain. Something just wasn’t right but you couldn’t make up what it was. You reached out to touch the marks, the depth was astounding with the clean scarring of the bark. It wasn’t fresh so you felt a little bit better, it would suck if you got killed by a bear or something, but then again you wouldn’t have to pay off student loans. There was always that.    

    Upon closer inspection of your surroundings you noticed foot marks in the ground. They were deep, meaning the thing that owned the feet was heavy. It was nothing like you’ve ever seen in your days of hunting. You hunted some pretty easy things, nothing extreme. You did your research before going in guns blazing as not to scare of the prey, but this was much bigger than any bear you’ve ever gone up against.  

    After taking many pictures of the footprints and the claw marks you were interrupted by rustling of branches high above you. Adrenaline began pumping throughout your body, your fight or flight instincts blaring like a horn in an empty city. Whatever was above you was dashing between the trees above at a remarkable speed, not slowing down in the maze of branches. You crossed off running away as the animal would surely catch up, so you instead stayed incredibly still. You took the opportunity to raise your camera and try and find the thing. The woods fell silent and no sign of the creature anywhere. Suddenly you heard Avery calling out for you in the distance, but it was behind you. You tilted your head in confusion as you remembered that camp was the way ahead, so it wouldn’t be possible for him to have flanked you without knowing.  

    “(Y/N)...(Y/N) where are you? Come on back!” He called out. Your blood ran cold as in the distance you saw something in the underbrush in the direction of the voice. You moved your camera to follow the movements of the creature, trying to pretend that you were listening out to the calls of your friend. You knew it wasn’t Avery, as he doesn’t talk like that, and he would be scolding you for going out alone, but right now you weren’t focusing on whether Avery was calling out to you or not as all you could focus on was the pale humanoid slowly approaching you. It’s head was just above the bushes in a low crouch. It’s skin was pale but ashy, you could see the creatures bones under the thin layer of skin. The pointed ears and mouth was red with teeth coming out of every direction. The wrinkles in its face resembled the wrinkles on a bulldog, upturned in the form of a bats. The eyes were soulless with a distinct hunger to them. 

     Everything about the beast screamed hunger, and the way it approached you, you guessed it didn’t want a Big Mac. You had been out for what felt like was a few hours but it wasn’t so, as the sun began to set. You could have sworn that time was being altered because when you found the tree it was nearly eleven thirty, but now it was approaching dusk. Your anxiety made you shudder viciously at your fear of the dark. There was one thing about you that if you could change you would; you hate feeling helpless. It was one thing that always got to you, and this whole situation screamed helplessness.

     You took a picture of the thing, which heard the click and retreated into the tree tops. Here and gone, like it disappeared into thin air, but it wasn’t so as for a moment you saw it’s thin stature among the contrasting green foliage. You turned around at a snails place, eyes dashing everywhere to find the creature again. You stood for many minutes, but after no sign of it you made your way back to camp, watching your footing as to not make to much noise.  

    After some time you had finally arrived at camp, paranoid of the creature lurking in the depths of the underbrush. Your friends seemed worried and came over to you and hugged your figure tightly, whispering incoherent sentences that turned into rambling about how they heard you screaming in the woods. You tilted your head in confusion, how could you have been screaming? You were silent on your walk back as to not draw attention to whatever you saw.  

    “(Y/N)! Hello? Why were you screaming, are you okay?” Dale said, looking you over for any wounds.   

   “I-I’m fine, what do you mean I was screaming?” Layers of confusion and worry danced around in your words.                                      What the fuck was happening.

[star-shuttle-scout]

Okay so now I have only seen a few people talk about this. I’ve seen these sort of headcanons taken as controversial, some people hate them, others are indifferent, and some support them. But I myself, support these headcanons because seeing yourself in characters is important and representation of things like this is scarce. I just don’t understand the hatred towards it when there’s nothing wrong with it. Today I am going to talk about Jonathan Byers and the possibility of him having a form of Autism.  Now if you don’t want to see this and you want to yell at me then just scroll away. This is just my opinion, I’m not trying to start a fight, so just chill. For the rest of you that want to hear, let’s get started!

