#and james played a good part in making him the monster

[lilithofpenandbook]

The entire Harry Potter series is really Severus Snape's story as told by Harry.

The story all began with Severus, the boy targeted and abused and doomed to a dark path by the supposed "good guys".

The story ends with Albus Severus Potter, one of his names after the bravest man Harry ever knew. The bravest man being the headmaster from Slytherin, not the headmaster from Grynfindor.

[bobluvbot]

someone you loved

pairing: sirius black x f!reader  summary: your relationship with sirius hurt so much, that the only way forward was to forget. wc: 3k a/n: angst angst angst!!! lots of negative self talk and low self esteem, allusions to a bad childhood (not stated directly), implied emotional abuse & cheating, both sirius and reader are going through it.

snippets of his voice echo in your head like a haunting lullaby that doesn’t seem to end. its funny how the mind is known to block out the traumatic memories, but for some reason, yours kept record of the most painful ones that left his lips.

you’re just too much. 

i can’t love you the way you expect me to.

i’m ending this.

i’m sorry, but i can’t deal with this, with you, anymore.

it keeps repeating like a song once loved, now loathed left on repeat, and a stop button might be somewhere but you can’t bring yourself to turn it off. it reminds you of that habit you secretly developed when you had two large bruises on both your knees after a nasty fall, bone hitting pavement. nothing bled, which was a relief to the new babysitter as no bright band-aids would be blatant proof of her lack of attention on the kid she was supposed to keep watch on. blood kept within the skin, nothing left to do but to watch your body slowly take it back. you were curious of how the color changes each day, the angry reds bleeding into dark purples that resemble galaxies that you’d see on your astronomy books. one day spent examining your bruises again, you pressed on the reddish purple one too hard and tears spring up your eyes when the sting hits. but as it lingered and faded, a strange feeling of satisfaction replaced it, and you felt the urge to press on it again, curious to see if the same unknown feeling makes an appearance again. It does, and the fascination as you play in between the lines of pain and pleasure follows you as you grew up. Curious, you once read up on it from those muggle books, where you learn that the body itself releases pain-killing hormones that help relieve the perception of pain, leading to a temporary feeling of relief. 

you knew thinking about sirius’ words will never not hurt, will continue to bury you in a deepening hole that you have to fight to the nails to crawl out of, but you couldn’t stop. 

It gave deep seated satisfaction to that green monster in the back of your mind, responsible for only seeing the negative in each situation you find yourself in. ‘i told you so,’ it says in a tinny singsong voice, clearly pleased with each iteration of sirius’ words and the raw metal stabbing your heart each time.  

it also serves like a constant reminder of your failure. Failure to love like a decent person, failure to be the person that sirius needed, failure to gauge what was too much that the other person drowned without you knowing, failure to protect yourself and your dignity from being trampled on like nothing, and failure to just simply accept the fact that love just wasn’t made for people like you. 

being friends with lily made you forget a lot of things, fundamental parts that you realized so young. you knew better, should have after everything you’ve gone through, but somehow with her, anything seemed possible, achievable, tangible when you’re a kind person. marlene would always say, doing good things meant you can expect to receive good things back from the universe.

and for the most part it seemed to always work that way. you’d witnessed james nurture the simple appreciation he had on lily’s genuine smile at him that eased his nerves while they were in line to get sorted into houses throughout the years, growing as he’d gotten to know her innate kindness and wit, and finally erupting from him like rays of sunlight until he became brave enough to speak it out loud starting fourth year. 

Even though the marauders had acted questionably during their early years of exploring their pranking abilities, james had always been full of love. Never hesitating to share it to those he truly cared for. it took lily years to accept this, and more to gain courage and let herself experience it. 

by 7th year, you never believed a love could thrive like that whilst cradled with such young hands until you saw james and lily do it effortlessly. 

so what part of this could’ve made you think otherwise? 

were you to blame for believing in that fantasy, that something like this could be attainable for someone like you, too? 

you had always housed deep adoration and awe for sirius black, like many others, despite his wild reputation and scandalous rumors that seem to always follow when his name gets uttered.

why? Because he was once the raven haired boy who slipped the trolley witch a few sickles when he saw you return the pumpkin pasty after realizing you couldn’t afford it. 

it had been a gloomy tuesday. the trolley witch was supposed to go compartment by compartment, but the bumbling first years seemed to miss that memo and started piling up close to the cart to see what was being sold that she had to force them all in a line. you were quiet and unobtrusive as you stood patiently in line; which was nothing compared the boys’ raucous laughters and animated chatter behind you. sirius would’ve accidentally pushed or stepped on you if he didn’t see your figure. the train was loud and so was james’ mouth, so excited to be away from his parents and to have his first official Hogwarts friend, but sirius also stood close enough to you that he could hear your stomach grumbling and see your arms crossed over your midsection. he admitted once that he found the gurgling sounds funny (like an eleven year old would do) but he didn’t have the heart to poke fun at you because he remembered he’d hear the same thing from his own when his parents would send him to bed without eating. 

even before your turn, you were already overwhelmed at the amount of food and candy available, none of which sounds or looks remotely familiar to what you’ve had growing up. your heartbeat picked up when you heard loud sighs, feet tapping impatiently (both James) snorting and shushing (sirius), and just grabbed something that resembled bread, quickly apologizing to the witch that gave you a kind smile. you hadn’t eaten anything as you rushed to pack the mismatched, secondhand supplies that the headmaster had sent you, and you were dropped off to the station just in time before the train left. your fingers trembled in excitement to finally eat and in hunger as you fished out your coin purse. It took a few seconds before it sunk in that you don’t have enough to buy your pasty. How embarassing. 

You swallowed your tears back, willing the hateful voice in your head to keep quiet for a minute or two, just enough time to put back the pasty and run to your deserted compartment, where you could freely go to town beating yourself up for your stupidity. Just quick enough so no one will notice. 

It took three deep breaths before the dam opened, for the tears to run uncontrollably down your cheeks. You couldn’t even wipe it off because your hands were still clutching your stomach, trying to ease the growling, gnawing pain. Pathetic.

The compartment door opened and you didn’t even hear someone clearing their throat, only looking up when a hand dropped three pasties, a chocolate frog, and a bottle of pumpkin juice on your lap. Barely balancing it, you looked up to see who took pity on you, but only caught a glimpse of stark raven hair and alabaster skin.

you’d find him later during sorting, squeezed between three boys that couldn’t seem to shut up about what house they thought the other would go. not used to kindness, much less from a complete stranger, you hesitated approaching him. but fate always had a weird way of showing you it does listen to your wishes once in a while and you found yourself later on, scooting a bit to your left to make space for him on the bench of your shared house. you both exchanged a knowing smile, and you’d always remember him like that. The kind boy who gave you a feast even without knowing who you were. 

you’d remember that boy when the pouring rain had finally soaked through your thick coat as you waited patiently for him at madam puddifoot’s on your first Valentine’s day. Despite the fact that he was already two hours late and the cafe would be closing soon, you chose to wait. 

you’d remember that kind boy when some mean ravenclaw girls in class would pick on you for the most absurd things, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you looked back at him desperately for some reprieve, only for him to avoid your gaze and continue to guffaw at something James said, effectively ignoring your existence. 

You once asked him why. It was embarrassing how quick he figured out what you were really asking. In fact, he knew a lot of things: that he didn’t deserve your love (or anyone’s for that matter), that someone as pure and selfless as you shouldn’t even associate with the likes of him, and that he was aware of every single thing he does that shatters you whole. He knew that he should tread this conversation gently, to not let his claws rip further skin more than he already has, but the Black darkness has its way of slithering out of the deep recesses he tries to bury it in. 

Words leave him exasperatedly, like he’s not spouting words that cut through skin. “I’d been clear to you right from the start, of what I can give you and what I can’t. You knew what you were getting into, Y/N. you put this onto yourself.” 

He storms back into his dorm before he could hear your quiet sobs echo through the empty common room. 