I just want to start by saying I’m no expert on this subject. I’m not expecting this to be canon or whatever, and none of these are solid proof that Jonathan has autism. Not every autistic person has the same traits, they differ from person to person. It’s just something that’s been in my mind for a while and I figured that maybe some people could see this and be like “Hey I noticed that too!” 1.) Jonathan shows a very huge interest in both music and photography. A lot of teens in the ‘80s liked music, it’s a common thing. But Jonathan carries his camera around quite a lot, he uses it as a coping mechanism, a sort of bridge between himself and the world around him.  It could be surmised that his special interest is photography, it’s something he really likes and if he so pleased he could probably tell you a lot about it. He takes his camera everywhere, even to look for his missing brother. He takes pictures of the ground, as if the results might show him some sort of answer.  2.) The way he talks about people and pictures. Jonathan talks about the world as if he’s on the outside looking in, as if he’s an entirely different entity compared to everyone else. He discusses how he’d rather ‘observe’ people rather than talk to them. He understands this is strange, he’s been made very aware of that because of the way people act around him.  He says that “Sometimes, people don’t say what they’re really thinking.” and according to Jonathan if you ‘capture the right moment’ it will explain a person somehow. This observation in and of itself is interesting, because sometimes autistic people have problems interacting with others because they are very literal and they don’t quite like or understand that the people around them don’t always mean what they say. Of course, Jonathan shows an understanding and he too expresses an affinity for sarcasm... So he does understand some forms of spoken language, but he doesn’t like that people aren’t honest with him. It frustrates him that people don’t speak their minds, which can be especially taxing when you’re someone like Jonathan who seemingly is picked on quite often. He doesn’t trust people to mean what they say because perhaps he’s had experiences in which he thought people were being kind to him when in reality they were making fun of him. (I think we’ve all experienced that at one point or another). 3.) He takes pictures of the teens at Steve’s house, and of course that’s a creepy scene... But did you know that sometimes people with ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) cross over lines and boundaries because they have a hard time comprehending what is ‘socially acceptable’? It doesn’t excuse his actions, he even acknowledges this later and apologizes. He took pictures of a girl getting undressed, let’s be real. But it could show why he did it, instead of just ‘he’s a creepy guy’. When Nicole catches him, he seems embarrassed or startled that she’s seen them. By this point, perhaps he’s had time to examine his actions and realizes that he’s done something wrong. He’s living in a society he doesn’t seem to comprehend, but he has to know some of the rules by now. However, stumbling upon kids partying while taking pictures in the woods isn’t really in the society handbook he’s been handed, in the moment, he just did it. Later on, he probably had time to examine his actions and regretted them. Honestly he was punished for it pretty justly in the end. 4.) When his camera is broken. Steve comments that Jonathan knows he did something wrong but it’s just ‘hardwired’ into him and that they have to take away his ‘toy’. Jonathan immediately goes from passive and quiet to frantic and ready to step in, he pleads with Steve. The camera obviously means a lot to him, whether it was a present or something he worked hard for. But remember, it’s also his connection to the world around him. It helps him interpret the way people work, helps him cope with reality. His bridge is broken, and he’s absolutely devastated. He falls completely silent, and when he spots Nancy still looking at him he opens his mouth, as if to speak but he says nothing. Some might say this looks like an episode in which he’s gone nonverbal due to stress. 5.) This one is a little weak, but I don’t care. Jonathan has a soft voice, he talks quietly and often stammers and stutters as he speaks. He mumbles a lot, and has a flat tone most of the time. This is another trait common with ASD, especially people with Asperger’s and such.  Volume control is difficult sometimes for people with ASD. I myself struggle to maintain appropriate volume levels when speaking, as when I’m excited I tend to grow louder without noticing. Jonathan himself stays very quiet, and probably has to be prompted to speak up very often. His often flat tone conveys not a lack of emotional but a lack of understanding how to do so or comprehending that he’s supposed to convey his emotions through his voice. 6.) People see him as strange and odd, and just the way people depict him in general points out some form of social shortcoming. He tends to make intense eye contact and stare, and when he speaks he has a habit of looking away as he does so. It’s difficult to maintain appropriate eye contact for him, and he’s probably been berated for it at times, so he has a tendency to stare in an attempt to fix this.  7.) Routine, maybe? Jonathan is seen making breakfast for Will and presumably himself in the pilot, that’s most likely his routine. Even after Will’s disappearance, his solution to helping his mother is cooking breakfast. He’s not sure how to deal with everyone’s emotional distress or his own, so he just does what he knows. 8.) The fight with Steve. Jonathan’s rage was justified in this scene, he was just fine walking away until the older boy called out his family. Now think about this, Jonathan has been dealing with so much lately. First his brother goes missing, then his mom starts losing her mind, his camera is broken, his entire life starts to fall apart. His brother is presumed dead, his father threatens to come back into the picture, and then there’s the whole thing with the monster and stuff. He is dealing with so much, and then Steve shoves him over what he can handle. He’s pushed over the edge, into what many would call a meltdown. Of course, autistic people are rarely violent and aggressive towards others in their meltdowns. That is, unless someone is touching them, trying to prevent them from leaving, or adding into the sensory overload in some way. Steve is pushing him, calling out his family, egging him on.  Jonathan snaps and they fight, and once Jonathan is on top of Steve he only sees Steve. His sole focus is beating up Steve, any attempts to get him off are completely ignored. He pushes Tommy away, doesn’t hear the approaching cop car, and then elbows an officer in the face who tries to grab him. He’s not aware of what’s going on, he’s having an emotional outburst of such severity that he’s in a mode where his mind is saying ‘do not touch me’ and nothing else matters to him in that moment. Even after he’s pulled away, he struggles to get back on top of Steve, and he continues to struggle as he’s handcuffed. He screams at a cop to get off of him, as if it is a valid request, he’s freaked out and upset.