—-

lily knew in the back of her mind that this wasn’t just a simple, silly request now, but more of an obligation to her closest friend. 

it’s been three weeks. three excruciating weeks to be handed and given and filled with so much love she didn’t need to ask for, whilst seeing her best friend chip away with the lack of, like a once-bright porcelain doll that was abandoned and exposed to the direct heat of the sun. 

you had finally gone silent by last week, like a shut door. refusing to eat, go to class, speak—- hell, lily bets, if you could also not breathe by choice, you wouldn’t. It’s like youre keeping everything you once had given to the world thoughtlessly, close. Dorcas thinks you were keeping close to heart the mundane things that make you alive, to remind yourself that you still are. She had said, like air to a balloon. lily cried herself to sleep that night, the thought of losing such a fundamental part of her life, you, inch by inch, day by day, in front of her very eyes was a haunting, damning thought. Something that she and you both thought would come so much more years later, with unsurmountable memories, many glasses of champagne and slices of cake, wrinkles and smile lines, more laughter and loving hugs exchanged. 

she had thought the silence was a welcoming sign of change. A necessary step towards acceptance and moving on. she was relieved when your crying stopped, tremors leaving your fingers, and there was a chance again for the redness to vacate the whites of your eyes. She held hope that she and the girls can start working on instilling your light back, hopeful that a few months from now their star can find its way back to its rightful place in the sky and everything could be okay once again. 

Lily looked forward to nights that were filled by snores and shuffling of sheets, not the unmistakable sound of your feet on the wooden floors, misjudging that everyone was asleep, the muffled creak of the dorm room door opening and closing, and your footsteps fading in the dark. She’d wait fifteen to thirty minutes (the longest was an hour or two on the first night) before she’d hear you return, footsteps still light but she could hear the slight drag in each step, almost as if it was taking so much of your might to even make it to the bed. the quiet whimpers would start, followed by muffled hiccups lily knew only happens when you cry too hard. it took so much of her to exercise self-restraint, to keep herself on her own bed and not lay beside you and hug you as if it’s something that could put you back together. 

She has to turn her back on you even if it felt like raw betrayal. 

Because that one time she didn’t, she couldn’t forget the look of horror, dejection, desperation, and pure unbridled embarrassment on your face when you realized she knew what you were up to late at night. She knew you came up to the boys’ dormitory, crawling into sirius’ bed, where you begged and begged for him to take you back, that you’ll be a better more doting and loving girlfriend this time around, that you won’t be too attached this time and will give him the necessary space and time he needs so he doesn’t feel suffocated, that you’ll be anything, do anything just for him to welcome you back into his arms and whisper sweet nothings in your ear until your throat was raw, and sirius has to physically take you back to the start of the staircase to your dormitory. 

this happened for days and days on end until the boys had to lock their door at night, or whenever sirius is in. 

james couldn’t meet lily’s eyes when he’d ask for her help to keep you apart from Sirius as it would do you no good. they had gotten into a fight because of this, because lily heard nothing but  ‘stop her from making a fool of herself’ and her best friend is the smartest intuitive empathetic kindest witch she had ever met; the farthest thing from a fool. 

But one day those very words came off your lips with a hollow laugh. “But I am a fool, Lily. No one in their right mind would even do half the things I do.” It would be hypocritical for lily to deny sneaking out at night and crawling into your ex’s bed and begging for him to take you back as something of a desperate fool would do. A girl once had chased and pined for Remus during the entirety of fifth year and the things she did to get his attention were laughable at that time. But she didn’t plan to see the same, even worse, done by her best friend, and she still couldn’t wouldn’t call you a fool.

After all, your only fault was that you loved. And that shouldn’t even be a fault because that’s what she did with James, marlene with dorcas, her father with her mother. even someone as selfish as petunia could find love and be loved right back. 

you of all people deserved to love and be loved right back after everything you’d been through, and james would say the same thing for sirius as well. 

but sirius was a complex person, lily could recite this on top of her head from endless times where you stood your ground, defending sirius’ honor like he’d see your great martyrdom and suddenly consider you once again worthy of his love and affection. Before, she knew of sirius as a friend and James’ brother— but she knew more than what she signed up for because you’d fill in the gaps for her when she’d try to beat some sense into you during the unacceptable treatment you’d accept from sirius. 

You’d say with such confidence “he loves me, he’s just going through a lot right now, especially after that howler his mother sent him a few days ago.”

You didn’t have to elaborate, lily remembered that day vividly, not because of the way sirius’ face fell when the howler began its assault had reminded her so much of how she’d react after getting bitter letters from petunia, but because that same day she saw sirius being manhandled by a hufflepuff, both kiss sick and all over each other, into a secluded broom closet. 

It was years worth of push or pulls, of moral dilemmas that would get the outspoken redhead to choke on her words, and dejectedly sweep them under the rug out of your sight. Because the beaming smile and flushed cheeks you’d sport when Sirius murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, the weight on your shoulders dissipating when tucked in his arms, the jump in your step whenever he’d kiss you on the forehead and wish you good luck for the day— Lily couldn’t bear the thought of robbing you with those moments of bliss, even when it’s all done in private. 

So in an empty classroom on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon, she points her wand at you, fingers trembling and tears trailing down her cheeks, but you don’t see any of these. Instead, your beautiful features wear a serene expression that weakens lily’s knees. Oh how she missed her dearest friend. She’d do anything in the world to get you back, hold your hand, and dance with you in the autumn rain. 

So she does the wand movement like she practiced for days and takes a breath. She pictures you and Sirius happily dancing barefoot during the yule ball, your blushed cheeks when you told her about the feel of his lips on yours for the first time, you on sirius’ shoulders as you carried the quidditch cup, both smiling big as remus snaps a picture from the muggle camera, you drifting off to sleep on sirius’ shoulder while your hands were laced as you rode the train back to hogwarts.

Before mumbling the incantation, obliviate.

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

February 01 - Honey | word count: 672 | @black-brothers-microfic

They are sitting in the common room, a bottle of firewhiskey making it’s rounds. Regulus had already regretted agreeing to come when he first entered the Room of Requirement to find his brother and his friends already gathered around the fireplace. But he had already been spotted, and he could hardly deny his boyfriend as he made grabby hands to pull Regulus onto his lap. That’s where he sits now, in one of the two chairs while his brother and Remus occupy the other, leaving Barty, Evan, Dorcas, Marlene, and Peter on spare cushions and pillows on the ground.

He rests his head back against James’ shoulder, letting himself get lost in the feeling of James’ fingers in his hair, gently soothing the building ache. He’s been undeniably lucky with James, who somehow always manages to sense what Regulus needs, and gives it to him without question.

“What’s the worse injury you’ve had?” Marlene asks, and Regulus instantly tenses up. Out of all the questions that could have come from her mouth, it is the one that a majority of the people in this room would find uncomfortable. “I sprained my collarbone while playing rugby in primary school.”

“I fell from a tre—wait, no. My worst was when that bludger knocked me from my broom and I broke like ten bones.” James says, almost boasting as though the memory of that day doesn’t put an ache in Regulus’ bones. He had been worried sick, afraid the other boy might not wake up, or if he did, that the damage would be too severe to ever play Quidditch again.

“Mrs. Norris caught me while in animagus form last year.” Peter shudders. “I still have the scars from her teeth.”

“I think we all know what mine is.” Remus says, voice heavy. Sirius shifts in his seat, curling around Remus the best he can, as though that will shield him from the monster living in his own body. He tucks his face into Remus’ neck, muttering something there. Cheeks burning as he unwillingly intrudes in a private moment, Regulus turns to James.

“Potion explosion because somebody wasn’t paying attention.”

“You can hardly blame me when you are far more interesting than any potion we could have been brewing.”

“Uh, huh.”

“My blood oath with Evan.” Barty says, drawing everybody’s attention to him. He merely grins, wiggling his eyebrows at Evan.

“Your what?” How could he have missed two of the most important people in his live taking a blood oath? His curiosity lasts for as long as it takes for the devilish grin to materialize on Barty’s face. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”

“What about you, Sirius?”

“I think… oh! The time I was attacked by a nest of hornets.”

“I’m sorry, you were what?”

“I haven’t told you guys this one? Oh, its great!”

“It’s not great, Sirius. It was stupid and unnecessarily risky.”

“Well now I have to know.” James insists.

“Well, little Reggie here wanted honey on his toast, but we didn’t have any.”

“And instead of asking Kreacher like anybody else would have, the idiot went and—”

Sirius reaches over and clamps his hand over Regulus’ mouth. “Don’t spoil the story. Stop licking me, Reg. Anyway, I was, I don’t know, nine? ten? either way, there was this bee’s nest in the garden. Nobody ever told me there were different kinds of bees, let alone different kinds of nests. I thought they were all the same thing. Honey came from bees, and bees lived in that nest. So, I climbed on a nearby bench and pulled it down.”

“Sirius.” James gasps through laughter. “Why?”

“I thought I was being a good brother! I had no idea I was going to be attacked.”

Regulus pries Sirius’ hand from his mouth, “The idiot was bedridden for a week.”

“It was worth it.”

“How? What part of that entire incident was ‘worth it’?”

“We got to spend that whole week together, and mother couldn’t do anything about it.”

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 21

Wow! It always amazes me when story gets past 20 chapters. It makes it ending even harder. But ending it is. I completed the final chapter yesterday. It will have 24 chapters and then it one of the other fics I'm currently working will replace it.

Chrissy makes good on her promise to blow each of the kids' minds.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

~

By invite only is what Chrissy said. Holy shit. There were actual famous people here and Steve was freaking out.

Steve, Robin, and his kids were picked up in a shiny, black limo and taken to Wayne’s ranch. There the amphitheater was set up for Corroded Coffin to play. As evidenced by the black and gold drum kit with their logo slapped on the bass drum.

There were actors and other musicians there. Some pretty big names too. So that got Dustin and Mike sorted. They were freaking out and geeking out about each new person they spotted.

Then Max was tugging on Steve’s arm. “Steve. Steve I can’t believe it. He’s here.”

Steve looked over to see a man, maybe a little bit older than he was standing there talking to Jeff’s dad. He didn’t look like much, but the way Max was vibrating next to him, he knew the guy was famous in a way only see would recognize.

“That’s Steve Caballero,” she sighed wistfully. “When I was out in Cali, he was pioneering the skateboard scene. He’s so awesome.”

And then it hit him. What Chrissy met when she said that she could do something special for each of the kids with one event. And this was Max’s.

“Come on,” Steve said brightly, tugging on her arm. “We’re going to go say hello.”

Max stared at him in shock and tried to tell him she wasn’t going to do that, when Steve yanked on her arm and lead him over to Mr. Lawrence and Steve Caballero.

“Hey, you’re Steve right?” he said with his most charming smile. When the guy nodded, he continued, “My friend here is a huge fan. This Max Mayfield.”

Steve looked her up and down. “Long or standard?”

“Standard,” Max said immediately. “I’ve been working on my kickflip and I’ve almost got it down.”

Steve C. raised an eyebrow. “Where do you go to skate around here?”

Max chatted excitedly with him. “Doing street is the best I can hope for in Hicksville, but there is a quarry nearby where I go to practice my bigger stuff.”

“You should really show me while I’m in town...” Steve C. said as Steve wandered off.

Will was talking to a man and woman and so Steve started walking over that direction.

Will spotted him and pulled him over. “This is Stephen Cosgrove and Robin James. They do the Serendipity books.”

Steve turned his head to the side as he thought about it for a moment. “Is that the one with big pink and green sea dragon or whatever?”

Stephen smiled. “Sea dragon is a much nicer term than sea monster, but yes. That’s us.”

Steve snapped his fingers. “I’ve been meeting a lot of Steves today. First Steve Caballero who skateboards and now you.”

Robin and Stephen shared a glance.

“I’m a Steve too.”

They both “ooh’ed” and nodded.

“This young man was telling us that he wanted to illustrate children’s books,” Robin J. said with a smile.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair. “He’s really good, he was even teaching me a thing or two over the summer.”

“There’s children’s illustration exhibit in Indy while we’re here,” Stephen said brightly. “I think he’d be very interested in seeing it.”

Will looked up at Steve, hopeful.

Steve ruffled Will’s hair again. “We’ll have to ask your mom, but yeah that sounds great. If I can get the information from you.”

And both Stephen and Robin J. hurried to do just that with Robin J. handing Will her personal business card. “When you get a little older, give me a call,” she said with a wink.

Will waved dorkily at them and then let Steve lead him away. “This was so cool, Steve. Thanks for inviting me. I’m more of a ‘The Clash’ fan, but meeting my heroes is so mind blowing and to go to see the exhibit would be the icing on the cake.”

Steve smiled, putting his arm around the kid. “We’ll have to see. Your mom is still mad at me for the whole Eddie is a sugar daddy fiasco.”

“Which is bullshit,” Will huffed. “Even Jonathan thinks Eddie is sweet and this was before you got him that camera. As he pointed out Eddie was out of town and a lot of the gifts were cute and not over the top expensive.”

“I wish Jonathan had been successful,” Steve said dryly, “and the whole mess with Scoops would have been avoided.”

“Yeah,” Will said dourly. “Hop is still mad at her for the whole assault thing. Eddie was taking care of you and yes, she might have not have known who it was at the time, but the fact that you could come and go as you pleased, you were able to spend the money on whatever you wanted, and were really happy... like she should have let it go.”

They went to go find Mike and Dustin. It wasn’t long to find them, they were chatting away with Brian and Gareth.

Brian threw his arms out and cried. “Stevie! The man of the hour! Eddie was excited when you agreed to come out to this.”

Steve smiled at the bassist. “Like I could ever turn down a chance to see you guys play live. I did like the music when I heard it the first time.”

“Eddie told us about your musical indoctrination,” Gareth said with a huff of laughter. “You actually went out and bought heavy metal albums of your own accord, so I’ll give you that. Because I always assumed you liked us live because you liked the outfit Eddie wore.”

Steve quickly covered an ear each of Dustin and Mike and yanked them to his side. “There are children present!” he scandalized with a wry smile.

Brian and Gareth cackled as Dustin and Mike struggled to be released.

“Let me go!” Dustin huffed, pushing at Steve’s side. “I’m not a child!”

Steve let them both go laughing. “Yeah, than tell me what Gareth was referring to and maybe I’ll believe you, dweeb.”

Dustin shrugged. “Probably the same reason my likes Elvis. Young Elvis. The long legs and hips.”

Gareth and Steve shared a wide-eyed glance.

Gareth nodded appreciatively. “I can see why Robin calls you the genius child. Right in one, kiddo. How about you, Mike? You in it for the music or Eddie in tight pants?”

Mike stuttered and sputtered as he turned bright red.

“The tight pants for sure,” Brian teased, elbowing Gareth who was giggling.

“But I like girls!” Mike finally managed to spit out, his eyes wide and his fist clenched.

Dustin raised a confused eyebrow. “My ma is always talking about David Bowie and how he likes both men and women and doesn’t matter who his partner is, he’s not gay if he’s with a man or straight if he’s with a woman, he’ll always be bisexual.”

“I think I want to meet your mom, kid,” Gareth said with a low whistle. “I’d like to shake her hand. Sounds like the best mom, ever.”

Dustin blushed as he flashed a big grin.

“You can be both?” Mike whispered, suddenly shy. He ducked his head and picked at his nails.

Brian put an arm around his shoulders. “Let me introduce you to Jeff, he’s bisexual too. He’ll be able to answer all your questions.” Then he quietly led him away from the group.

“Congrats on blowing that kid’s mind,” Steve said with a huff of laughter. Gareth just grinned back.

Dustin scoffed. “I’ve known Mike liked boys since the fourth grade.”

Steve blinked at him for a moment. “Well then. Still he’s about to be opened up to a world of possibilities he’s never even considered before.”

“If he’s not as big an ass he likes to pretend he is,” Dustin said rolling his eyes, “then hopefully he’ll have asked Will out by the end of the concert.”

Steve burst out laughing. “I love you optimism, bud. But I think it’s going to take Mike a little bit longer than that.” He held up his finger and thumb and pushed them really closed together.