Back at the police station, he’s irritated and anxious, obviously still coming down off of his fit. His mother asks what happened and all he can say is ‘I’m fine’, he doesn’t even tell her ‘I got in a fight’ or anything of the sort.  In Hopper’s office, he’s got his fingers sort of in his mouth. I suppose it looks like he’s biting his nails but I took it as a stim myself, just a way to calm himself down. He’s nervous, looking between his mom and Hopper. Of course, he thinks they won’t believe him but he’s also extremely fidgety, which isn’t really something Jonathan exhibits very often. He’s geared up, still in fight or flight mode.  9.) His mother’s perspective of him. She doesn’t really talk that much about Jonathan as she does Will, but Joyce says a few choice words that I thought were very strange. Most parents of teenagers would say that their child is too distant, they want to do things themselves and are stubborn and rebellious... Joyce says this “You act like you’re all alone in the world.”  Not in this moment, just in general, he acts as if he’s alone. This excludes not only Joyce, but Will as well. It just proves that Jonathan sees himself as a separate entity compared to everyone else, and even his mother acknowledges it. He isn’t just a loner, he’s cut himself off from everyone else whether it be intentional or not. He’s not just some shy friendless kid, he’s done this to himself, he’s distanced himself from the world because he doesn’t understand it and feels like nobody else understands him. 10.) Jonathan has a good rapport with the boys, but nobody his age.  Even though he doesn’t seem the best of friends with the little group of boys his little brother is part of, he’s quite friendly with them compared to everyone else. This is most likely because Will is friends with them, they’re a little strange like Will, like Jonathan. Will is like a bridge, he’s a connection, nobody is closer to Jonathan than Will. He knows his brother, and his friends by extension know him too. They know he’s strange and odd, in another world, but in a way they are too... This really only points out that Jonathan is socially inept again, but I thought it was important to see how odd he is in the eyes of his classmates. It’s to the point where someone in Tommy and Steve’s group ( I don’t remember who, maybe Carol?) jokes that “I didn’t know he could talk”... He’s so bizarre in society’s standards he doesn’t even speak, that’s not just an outcast by social standards. He isn’t just the poor kid, the queer, the creepy guy. And it’s not just because of being bullied or anything of the sort, he probably just doesn’t talk that much unless prompted. I know a guy with autism that I’ve gone to school with since I was in fourth grade, he rarely spoke and only spoke when prompted. He was quiet, kept to himself, and when he did speak it was rarely audible. It reminds me a lot of Jonathan Byers. 11.) The way Joyce speaks to Will and Jonathan separately.  This is going to sound odd, and maybe reaching... But honestly, it feels like Joyce talks to the boys differently. When talking to Jonathan, Joyce often repeats herself, she speaks clearly and to the point. It’s almost like she’s in a habit of repetition around him, as if she realizes that sometimes he doesn’t understand things. Maybe it’s just because of the situation they’re in, but she repeats herself and makes sure that she gets through to Jonathan when talking to him. When Hopper and Joyce are leaving, she says “I need you to stay here” and when Jonathan protests, she continues over him and explains that he needs to watch the kids. She says please a few times, and when she leans back, she makes very intense eye contact with him and promises multiple times that she’s going to find Will. It’s almost as if she feels like she has to repetitively tell him this or she believes he might follow her despite her instructions (I mean, hell, it doesn’t sound out of the realm of possibility).  Also, in the pilot, when she asks where Will is, Jonathan seems to have forgotten to wake him up. She is irritated and says that she’s told him this a thousand times. However, this could be chalked up to a forgetfulness that seems to run in the family. Joyce is a little forgetful it seems, so it would be understandable that Jonathan has a similar trait. A lot of lines spoken to Jonathan by Joyce are repeated needlessly. Of course it’s understandable if she’s mad, but even when she’s worried she pries at Jonathan. “What is it? What is it? Tell me. Tell me!” This could be a habit she picked up from Jonathan’s childhood in which it took a lot of prompting for him to respond to questions. She also says “Do you hear me” or “Understand” a few times, which isn’t something she says often to anyone except Hopper when he doubts her.  She also makes intense eye contact with him all the time, like she had to struggle for a long time to get him to look at her which might have been the case. She’ll take hold of his shoulders or his arm and duck her head and wait until he looks at her to get his agreement or for him to respond, like a cue they’ve worked on. - - -  There are probably other things I could point out but this is just from memory really. I probably should rewatch the series but I rarely rewatch series unfortunately.  None of this is concrete evidence, some of this could be explained away to be honest as social anxiety or just other simple things. But I dunno, headcanons exist for a reason, eh?

[fempostsbyq]

#SAYHERNAME

“Move over, Black Girl. Minimize, Black Girl. Shrink, Black Girl. Disappear, Black Girl. Don’t be so loud, Black Girl. Whisper, Black Girl. Just shut up, Black Girl. Ain’t you tired, Black Girl?” - Hannah L. Drake 

At a very young age, historically and contemporarily, Black women around the world are being dehumanized and treated unequally. Whether we are discussing Elizabeth Eckford, the first black student ever to attend a school in 1957 with white students who insulted her after the integration which was caused by Brown v. Board of Education or Sandra Bland who was pulled over for failure to turn on her turning signal, ended horribly with the officer using excessive force and telling her “I will light you up. Get out. Now.” You wanna light her up for not turning on a damn signal? Black women, and not women of color because specifically, this is a problem for Black women. 

Skylar, Skylar is my name but people call me Sky. I from the southside of Chicago, IL, attended Walter Payton High School which was on the northside. From a very young age, I learned how to code-switch, being from the hood and having to commute to my school was in a rich, white neighboorhood I was no stranger to code-switching or saving “face” my favorite sociologist, Erving Goffman would say. I grew up in a two-parent household with two younger siblings. My parents always made sure education came first especially when it came to us because they weren’t able to attend college. I was up. I was a senior in high school. I was the eldest child. Of course, It was up to me to set an example for my younger siblings. I would wake up every day, looking in the mirror, rubbing the residue of my face mask off my face, admiring my skin, the melanin. Growing up I never hated my skin color, I was proud to be dark-skin, didn’t give a fuck about what anybody said about me, until my third year at Payton, my highschool. As I began to present my final project for my AP Literature class, I asked the teacher could I turn off all the lights in the room because I hated the glare that light had on the projector. After the lights went out, this guy in my class says “Where’d Sky go?! I can’t see her, she camouflaged.” A few classmates laughed at this joke, I for one, knew that if I was back home, on the west side, I would’ve fought him, plain and simple. I had to remember what Michelle Obama would say “When they go low, we go high.” I ignored his ignorant comment, I ignored the laughter in the class, laughter that sounded loud as hyenas, laugher that pierced my ears, laughter that hurt my feelings. 

Going to Payton high school on the northside of Chicago, I was surrounded by white people. White people who were ignorant, white people who did not know any better. It was not my job to educate them which is why I allowed all of the racist and demeaning things they said about me and my blackness slide. Fast forward to senior year, when I got into Stanford, Stanford University. I remember posting my reaction video on twitter, I went viral! I was filled with joy and excitement scrolling through the replies, I stumbled by one that said “Congrats, but are you sure you got in on pure merit and not to just fill a Quota?” Imagine, getting into the school of your dreams and some old white man asking you did you get in because you were smart or was it just because Stanford needed more black people and you just happened to get picked. I deleted my video after that, was he right? Did I only get into Stanford because I was black? No that couldn’t be right I was valedictorian, I earned this, why did I delete my video? Did I believe what he said? 

I was now at Stanford, A Black woman majoring in Biology at Stanford University. Slowly I started to notice that there weren’t any African-American Professors in Stanford’s science building. Luckily, coming from Walter Payton I was used to white people staring at me walking through halls except here, at Stanford, people would stop me and have conversations with me and then say “Wow, you’re so nice. You look so mean walking around.” Did I really look mean? Why is there always something wrong with me? I don’t look mean. Maybe I do. Smile, Sky. Smile because you don’t wanna give these people the wrong ideas about you. Don’t yell when you see other Black people, because they will think you’re ghetto. But, don’t have too many white friends because Black people will think something about you. 

I made really good friends at Stanford, of course, a few microaggressions here and there, but blatant racism, once. Halloween 2019, Me and my friends went to a Halloween party and a group of guys had on costumes that for sure appropriating multiple cultures and being plain racist. One guy had on blackface, one of his friends had on a sombrero with a mustache. Picking to be another racial group for Halloween, is the epitome of disrespect. Do these people really think In America I just wake up putting on my dark-skin? I sleep Black. Wake up Black. My Black skin, is the determining factor, for some people, how they are going to treat me. People die for being Black in America, and you think you can just paint your face with black makeup like this shit is a joke. Good job Stanford, these were the people yall admitted, out of all things you could’ve been on Halloween you decided that you wanted to be Black? I had to understand that these people came from privilege, some of these people literally had only been surrounded by people that look like them- white people. They never were surrounded around people of color, they were ignorant, but that was no excuse, you go to Stanford for God’s sake. You know everything in the world but you don’t know or don’t even care to educate yourself on racial issues. There comes a point where it’s not a lack of education its a lack of care. 

I was privileged, privileged with the education and knowledge I got from Stanford, for which, I will forever be grateful. I am now a pediatric doctor at The Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles. 

Helping children is something that I found a liking in when I was in medical school, and it feels so good helping others. Throughout my life, I’ve been judged, treated unequally, and plain disrespected. I did not let any of those incidents define me, which is why I am where I am now. Working 40+ hours a week, going to my own house in L.A. it felt so good, it felt so different than where I was raised, no more hearing gunshots every night, no more fears of getting robbed, I am now living a regular life. After payday, I took a trip with a few friends to Beverly Hills to go shopping with. My friends and I always get looks when we go shopping in expensive stores, like damn yall never seen Black people with money. As we’re walking through the store the employee constantly asks us do we need assistance. We kindly decline and tell her that we’re just looking, she leaves us alone, but constantly follows us around. My friend, who was already frustrated turns around and says “Ma’am we said we don’t need your help, stop following us around the store, ain’t nobody trying to steal nothing. We’re grown women, stop following us around like we are some little kids.” The worker gets mad, and she goes to tell the security that my friend is causing a problem and to kick us out.

My friends and I attempt to avoid the problem and leave out peacefully, as we are walking out the alarm goes off. We all stop, we all stopped in sync actually, we turn around because we know we did not steal anything. As we stop and turn around the security officer charges at my friend and tackles her to the ground, breaking her right arm. We scream and tell him to stop, shes about 5’8 174 pounds while the secruity looks like he could be 6’3 234 pounds. He’s on top of my friend as she’s screaming and gasping for air. He screams “BITCH YOU STEALING” putting all his weight on my friends body, she cant breath I think. “I CANT BREATH” she yells at the security. He doesn’t care, I see it in his eyes, he’s going to kill my friend, he’s going to kill a black woman over a crime she did not commit. He’s going to kill my sister. He killed my sister.  