Dustin just shrugged and then started yapping poor Gareth’s ear off on whether or not the EP Kas’s Revenge counted as their first album or not, so Steve wisely made his escape. It was that he didn’t care about that sort of thing, but it looked like it was about to get into a lot technical stuff that would go over his head.

Lucas peeled away from Brian, Mike, and Jeff and spotted Steve. “Hey, man! Thanks for this! This is cool, too!”

Steve smiled. “You’re welcome. It might be a little unfair you getting two events like this, but I with all the stars and shit here, everyone is getting their own double dose!”

“Eh,” Lucas said, cocking his head to the side, “I’m not too bothered by that.”

Steve laughed. “You are such an asshole sometimes, you know that?” he said, squeezing Lucas’s shoulder.

“Hanging out with Dustin and Mike,” he said with a shrug, “it tends to rub off on you whether you want to or not.”

“That’s true,” he murmured looking around. “Hey, I thought your sister came, too. I don’t see her.”

Lucas looked around frantically. “Shit. I don’t see here either. I thought she was right there with me talking D&D with Jeff. I didn’t even realize that she had wandered off.”

Steve stopped looking for Erica and started looking for Eddie. He knew this place better than Lucas or him. He spotted him getting a drink at the buffet table and made a beeline for him, with Lucas hot on his heels.

“Hey, Eddie,” Steve said a little panicked as he neared the rockstar. “Have you seen Erica? Little black girl, pink dress, hair in corn rows?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie said with a grin. “Come follow me.”

Steve and Lucas shared a glance but did as they were told. Eddie led them around the house to a part of the property that Steve hadn’t seen before. Out here was more like what Steve had expected when he was told Uncle Wayne lived on a ranch. There were sprawling pastures and a beautiful bright red barn, like something out of the movies.

A little distance away Steve could see Erica with Uncle Wayne feeding a carrot to a blue roan, while a spotted brown and white horse tried to steal from it.

“Erica!” Lucas breathed out and he trotted up to her. “You need to tell someone before you wander off...”

Wayne looked down at her with a glare. “I thought you told me you had told Steve where you were.”

Erica turned back slowly to Wayne, wide-eyed. “Oh, maybe it was Eddie I told. Or, um...”

Eddie put his hands on his hips. “I know for a fact you didn’t tell me, the only reason I knew where you were is because I know a horse girl when I see one.”

“Uh-huh,” Wayne said eyeing her warily. “I’ll let it slide this time, Missy, but I catch you lyin’ to me again and I’ll revoke your horse visiting privileges.”

Erica pouted. “I’m sorry, Uncle Wayne. I’ll be sure to tell people where I’m going from now on.”

Wayne nodded curtly and went back to feeding the horses. “I don’t think you’ve met my horses the last time you were here, Steve.”

Steve smiled at him. “No, sir. Wasn’t even brought up.” He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow to emphasis his point.

“Ah,” Wayne said pursing his lips together. “I guess I was a tad remiss in my duties then. These are two of my rascals. Jadis and Fledge.”

Steve snapped his fingers as he thought. “Those are from the Chronicles of Narnia, right?”

“Eddie came by his love for fantasy naturally,” Wayne said with a smile. “But why don’t you boys head back to the party, I’ll watch this one and make sure we get to the concert just fine.”

“With the promise I get to bring her back at later date so we can both see the horses,” Steve said with a grin.

Erica looked up at Steve with unbridled glee. “Oh can we?” she asked Uncle Wayne.

“As long as your parents say you can,” Wayne said with a solemn nod, “than that’s a promise.”

As soon as the three of them got back to the party Robin came dashing up to them all bright-eyed and excited.

“Ellie is talking to the Diane Von Furstenberg,” she said breathlessly. “Can you believe that?”

Steve only knew who that was only because his mother hated her.

Eddie lit up. “I’m glad she was able to make it. She’s Chrissy’s favorite designer. I hope Ellie gets a lot of good tips from her.”

“Can I run away with you?” Robin asked in wide-eyed seriousness. “I’ll continue to PA for you, I don’t care. But you know some of the coolest people.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Turn eighteen and we’ll talk then.”

Robin jumped up and down clapping. “You coming with me.” She grabbed his arm and forced him to introduce her to some of the other greats that were there.

Chrissy came bounding up to him all smiles. “So did I win back the favor of the fair prince?”

Steve grinned. “Hell yeah you did! All of them have had their minds blown and then are going to be treated to one of the best live shows I’ve ever seen. And when I say that, that’s not hyperbole, me and my now ex-boyfriend went to a lot of concerts growing up. There is no doubt Corroded Coffin blows them out of the water.”

She grinned up at him. “Hell yeah they do.”

~

Part 22

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @wheneverfeasible @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss @blondie1006

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @themoonagainstmers @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt @just-a-tiny-void

8- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

9- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @sadisticaltarts @steddieislife

10- @fearieshadow @kultiras @thesecondfate @tartarusknight @genderless-spoon

[trashywormeateroffics]

ours (bucky barnes x female reader)

the gif is not mine!

summary: a comment makes bucky question your relationship and he begins avoiding you. tired of his behavior you confront him.

a/n: once again i am asking u to send me requests of bucky, natasha or loki + a taylor swift song so i can write a one shot about it!!!! hope u enjoy this anon<3

masterlist

\\\\

you know exactly when it started, and it makes you furious. everything was fine, it was more than fine, it was perfect. until people thought they had the right to meddle in things that weren’t their concern, like who you should and shouldn’t love. and, for the most part, you could handle it, but then… that damned comment. a stupid twitter comment made by an account without a profile picture set him off. by him, you mean bucky barnes, your boyfriend. and by the damned comment, you mean the one that said that they hoped he wouldn’t turn into the winter soldier and kill you by accident. since then he’s been avoiding you and every time you try to talk to him, he runs away. and you’re sick of it. that’s why you find yourself angrily stomping through your way to his room in the compound.

“bucky.” you call out to him as you knock on the door. you can hear some shuffling of things on the other side so you know he’s there. but he’s playing dumb. “bucky.” you call again. nothing. you sigh, annoyed. “james buchanan barnes if you do not open this door right this second-“ the door opening cuts you off and you fall silent. there, in all his sleepy glory, is your beautiful super soldier of a boyfriend.

“i was sleeping.” he tells you in a low grumble.

“too bad. we need to talk.”

“about?”

“oh you know,” you shrug nonchalantly, “about the fact that you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”

“i haven’t-“ you don’t listen to his excuse and let yourself in. he shuts the door but doesn’t turn around to look at you.

“james. look at me.” you say, a bit more harsher than you intended. “bucky.” you try again, this time more softly, but it still comes out a bit impatient and you know he can hear it.

bucky slowly turns around and glances at you for a quick moment before directing his gaze to the floor and putting his hands in his sweatpants pockets.

for a bit you stay in silence and just look at him while he avoids your stare. you know it’s making him nervous but you don’t care, not right now, not when you’re this angry and frustrated and hurt.

he clears his throat and glances at you for a second to utter his next few words.

“i haven’t been avoiding you.” and his gaze is back on the carpeted floor.

“the fact that you can’t look at me kind of proves that’s bullshit.”

“it’s not-“

“it is.” you cut him off. “you have been avoiding me and i know why.” that’s when he looks at you. you purse your lips. “that comment-“

“what comment?” he asks defensively.

“you know which one, i don’t want to say it.”

“why?” he asks bitterly. “scared it’s true?”

you frown.

“what?” you say, eyes wide. “are you dumb?”

“we both know it y/n, no need to pretend.”

“oh, so you really are dumb!” you laugh without a trace of joy. he frowns, almost offended.

“i’m not- i’m being realistic.”

“realistic? that’s realistic? reading one stupid comment and then avoiding me?” you tell him, your voice raising a bit with every word spoken.

“yes! it’s for your own good.”

“dumb!” you repeat again, like a child throwing a tantrum. “you are what’s good for me!”

his eyes soften at that but he remains unconvinced.

“i’m not.”

“yes you are!”

“it’s best if you leave.” at that your heart drops to your stomach. he really thinks he will hurt me, you think.

“bucky…” you begin.