Days later, we get contacted by the police asked about the incident, they were trying to convince us that our friend was stealing, but there was no evidence, however, I thought in my head, even if she did steal does that justify killing her?  She told the officer over, and over, that she could not breathe, yet the officer did not care, he stayed on top of her looking for some product she did not have. Weeks past and this was not on the news, why did no one care that this officer killed an innocent Black woman? Why did no one want to cover this story? Why is this security still working at this store? Why does America say fuck us? We had enough. We heard about the #SAYHERNAME movement which was a movement that calls attention to police violence against Black women and demanding that their stories be integrated into the calls for justice and media representation of police brutality. Our innocent friend was killed by an officer twice her size, over something that she did not even steal. This was a cry out for help. When we sit here and not cover stories like this, it is dehumanizing, they are essentially saying fuck my friend life, she did not matter that much anyway. 

How dare America spit in our face like that. Black women around the world are being killed, I’ve grown up being discriminated against, allowing people to constantly disrespect me, and no one calls out people for it. It is now time for a change, it is now the time to SAY HER NAME. 

[bpdbiscuitblog-blog]

How Many Did You Take? How Many, My Angel? ***TRIGGER WARNING***

Woohoo is one of my oldest friends. She’s an ordained Wiccan priestess and performed the marriage ceremony for my second husband and me. She’s been my spiritual advisor and counselor since before I was old enough to drink, and I’m 34 now.

Before I was diagnosed with BPD, back when I hit the Big Red Button (the one that says - DO NOT TOUCH because the consequences are catastrophic) on my life, Woohoo was still there for me. I was obviously going insane, up and leaving my 13-year marriage with my then 35-year-old husband and my 14-year-old daughter, Moon, and my house and my entire existence to move in with Gypsy, a 33-year-old failed musician-turned-gamer who lived with his mother and had no job, education, hope for his future, or even basic social skills, where I immediately began a life of weird, unsatisfying, and infrequent sex, binge drinking, and running from past and present trauma-drama. On a positive note, I became a teacher again, a fulfilling experience speaking to my soul, as I am a teacher in more than just career, but completely mentally incapable of taking care of myself, much less a group of 17 8-year-olds, and became overworked, exhausted, and an emotional hurricane in a matter of months.

But between the Big Red Button and the hurricane was a time of destruction and devastation where I used the fires of my own personal hell to burn every possible bridge to my old life that I could, many of them badly in need of burning, as I would never return to walk them again, but others, like the Bridge to Woohoo, one of the few structures still anchoring my rapidly deteriorating mind in reality. Woohoo never traumatized me. She never hurt me. She never sought to control me. But the night I lost my daughter Moon and what remained of my ability to cope with the pain I was experiencing, in my grief and despair, she became just another representation of that trauma, and in the days that followed surviving my suicide attempt (notice I did not say my first suicide attempt) she became one of several targets of my BPD-strengthened rage at that long-buried trauma, a casualty of Hurricane Biscuit, although I was still more of a Tropical Storm back then.

Woohoo is a force of nature herself at times. Just as crazy, just as sarcastic, just as devastating a wit as myself, Woohoo brings with her a kind of controlled chaos, a tornado-in-a-bottle personality, ready to let loose a barrage of her own hellfire if the mood strikes her, but mostly just fun, easy-going, patient, a breeze that could whip up into a frenzied tornado if the mood strikes, but content at the moment just to enjoy the current. Voluptuous, sex-driven, raven-haired, loud-mouthed, and profane could all be used to describe her accurately, as accurately as kind, generous, soulful, and motherly.

I no longer believe in soulmates, but I do believe we have, say, connected souls, and as much as anyone I’ve ever met, she is one of my connected souls. And yet, when she stepped up to do what needed to be done to save my life, I turned my back on her.

She warned me about Gypsy. Told me there was something “not right ‘bout that boy,” in her Oklahoma twang. They had an immediate dislike of each other, Gypsy and Woohoo. Gypsy called her a man-hating feminist. Woohoo called him a lazy, worthless piece of shit, among other things. Neither of them were wrong.

My response to her warnings, over and over again, like a love-struck teenager fawning over a, well, a worthless piece of shit, was a protesting, “But, I love him, Woohoo! He’s my one and only.” (I am now picturing myself striking a dramatic pose, forearm to my forehead, turning away and looking plaintively out the window into a setting sun, while declaring that she just wouldn’t understand.)

I blatantly ignored the mounting evidence that this pairing would only leave me broken and broke, and continued blissfully unaware along my journey of self-destruction, orchestrating a series of events that would leave me running from my home, my marriage, my family. I’m not saying I should have been leaving these things, at least the marriage and the home, but I shouldn’t have been running towards Gypsy, of all people. Woohoo would have been a better choice. She did offer me a place to live, a chance to “get my shit together” in a relatively peaceful environment, free for a few months at least from financial worry, a safe haven to start anew. Meanwhile, I waved merrily from my car window as I drove away, hollering, “Nah, I got this!” as I hauled ass down her driveway, blaring Gypsy’s music at full blast and heading back to the city, to his mother’s house and the tiny 10x10 room that was to be my new prison of my own making for the next several months.