“y/n, please. leave.”

“bucky.”

“y/n.”

“i won’t leave.”

“leave.” he grits through his teeth.

“no! i love you!” you shout at him as tears begin falling down your face.

“you can’t!” he shouts back.

“why not?!”

“i’m a murderer, a monster! i’m going to end up hurting you!”

“you won’t-“ you plead but he cuts you off.

“you can’t act like that’s not what everyone thinks when they see us together.” he runs his metal hand through his hair in frustration and then raises it to his face to look at it with sorrowful eyes. “you can’t. you’re smarter than this.”

you frown. you’re smarter than this. smarter than loving him as much as you do? smarter than giving this man the love he deserves after a life full of so much pain? smarter than fighting for the one thing that feels right in your life?

you bite the inside of your cheek and look at him. his gaze is back on the floor, but this time you really need him to look at you. so you walk the few steps that separate you both and grab his face with your hands, turning his head your way. still, he doesn’t look at you.

you can see his blue eyes even though they’re not directed at you and they are so sad, so defeated. but they hold so much love there, you know it. he has confessed many times that he burns for you in the same way you do for him. that is why he’s so scared. but what he doesn’t know is that you are too. the idea of ever doing something that could hurt him terrifies you. maybe you’re not scared to hurt him in the same way he’s scared to hurt you, but you understand what he’s feeling, even if you can’t relate to his exact experience.

“bucky…” you begin. his quivering lips purse in an attempt to not break. “baby. please look at me.” you plead. slowly, he does. “listen to me. i’ve told you a million times, but until you believe it i will have to keep saying it. what happened all those years, what your body did, it wasn’t you, it was them.” he shakes his head but you hold him steady, looking at you. “listen to me.” you repeat. “no one has ever taken care of me the way you do. no one,” you tell him firmly as a few tears fall from your eyes, “has ever been kinder to me than you. no one has ever loved me more than you. and i have never loved anyone, anyone, the way i love you.” his eyes shine with unshed tears and you usher him to let them fall with a soft smile. he does. “you are not a murderer, and you are not a monster. you are a fighter, you’re the bravest and kindest person i’ve ever met and most importantly… you are my love.” you chuckle through both of your tears. “they will always have something to say, but this? this is ours james, we can’t let anyone tell us what we are. the only people who know that is you and me. and you know it, right?” he blinks and more tears fall down his cheeks. you wipe them away with your thumbs and began peppering kisses all over his face. “you know it, right?” you ask again. he nods with his eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of your lips on his skin. “say it. please.”

“i know.” he tells you. “i know, i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay baby.”

“no, it’s not. i- i shouldn’t have avoided you, i just- i got all in my head and you know how it is-“

“i do.” you give him a small smile and he returns it before frowning.

“i didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“me neither.” you tell him and he laughs.

“i forgive you, doll.”

“oh? so we’re back on doll territory? no more y/n?”

he narrows his eyes playfully.

“no more y/n, doll-face.”

you purse your lips to stop yourself from grinning but fail miserably. but then you get serious.

“bucky, you got it right? that you won’t hurt me and that- that you shouldn’t listen to what people say, that my love for you is so much bigger than all the hate they may throw at us.”

he slowly smiles and looks into your eyes with so much adoration it makes your stomach twist itself up in knots.

“i got it doll. i don’t know if i’ll ever not be scared to hurt you, but i’ll tell you if i do feel like that. i won’t push you away.”

“please don’t.”

“i won’t.” he grins and grabs your waist to pull you closer to him. as his lips ghost over yours, he says: “it’s you and me against the world.”

[ma1dita]

Hiii. Can I get one ticket for "and they were brommates". Starring Remus Lupin with a popcorn 🍿 and a chocolate 🍫 please?

hungry like the wolf

[STARRING: REMUS LUPIN x reader ; “Just forget you saw this happen.” “Really? Now? God, you have terrible timing.”  wc: 1.5k warnings: none. remus is a weirdo just as god intended. no plot. he’s also a panty sniffer. kind of a crackfic i wont lie… muggle!reader; title like the duran duran song]

monster mash-terlist

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

You’re convinced your new roommate hates you. 

Honestly, it was just your luck that your apartment resident portal matched you with a rando that won’t tell you any details about his home life, the fancy boarding school he went to, or anything he does for work (he’s in law enforcement, he says—though you’ve thrown his worn laundry in the dryer for him before with no evidence of a uniform and he’s always been pretty frugal… maybe he’s a clerk?).

Totally not suspicious at all.

But rent is fucking expensive these days for you to not have a roommate, and he seems nice enough, for now. Remus plays Bowie on his record player in the evenings at respectable volumes, washes the dishes since you hate doing them and always leaves chocolate for you with little notes if he’s going out to see his mother who gets sick a lot.

Plus, he’s pretty handy around the apartment—so much so that a single woman like you can’t complain—he reaches for things on high shelves, carries all your groceries in from the car, and minds his business for the most part until his friends come over—which makes the million dollar question: why doesn’t he live with them? The boys come over and knock down your door, then Sirius and James always drag you out for a pint  instead of leaving you to work on your thesis while the other rat-faced one eats all your snacks and… Remus just sits there with his nose scrunched up not saying anything, always on edge. He just sits uncomfortably at the opposite end of the room all bunched up like he’s ready to run at any given moment.

Maybe he tolerates you at best, a few nods and soft ‘Hello’s are all you get throughout the week. Or maybe you have bad breath? Is that why in the half year you two have lived together you haven’t been together for more than 10 minutes?

What’s worse is that he’s painfully attractive. Like rugged, in a sexy, 2000s male lead in a rom-com sort of way, his thick brows always furrowed and an expression that makes you think that he has something to get off his chest, but he never says more than a handful of words. In short, the only possible reason for your roommate avoiding you is that Remus Lupin hates you with his entire being.

It has to be.

You’re convinced of the fact on a particular Friday night as you hop around the apartment with one boot on, your belt unbuckled, and hair still sopping wet. It’s a rare occasion for you to go out with your own friends and not hole yourself up at home, but the cabin fever is starting to make you itch. Remus has been watching your figure bob around your shared place, eyes bouncing back and forth like a ping pong ball. His scarred hands are gripping his mug tightly as he takes a large sip of tea, terrible posture evident in the way he’s draped over the settee.

“M’going out tonight,” you muse, smiling at him as you walk down the hallway, peeking at your reflection in the bathroom mirror before turning to him. Remus nods politely, “Right. That’s good.” You don’t think you’ve heard him say more than a sentence and so you shrug, leaning against the doorway, “You got plans tonight?”

“Staying in. Feeling a bit under the weather,” he gulps. Remus is tucked under the periwinkle throw blanket you got from TK Maxx for the sofa you both found on Facebook marketplace. He looks cozy, snuggling into the fleece and watching you brush your hair with his tired eyes.

“Aw, Remus. You gonna be alright?”

He sniffs, his face making that pinchy expression again as you come near, “S’all good. You should get going, don’t wanna be late for your…thing.” He doesn’t mean to be rude, but you’re too overwhelming the way you are, your scent permeating through the air even from his spot on the couch and it’s taking all of his willpower to tone down his furry little problem that begs for a taste. He looks away, physically biting his tongue as a reminder.

Now your face scrunches at his reaction, not understanding why he’s so detached from your niceties. Spinning around until your eyes flicker to the mirror and your form, you close the bathroom door gently, before inspecting yourself meticulously. Your outfit is new, and you’ve just sprayed on your favorite perfume earlier… maybe….

You raise an armpit and take a sniff.

Nope. 

What the fuck is this guy’s problem?

After a small pep talk, you swing the door open and step out. Surely, he’ll tell you what’s wrong if you ask him upfront. Sure, it might be ill-timed to get into a conversation that might make or break your living arrangement right before you go out to the club with your friends, but as you’re pacing down the hall you think there is no better time to do it. It would eat at you all night and ruin your fun, after all.

The living room is empty now, blanket folded over and draped on the ottoman and you swivel towards the other end of the hall, “Remus?” you call out meekly. So much for confidence. He’s probably went to bed, or again he just hates you. 

There’s a slight chill when you stick your hand out the window, so you make your way over to the laundry room where you left your leather jacket last, and when you go to flick the light on—-

There stands your lovely roommate, sniffing a black polka-dotted pair of your panties.

“WHATTHEFUCK?” “MERLIN!”

You’re pointing at each other, mouths gaping in shock as he backs towards the washing machine as he chokes on his spit, face as red as a tomato, “I can explain!’

“Oh you better! I….” you blurt, scanning the room for a weapon and swinging the bottle of detergent at his head, “Talk, freak!”

“I thought you LEFT ALREADY!”

The look on your face is more mortified than he thought it would be but how does he explain that every inch of this place smells of you? Your pheromones reek from your pores like a sultry perfume and he can’t get enough, unconsciously walking closer like a cartoon character hypnotized by the smell of pie. Stumbling over a discarded piece of clothing, he staggers back as you get in his face and whack him in the chest, once with your hand and then twice with your jacket you were looking for.

“You—fucking—weirdo!”

Remus flinches, raising his arms against your attack, “Godric, just forget you saw this happen, please—OW!” Eyes fixed in a glare, you stand in front of him with a finger prodding at his chest, “Give that back!”

“They’re clean!”

Your hands wrench the cotton out of his hands and hold them close to your chest, “They’re NOT! Lie to me again and I swear I’ll call the police!” The sandy-haired man throws his head back seemingly in laughter and you purse your lips, realizing that he is the police, in some sorts. Unless that’s a lie too.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” Remus grumbles as he takes a deep breath, “Let me explain, I… I can’t help it. You smell too good.”

What the fuck.

From the way your eye is twitching and how your chest is heaving as you clutch your panties, he knows it’s not a good enough response but fuck there’s a lot on the line here, and he doesn’t know where to start, “I…fucking hell, I’m a werewolf, okay?”

“Really? Now? God, you have terrible timing.” 

Remus blinks slowly, and you laugh at him, jaw still tense but at least you’re laughing at him, “I mean really, you have to come up with better excuses—I kinda had a hunch after our 3rd full moon and you left to go see your mom. Is she even really sick? You’ve giving the woman bad karma.”

He shakes his head, jaw gaping at how nonchalantly a muggle is taking this news. Shouldn’t you be running away in fear by now? Clearing his throat, “Um, yeah. So your pheromones,” he sniffs, “smell really, really good to me. Like a seven layer chocolate cake. I think our cycles are matched up.”

Is that his idea of a joke?

At least he doesn’t hate you, you reason, slowly closing the door to the laundry room behind you with a quirk in your lip, “I thought I smelled bad or something, with the way you look at me.”

“I think my face just looks like this. M’sorry. You’re not scared?”

He’s closer to you now, arms circling your frame like a predator on the prowl, waiting for you to make a move. But you step closer to him, baring your neck and giving him permission to eat you up if he wishes. Licking your lips, you whisper, “James almost blew up my cellphone with his wand last week when I tried to show him a Youtube video. You’re all weird ones, aren’t you?”

“That okay?” 

The silence in the small room feels reverent now, his fingers pressing against your wrists as he holds them at your waist—voice so low it makes you shiver.

“I didn't say it was a bad thing.”

Hopefully he can think of a way to make it up to you. But the way you let him graze his nose up your arm and back you against the door as he takes a big, deep inhale….is a good start.

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ma1dita's monster mash is closed for requests but ongoing for the rest of october!

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

READ 70 PAGES OF THE GOOD OMENS BOOK WITH WHICH I HAVE HOMOEROTIC TENSION AS WE KNOW

WE ALL KNOW ABOUT THE HOMOEROTIC RIVALRY BETWEEN ME AND MY COPY OF THE GOOD OMENS BOOK. WE KNOW. IT STARES AT ME, I STARE BACK, IT DARES ME TO READ IT AND FALL IN LOVE WITH CROWLEY MORE, I REFUSE. WE PUT THE UST IN LUST ETC.

BUT TODAY/YESTERDAY (RIP SLEEP SCHEDULE) SINCE I WASNT ON TUMBLR, I READ TILL PAGE 70 OF THE BOOK (TILL THE PART CALLED WEDNESDAY) AND GOD FUCKING DAMN. I READ IT LISTENING TO AN AZIRAPHALE BOOKSHOP AMBIENCE AND WITH CHOPIN PLAYING AND CANDLES LIT. ANYWAY. THINGS THAT HAVE STUCK OUT TO ME:

Crowley. Just everything about Crowley. God I love him. I fucking love him. This is why I avoid reading the book. I'm such a slut for Crowley. It's manageable on the show when I know it's an actor. But WORDS CROWLEY? WORDS CROWLEY IS REAL. I AM SO IN LOVE.

Aziraphale has perfectly manicured hands. I'm pretty sure this has been mentioned three times in the first 70 pages. Three times at minimum. I forget how twink he is in the show (idk how) but man the book does NOT let you forget and I love that.

Crowley absent-mindedly sank a duck. Aziraphale called him my dear (fanfic authors everywhere: write that down write that motherfucking shit down it's better than porn). Crowley un-sunk the duck. The duck was cross.

CROWLEY DID I MENTIONED CROWLEY OH MY BABY FANCIED THE JAMES BOND DECALS HE WANTED TO LISTEN TO VIVALDI COZ THEY WERE SO STRESSED AFTER RECEIVING THE ANTICHRIST THEY LOVE GOLDEN GIRLS (I LOOKED IT UP AND OH CROWLEY) THEY DRANK FOR A WEEK AFTER SEEING THE SPANISH INQUISITION THEY OMG.

THE DRUNK SCENE. I FINALLY UNDERSTOOD THE DOLPHINS CONVERSATION. OMG THESE TWO FUCKING FOOLS I ADORE THEM.

Crowley IN THAT SCENE AND AZIRAPHALE IN THAT SCENE HOLY SHIT. CROWLEY JUST LISTING OFF ALL THE THINGS SHE KNOWS AZIRAPHALE LOVES.

AND OMG. The CONVOLUTED FUCKING METAPHOR CROWLEY COMES UP WITH INVOLVING A LITTLE BIRD FLYING TO THE ENDS OF THE UNIVERSE AND PECKING A MOUNTAIN AND COMING BACK AND DOING IT ON LOOP. FOR WHAT? JUST TO SAY THAT WHEN THE MOUNTAIN WAS GONE, HEAVEN WOULD STILL BE PLAYING THE SOUND OF MUSIC.

As usual just like me Crowley shot himself in the foot with that metaphor. Because AZIRAPHALE, THE LEGEND, STARTS SAYING THE BIRD MUST BE IMMORTAL FOR THAT, AND THEN SAYS NO ACTUALLY THE BIRD IS BEING CARRIED IN A SPACESHIP AND THE DESCENDANTS EMERGE FROM THE SPACESHIP and poor crowley is saying SO THE BIRD REACHES THE MOUNTAIN and azi excitedly says IN THE SPACESHIP and AAAAAAAAA-

Anyway right yes sorry what were we doing oh right the book.

Anathema is so adorable as a kid what a little brat holy shit I love her. I want to see all her homework written in Middle English. I want to know which teacher finally summoned the balls to correct it.

NEWT MON CHERI HE'S SO EXCITED ABOUT ONLY DESTROYING THE HOUSE'S POWER CIRCUIT WITH HIS EXPERIMENT. Because apparently last time he fucking caused a power outage in the whole block. Or county. We stan an optimist (no one talk to me about Crowley being an optimist I will go feral and rip your larynx out).

THE THIRD BABY DID NOT WIN PRIZES FOR TROPICAL FISH. THIS IS LIKE THE ENDING OF VILETTE WHEN CHARLOTTE BRONTE GOT GUILTTRIPPED BY HER DAD INTO WRITING IT AS AN OPEN ENDING BUT WE ALL KNOW IT'S A TRAGEDY FUCK ME.

CROWLEY THE PRAY THAT HE DOESN'T IT SOUNDS SO SUAVE IN THE SHOW BUT IN THE BOOK IT LITERALLY SAYS "AND FLEES". THE CHAOTIC ANXIOUS MOTHERFUCKER MAKES A RUN FOR IT.