Meanwhile, still unable to communicate the massive amount of emotional stress and pain I was under to anyone, my mind began bringing all my fears and the traumas of my past to bear, forcing me to deal with them however I could. Financially, I was surviving, barely, in no small part to Woohoo herself, who kept my business running mostly smoothly as the day-to-day operations manager, supplying me with a steady income even when I wasn’t actively working.

My ex-husband meanwhile had no intention of patiently waiting out my midlife crisis, immediately replacing the vacated space in our marriage bed with the first woman who would tumble into it. He convinced Moon that my mental state was due to the fact that I was a bad person who did not love her, and therefore she had no need to further associate herself with me.

The day I received that smug text message from him, superior in his position as head of a new family to control, I gave up. Oh, not without setting a few more fires of course, screaming and stamping my foot and using whatever means I could to manipulate my ex-husband into returning my daughter to me, letting me hear her voice, even if it meant terrifying a complete stranger, his new bed buddy, into thinking I was going to share photos of her in lingerie with the world. And where did I get these photos? Oh, Mr. Manipulation himself had provided those just days before when he was so very interested in seeing if I would join them for a threesome. But, that’s another story for another day.

After several hours of realizing that torturing Mr. M and and the future Mrs. M was not going to get me my daughter, my emotions spiraled me into a well of despair that I was not capable of pulling myself out of. I seized upon a bottle of pills, a prescription Mr. M procured from his doctor that I had been told was for helping me with anxiety from my ADHD, but in fact were mood-altering antidepressants that, when prescribed incorrectly, could lead to suicidal ideation.

Google is a useful source for immediate access to the LD50 of literally anything. LD50 is the amount of a medication that will, when consumed, lead to death in 50% of the population of those who take it. The LD50 for this particular medication was 15 pills. I had 30. While texting Woohoo, Mr. M, and the future Mrs. M., telling them my intentions unless they returned my daughter to me, I began counting out 15 pills. I continued the threats as I used the Everclear under Gypsy's bed (where he was currently snoring after taking a dose of Benadryl after a long weekend of my emotional drama), to swallow them one by one. At eight pills, Woohoo warned me that she was calling the police. Hours away from my location, she would never arrive in time herself to stop me. She did the only the she could to prevent my death at my own hands - she narced on me.

At ten pills, for some reason, Gypsy stirred in his allergy-med-induced coma, and seeing me swallow the tenth, realized what was happening. He took the pills away as I screamed at him, “Just five more, please, just five more!” while he screamed back at me, “How many did you take? How many, my Angel?” (Gypsy didn’t call me Biscuit. No one did at this time, actually.) After counting and recounting, doing his own internet search, and counting once more, he sighed with relief, realizing I’d only taken enough to give myself a stomach ache.

My sobs had subsided at this point, and I sat in stony silence as Gypsy stared at me, seemingly in shock at how close I had come to leaving his life, and my own, at my own hand. Then one of those loud knocks that apparently policemen are trained in, one that can echo through a house to the back of a bedroom and enter into even the fevered dreams of a hallucinating woman who just wanted to be happy, smoke weed, and eat a chocolate bar in peace, sounded through the house, setting Gypsy's mom’s chocolate labs off in a frenzied bark as well as my wails of panic.

“Tell them I’m okay, Gypsy. Please, tell them I’m okay. Tell them she lied. Tell them they lied. Can I stay here? I’m so scared, Gypsy.” With an irritated sigh, he put his khaki shorts on over his boxers, pulled me gently to my feet, and guided me to the door. “No, you’ve got to talk to them. They’re going to want to see you.”

As if I was a frightened toddler meeting Santa for the first time, he guided me to the front door. In my head, I was psyching myself up. “You can do this, Biscuit. Just act normal. Act normal. Be angry. If you’re angry, you can’t be sad. If you’re angry, you won’t cry.”

After a heated discussion between me and the cops, a worried discussion between the cops and Gypsy, and phone calls and screenshots of my texts to Woohoo and Mr. and Mrs. M. between the cops and Woohoo, it was decided that it would be in my best interest if I was detained involuntarily at a mental institution for a three-day psych hold.

In the front yard of a house I had only recently moved into, in front of people I barely knew, in front of my beloved Gypsy, I was handcuffed, crying and scared. As the cuffs clicked into place, I could see Gypsy at the front door, watching behind the glass, mouthing, “I love you,” across the void separating me from the only vaguely familiar thing left in my life. Physically, I was being kept safe, but I was being traumatized all over again, my hands behind my back all over again, forced to do something I didn’t want to do all over again.

But what else could Woohoo do? Physical safety trumped mental safety. I could never be mentally safe again unless I was kept physically safe now. At the time, I couldn’t see that. At the time, all I felt was fear and anger. For someone with BPD, fear and anger are terror and rage.

By the time I was released from my prison 48 hours later (instead of 72, as apparently I wasn’t that crazy), my mind had been fueled by this terror and rage for days, consuming my thoughts completely. Unable to turn that rage onto the people who had hurt me, I instead hurled it at Woohoo, now the sole symbol remaining of that night. I stripped her from the business, allowing Gypsy to spew venom through social media as the new voice of the company, coming to my defense as Woohoo tried to warn our contractors that there was something seriously wrong with my mental stability now.