AZIRAPHALE FUCKING GLOWERING AT CUSTOMERS AND SCARING THEM AWAY USING EVERY MEANS SHORT OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE IM DEAD THAT LITTLE BASTARD PEAK CROSS INTROVERT ELDRITCH MONSTER ENERGY.

I CAN'T WAIT FOR ADAM TO ENTER (WELL AS A NOT BABY) AHAH.

I HOPE WARLOCK IS OKAY.

CROWLEY BEING DESCRIBED AS A YOUNG MAN DOES THINGS TO ME. AS DO THE DARK HAIR AND GOOD CHEEKBONES. DON'T EVEN TALK ABOUT DOING WEIRD THINGS WITH HIS TONGUE. I AM A SLUT FOR HER. IT'S TIMES LIKE THIS I REMEMBER WHY IM GREYACE AND NOT ENTIRELY ASEXUAL. IT'S CROWLEY.

I LOVE THE SUBTLE JOKES LIKE I DON'T EVEN GET SOME BUT THE DRY TONE IS HILARIOUS. LIKE HOW BOTH WARLOCK'S HEAVENLY AND HELLISH TUTORS READ FROM THE BOOK OF REVELATION. AND THE CUTTING COMMENTARY LIKE HOW THE DOWLINGS' SECRET AGENTS WERE TRAINED TO REACT TO WOMEN IN LONG ROBES. OR THE POLITICAL COMEDY WITH ALL THE CULTURAL ATTACHES AT ST JAMES. IT MAKES ME AMUSED EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NO CONTEXT. I WISH I UNDERSTOOD THEM MORE.

SORRY WHY AM I YELLING ABOUT THIS BEFORE 6 IN THE MORNING FUCK I FORGOT MY SLEEP MEDS NO WONDER IM STILL AWAKE AND HYPER ALSO CROWLEY ALSO AZI ALSO ADAM I HOPE MY LITTLE PLANTS MAKE IT.

WHEN IM DONE READING THE BOOK I WANNA REREAD IT OUT LOUD TO MY THREE LITTLE PLANTS TO MAKE THEM GROW HAPPY AND KNOW WHOM THEY WERE NAMED AFTER.

[penultimatefan02]

A Wildly Unhinged Theory about Logan and Pen

MAJOR SPOILERS AND SPECULATION

A theory that has been needling at me for a while became a bit more evident after rewatching X-Men Origins: Wolverine, and The Avengers.

In My Time at Sandrock, Pathea pays homage to Wolverine by giving his name, James Howlett, and his alias, Logan, to two of the game's characters. Howlett, a famous monster hunter, was Logan’s father. Logan, in turn, grew up to become a renowned monster hunter in his own right.

However, it was Pen's story that incorporated Wolverine’s history and fighting ability. Pen was experimented on by the military, which made him stronger. That created a triangle between the three characters, where each point represents a characteristic of Wolverine. Except, the triangle was broken because Pen did not have a connection to Howlett or Logan, but what if he did? What if Pen is "Weapon X?"

Was Pen’s role in the Duvos mission purely for country, wealth and fame, or was there a personal motive in play as well? What if Howlett’s death was about much more than his stumbling upon Pen’s Duvos mission?

In Sandrock, Pen was 31 years old, and Logan was 28. That put them three years apart, with Howlett marrying Logan’s mom in ’71. Before Howlett married, did he spend time in Duvos or adjacent to it? Could he have had a relationship with Pen’s mother?

If Pen were a major part of Howlett’s backstory, could that connect the last point of the triangle? It would make sense that Pen knew more than he was letting on during the events in Sandrock. What if he knew of Howlett in a different capacity? What if we witnessed the ramifications of Pen knowing that Howlett was his estranged father?

If we did, was the hatred of Logan because Pen was denied a relationship with Howlett? Did Pen blame Howlett, and in turn Logan, for his circumstances and the experimentation he endured at the hands of Duvos? Could we learn something about Howlett that may alter our perceptions of him and thus Pen’s actions toward him? Nevertheless, it was curious that when Pen talked to the Builder, he only ever mentioned his mother in passing.

Now with all in consideration, what if Pen volunteered for the mission in Sandrock for that reason? It would explain a lot as to why his attack against Logan at the Starship Ruins felt so extremely personal and why Pen so eagerly shared with Logan that he killed Howlett. Pen found joy in Logan’s suffering because it was his restitution.

The brother vs. brother theme is popular in Marvel comics. Logan and Victor in Origins may have been an inspiration for Logan in Sandrock, with the exception that he did not know the history of his father or of Pen’s familial existence. In Logan's upcoming journey in Evershine, we may learn more about Howlett's past, which could then reveal more about Pen. Howlett’s Hunters is also a homage to Marvel’s Howling Commandos, so they may surely meet up with Pen at some point.

In Sandrock, the fight between Pen and Logan in the Starship Ruins was a homage to another great battle between brothers. Pen played the role of Scar and Logan was Mufasa in the famous Disney cliff scene. Unlike the film, and despite Pen’s attempt to kill Logan, both live to fight another day. Sandrock also had a Beauty and the Beast reference by modeling Pen after Gaston. The homage extended to the overall Sandrock story where the Builder, in the nongendered “Belle” role, learned that sometimes, the guy pretending to be the hero is not, and the one perceived as bad turns out to be good.

Another thing we learned in Sandrock was that Pen’s a false narrator. We could only guess his truths from his lies, which included comments he made during interviews or standing behind bars at the Civil Corp. Everything he said in Sandrock was to cover his true intentions and his purpose for being there. All of it. From his “I’m the protector” to his “I coulda been a contenda” speech was all lies to hide the fact he was a pissed-off brother from another mother.

Where could this story take us? I predict that like Wolverine, Logan could come close to killing Pen. Although, much like when Elsie stopped the fight in front of city hall, she could stop this one. She could be the voice warning Logan that if he killed Pen, he would be just as bad.

[Logan killing a person is not something I want to see happen for the sake of the character. He is better than that and I genuinely believe Pen will not die by his hands.]

Elsie, as the monster whisperer, could help Pen by another means, which may trigger Pen’s inflection point. It could also be where Pen chooses the path to him becoming the Loki to Logan’s Thor. It is quite plausible they could team up to battle against a much bigger mutual enemy.

This is where I think Aadit could play a big role, as he may have been experimented on by Duvos as well. He very well may hold the key to helping Howlett's Hunters undo some of the damage inflicted on both Duvos men. I am very curious to see how his story plays out in Evershine.

If this is in any way the path the story will take, then my earlier theory about Pen may still hold true but I hope it is not the case. I want to see all these men deal with their history and come out the other side better for it.

[artaxlivs]

Masterlist of my Hawkeye/Marvel works:

(In no specific order)

Say It Where I Can Hear You - Rated E - Winterhawk & Destiel crossover: Dean & Cas go on a hunt & run into Clint & Bucky. Dean hates Bucky Barnes. Monster of the week meets kink exploration (two separate couples)

Honey Got Me Hooked On You - Rated E - Clint/Bucky/Natasha: The one where Natasha thinks Bucky is the honey pot, Bucky thinks Clint is the honey pot and Clint just wants someone to dip their fingers into his–

Spring Dawning (Part 1) - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: The entire Avengers Coven is cursed & divided. Clint & Bucky are together except that Clint is cursed to live every day as a hawk, Bucky every night as a wolf.