In my gathering momentum of destruction, I decided to strike one more blow against my former friend, business partner, and soul sister: I refused to pay her. I kept her final paycheck, using it instead to shower Gypsy with books and games, gifts for his loyalty perhaps. Meanwhile, Woohoo, still in shock over my behavior thus far, now had to figure out how to make ends meet without the money she was owed, how to provide for my own godchildren, her sweet son and daughter, now just that much shorter of being able to cover expenses.

The only wise decision I made in those days was enrolling in counseling. But of course, showing up to the first session did not instantly make me see what I had done and was continuing to do. That would take time, more self-destruction, more mistakes, more trauma, and finally, finally -- partly due to that first step and the hard work of a southern Biscuit, partly due to the luck of finding her Gravy -- peace.

[the-desolated-quill]

Oh Finn - Quill’s Scribbles

Believe it or not, I really don’t want to keep talking about Iron Fist. I honestly don’t give two shits either way at the moment. I wasn’t all that interested when I first heard about the show and when I heard about all the criticism it was getting, I just went ‘oh that’s a shame’ and just carried on with my day.

In fact, to my own surprise, I’ve kind of been acting like the voice of reason, trying to tell everybody to step back and get some perspective. I’ve already ranted about how hypocritical the critics are for saying how racist Iron Fist is whilst still pledging their support for Doctor Strange, a movie that’s committed far more heinous acts in its production than Iron Fist has. And I can’t help but give a disapproving stare to those Tumblr users out there who are using the same stick they used to beat Doctor Strange with to beat Iron Fist even though the circumstances for both are drastically different.

Let’s just go over the facts again. Unlike Doctor Strange, Iron Fist hasn’t whitewashed any Asian characters, the writers are attempting to depict Asian culture and they have also expressed an awareness of the many problems with the source material and have vowed to fix it. While yes, it’s disappointing that they didn’t pick an Asian actor for the role, as I seem to have to keep reminding people again and again, they’re not in any way obliged to do so. Iron Fist is canonically white. They could racebend the character if they wanted to, (and to their credit they did audition Asian actors for the role, so they were clearly open minded to the possibility), but if they want to go with the white guy, that’s their prerogative. Now the pressure is on them to make sure the character and the show doesn’t fall into the same traps as the comics. 

The only crime Iron Fist has committed is that the writers thought they could have their cake and eat it too. They thought they had the skill and talent to make a show with a white Iron Fist that wasn’t racist and they apparently fucked it up. Would an Asian Iron Fist have solved all the problems? Not necessarily as some of the criticisms include rubbish fight scenes and a dull, plodding storyline. But other criticisms, such as the mighty whitey trope and the show’s lack of a unique identity, would have been addressed simply by racebending the lead.

That was my stance regarding the show. That could very well change if the show’s star, Finn Jones, doesn’t put a sock in it at some point over the next couple of days.

There are two ways to handle criticism. Quietly absorb everything that’s been said and consider bearing them in mind for future projects, or dismiss it all and angrily scream and shout into the void about how nobody can understand your genius. Finn Jones is very much in the latter. He’s been very vocal in his defence of the show, which is understandable to a certain extent. It’s never easy to hear criticism about something you’ve put a lot of hard work and effort into, especially when that criticism is overwhelmingly negative, but Finn Jones’ ‘defence’ displays an ignorant and borderline offensive attitude that I find quite appalling.

He started off with the usual trite defence (usually reserved as the DCEU’s go-to excuse) of that the show was made ‘for the fans.’ One teeny, tiny problem with that. The hardcore fans only represent a tiny portion of the viewership. It’s the casual viewers you have to pull in and if the show is as racially insensitive as some are suggesting, the casual viewers will twig it straight away. Also that’s a bit insulting to the fans, isn’t it? He’s basically implying that the fans should hold it to a lower standard than everyone else and should just be grateful for what they’ve got. David Ayer didn’t get away with that bullshit with Suicide Squad and we’re not falling for it now.

In an interview with the Metro UK, Finn Jones also said that the show wasn’t made for critics, saying that:

“…some of the reviews we saw were seeing the show through a very specific lens, and I think when the fans of the Marvel Netflix world and fans of the comic books view the show through the lens of just wanting to enjoy a superhero show, then they will really enjoy what they see”.

Okay first of all, what the fuck is he talking about? No show is made specifically for critics and of course they’re watching it through a particular lens. They’re critics. That’s what they do. They criticise. He’s basically angry because the critics have done what their job requires them to do. Second, that argument is total bullshit because if the problem is that the critics can’t sit back and enjoy a superhero show, how come they had no problem enjoying Daredevil, Jessica Jones and Luke Cage? What’s so special about Iron Fist that the critics don’t seem to get it? In fact the main criticism of the show is that it’s not special at all. That it’s actually derivative of a lot of better superhero properties out there at the moment. Which seems more likely Finn Jones? That critics can’t seem to wrap their head around a TV show that’s apparently so dull and uninspired that it seems to have borrowed a lot of its ideas from TV Tropes, or that your show is total rubbish?

Then of course there’s been the much publicised Twitter debate between Finn Jones and creative director Asyiqin Haron from Geeks Of Colour. He said that representation was important and that Iron Fist is socially progressive and celebratory of different cultures whilst remaining true to the source material. Haron responded by saying that an Asian Iron Fist would have made an even greater impact, and asked whether Finn Jones was even aware of how problematic a white Iron Fist potentially is. He responded by saying that the show explores those problematic elements and, when pressed further, he did the sensible and mature thing of deleting his Twitter account. Cue an onslaught of online hate accusing Haron of bullying even though all she did was ask some very blunt and pointed questions. She did not resort to foul language or personal attacks and by questioning him actually revealed how ignorant and hypocritical his thoughts on diversity were.

Jones eventually returned to Twitter and released the following statement:

“There is a huge benefit to engage and help shape conversations on social media, especially when it comes to giving a voice to social matters. My original intention was to amplify a speech made by Riz Ahmed at the House of Commons. It was a very articulate and important speech on representation that I wholly agreed with. After posting I was inundated by people accusing me of not being allowed to share his voice based on an assumption that our show is going to play into the problems of racial inequality on screen.  I engaged politely, diplomatically and attempted to bridge the divide. I’m currently in the middle of filming and I need to stay focused on bringing to life this character without judgment, so I decided to remove myself from twitter for the time being.

I am very proud of the work everyone has done on this series and I’m excited for people to see how we’ve adapted the story. We have gone to great lengths to represent a diverse cast with an intelligent, socially progressive storyline. I hope people can watch the show before making judgments. In times, as divisive as these, we need to stay unified, compassionate and understanding in our differences.”

Yes. He just wanted to engage and help shape conversations on social media and was attempting to bridge the divide… only to then cut the conversation off entirely and thus strengthen the divide further because he couldn’t handle somebody questioning his progressive brilliance.

As the criticism continued, Jones started to become more and more vocal to the point where he even started to lose his cool. In an interview with Vulture, Jones claimed that people needed to ‘chill the fuck out’. How he doesn’t understand how people can be frustrated at something when they haven’t seen the product yet (ignoring the fact that the critics have already seen the product, hence the frustration), that Iron Fist is one of the most diverse shows he’s ever worked on and he doesn’t understand why it’s being picked on (again ignoring the fact that if he took the time to actually read the criticism instead of bitching like an infant, he’ll have realised that the critics have actually explained what the problems are on numerous occasions). When the interviewer attempted to move on from the subject, Jones said:

“C'mon, let’s get angry at the real fucking injustices in the world, yeah? The real problems in the world. Not just in television. There’s some real shit happening in the world right now that people need to get angry about. Let’s get angry about that. Not just a TV show that hasn’t even aired yet, you know?”

Ah that old chestnut. Look just because you don’t care about Asian representation in the media doesn’t mean we shouldn’t. For someone who claims to want to give voice to social matters, you certainly seem to spend a lot of time dismissing social matters the moment they’re voiced.

And just when you thought Finn Jones couldn’t sink any lower, in an interview with the RadioTimes, this happened:

“I’m playing a white American billionaire superhero, at a time when the white American billionaire archetype is public enemy number one, especially in the US. We filmed the show way before Trump’s election, and I think it’s very interesting to see how that perception, now that Trump’s in power, how it makes it very difficult to root for someone coming from white privilege, when that archetype is public enemy number one.”

Oh yeah. You’re reading this correctly. Apparently the reason why people don’t like Iron Fist is because of Donald Trump.

Well this is a first. I never thought I’d be defending Donald Trump. As tempting as it is, you can’t blame him for all your problems sweetheart. Aside from the fact that nobody has expressed similar thoughts in response to Batman or Iron Man or even Arrow, and that the cry for an Asian Iron Fist started long before President Drumpf was elected, nobody has said nor has ever said that the white billionaire or even white people in general are ‘public enemy number one’. People are just understandably frustrated because it’s 2017 and they’re still having to fight tooth and nail for representation in the media. Yes Iron Fist is canonically white, but this could have been an opportunity to dispense with the white billionaire archetype altogether and have our first mainstream Asian superhero. That’s an opportunity you’ve robbed them of Finn Jones and it’s something you seem to be medically incapable of wrapping your head around. Regardless of our individual views on Trump, if you’ve gotten so desperate to defend your show that you’re blaming the President of the United States, you need a fucking time out.

Finn Jones is clearly in a state of rather aggressive denial, pointing the finger at everyone but the people responsible for this shitshow, namely the filmmakers. See up until now, I was prepared to extend an olive branch to Iron Fist. They seemed to have honest intentions and all it would have taken to get people back on their side was a simple apology a few months down the line and a promise to take the criticism onboard and fix the issues for Season 2 (assuming Season 2 is even going to happen after all of this). Instead Finn Jones is let off the leash and his delusional ramblings are at serious risk of damaging the show further. I’ve noticed that Marvel and the showrunner have kept deathly quiet about all of this. What am I supposed to read into that? Is Finn Jones’ pathetic excuses just the opinions of one ignorant prick or are they indicative of the entire BTS crew?

The more vocal Finn Jones gets, the more ignorant he’s shown to be and the more it hurts the show he’s trying to defend. He’s basically digging his own grave and pulling Iron Fist down on top of him. People like myself who were prepared to show sympathy are now starting to get turned off because if the lead star is this fucking deluded and clueless about the issues surrounding this show, maybe what the critics are saying have some weight to them after all.

So for your own sake, as well as the sake of Iron Fist and the fans that you claim to respect, do us all a favour Finn Jones.

SHUT THE FUCK UP!