That's So Fletch - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Movie & Musical references, anti-bullying campaign, lessons about arrows

True Colors Series (8 Parts/complete) - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: The Snap didn’t dust half the universe, it turned them into soulmates who can only see colors when they find each other. Almost strangers to soulmates

The Case of the Missing Purple Sweatshirts - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: Someone is stealing Clint’s sweatshirts -my excuse to let Clint talk about Scooby Doo

Through the Looking Glass - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Instead of talking, they miscommunicate themselves into being sex dungeon fuck buddies, BDSM Dungeon fic, miscommunications, learning through bad negotiations, so very much smut, background Steve/Darcy

Something to Tweet About - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: Someone tweets a series of photos of Clint & Bucky hanging out and mutually pining, they deal with it by avoiding it (obviously). friends to lovers, social media ship to lovers (podfic)

A Life Well Lived - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: just a glance at Clint’s last day

Make it Permanent - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Secret dating, hickeys and tattoos and a little bit of healthy possessiveness

And the Stockings Were Hung - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Christmas Exchange fic, Bucky's first Christmas at the tower, fluff and smut

Rotten Apples - Rated T - Clint/Bucky: A look into Clint's childhood trauma and how the bad stuff is easier to believe

Porn & Prose - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: some backstage smut between Mr Bingley (Clint) and Mr Darcy (Bucky)

Bucky, Lemme Smash - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: I just wanted to turn Clint purple and use this line from that meme, all the purple smut (Podfic here)

Both, Both is Good - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Bucky avoids Clint until he realizes Clint has been avoiding him, fuck buddies to lovers, smut & miscommunication

The Happiest Place on Earth - Rated E - Clint/Bucky: Bucky plays Hawkeye in Disneyland because the actor who plays him is short and he’s real pissed that some guy named Clint is tall enough to play the Winter Soldier, enemies to lovers, Clint in eyeliner

Three to Tango - Rated E - Clint/Bucky/Natasha: James & Natasha teach Clint’s dance class, then they invite him for private lessons. Healthy communication, smut and Clint being an unreliable narrator

A Bird By Any Other Name (Series) - Rated E - Clint/Steve: Clint as the Winter Soldier thru WW2 & the present, hurt/comfort, mental struggles, smut

Body Count - Rated E - Clint/Steve: tumblr prompt hitman meets a sex worker, just so much smut

Friends Don’t Let Friends Wait Too Long - Rated T - Clint/Steve: Steve is too nervous to ask Clint out, Bucky’s gonna help in an helpful way. Fluff, misunderstandings, laughter, Natasha being a troll

Draw & Release (2 part series) - Rated E - Clint Barton/Jason Todd: Clint gets a tattoo & finds a new boyfriend/Dom

[marigold-hills]

The Black Wizard (Part 6)

a Wolfstar Howl’ Moving Castle AU

PART ONE | PREVIOUS PART

Sirius eats in a way Remus has never seen someone eat before. Each portion is perfectly equal, little squares of the pie not mixing with the mash. He keeps the gravy on the side, only dipping the forkful just before he takes a bite.

There is something so practiced about it, Sirius doesn’t seem like he needs to put focus into it - like it’s natural. He looks instead at Remus, head titled just a smidge and a sly little smile across his face. Like he knows something.

Remus bristles. Waits.

He might not know magic but he’s scrappy, quick, and holding a knife.

“Which was your favourite?” Sirius asks.

“Pardon me?” Remus doesn’t understand.

“The cakes. Which did you like? I’m partial to the strawberry myself.”

“Umm…” Remus stutters and hears James cackle behind him, menace that he is. “Chocolate. I liked the chocolate one, I mean.”

Brightness spilling across Sirius’s eyes like a sunrise. “Good choice!” He exclaims. “They outdid themselves with that one. I’ll see if they’ve got any more.”

“They?” Remus feels like the conversation is getting away from him - like he’s stepped into some strange dream in which monsters and wizards sit and chat about their meals instead of being hunted and hunter.

“The patisserie across the street. In the capital that is. Amazing what they can make with sugar and eggs,” he must notice Remus’ startled expression and mistake it for confusion. “You didn’t think I did the baking, did you?”

Remus didn’t really consider it. Where the confectionery came from. Magic he supposed, and he tells Sirius as much.

“If only, love. No, can’t magic up food, I'm afraid, one of its pesky little limitations that force me to interact with the general public.”

“It’s why he’s stuck us on the poshest street in the Kingdom,” James crackles from his hearth. Sirius throws a chunk of pastry at him, which the fire consumes with some happy pleased noises.

“You weren’t meant to enjoy that.”

“Throw less tasty things next time,” an impression of a rude gesture.

They bicker and play fight and Remus thinks he doesn’t know. He can’t know. If Sirius knew? This wouldn’t be happening. They wouldn’t be discussing cake flavours across a table, he wouldn’t be allowed to witness the domesticity inside of the Castle.

He’s not sure why he’s been welcome in the first place, but the rest had been welcome. The food more than. He’s ready to leave, he thinks, and will once the sun sets and Sirius goes to sleep. Sneaking out at night is cowardly but something in Sirius - the bright eyes maybe, maybe the way he watches as Remus speaks - makes Remus sure he’d want to ask questions.

@tealeavesandtrash

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

@wannabelilybriscoe

@quiethauntings

@veganbutterchicken

@moon-girl88

[positivexcellence]

Is there garlic on this pizza? An oral history of Supernatural's 'Monster Movie' episode

THE BEGINNING

What started as a simple enough idea — a black-and-white episode — was then put into the hands of writer Ben Edlund, who’d already crafted some of the show’s more creative hours, including “Hollywood Babylon,” which marked one of the series’ first meta episodes, and “Ghostfacers,” which was shot like a cheesy ghost-hunting reality show using handheld cameras. Alongside Edlund was director Robert Singer, an executive producer on the series and a massive movie fan himself.

ERIC KRIPKE (Creator): I was an obsessive fan of The X-Files and in their prime, they got really bold and adventurous with their format, and they had a black-and-white episode. I was always hoping that we could start taking those same kinds of swings. I remember saying, “I want to do a black-and-white episode where Sam and Dean are up against the classic movie monsters.” But I think Ben came up with the shapeshifter. We were trying to figure out: How do you get a mummy and a werewolf and a Frankenstein and a Dracula in the same episode? That makes no f---ing sense. So this idea of a shapeshifter who loved those movies and was ultimately just a fanboy was the secret to cracking that one open. 

ROBERT SINGER (Director): I think that script was Ben at his best. I was really happy that I was in line to direct because I really loved those old movies, so it was fortuitous that I got to do it. 

JENSEN ACKLES (Dean Winchester): It’s all just paying homage to the old-school ways of doing things, which having Bob at the helm, he’s seen all those movies time and time again, so he was the perfect guy to direct this episode. 

KRIPKE: Bob has an encyclopedic knowledge of movies, especially older films. He’s a classicist and his directing style is a lot of that kind of beautiful, elegant Hollywood style, and I think he just really relished it.

SINGER: I shot generally with wider lenses than I would normally do with Supernatural to try to give it some of that old-time feel. I really took pains to make it look as old fashioned as I possibly could. I’m a big fan of James Whale, who had done Frankenstein, and there are a lot of great crane shots in those movies, so I did a lot of crane work in this. We did a lot of shadow play. 

JARED PADALECKI (Sam Winchester): You put Ben Edlund on writing and Bob Singer on directing and magic is bound to happen.

But there was another piece of the puzzle that needed to come together for the magic to truly work: Who would play the shapeshifter (and therefore spend the episode doing their best Dracula)? The answer was Todd Stashwick.

TODD STASHWICK (Dracula): They wanted a full-on replication of Bela Lugosi’s performance. I had the DVD of the 1930’s Dracula, so I was watching that just to get the mannerisms and vocal intonation down so that I wasn’t doing a Xerox carbon copy but rather actually trying to get that Hungarian dialect that he has. I went in [to the audition] and just swung for the rafters.

SINGER: We had him do one of the Dracula scenes and then do the speech where he’s telling her how he became the way he became and Todd just killed it. That was an easy call to cast him.

STASHWICK: They wanted to know that you were going to be able to bring both sides to it, the full-on studied Dracula performance and then to let that mask drop and see the wounded man that is the monster. 

KRIPKE: We needed someone who could stick the landing on the Dracula part and that’s really hard. It’s hard to do it and have it not come off like a bit. Todd is a remarkable mimic of Bela Lugosi and brings humanity and soulfulness and depth to it. There’s something in his eyes that made it deeper and sadder than had you cast someone who was just going for an impersonation.

PADALECKI: That episode belongs to Todd Stashwick. He’s so damn good. 

Alongside Stashwick was Melinda Sward, whose character Jamie, a local waitress, caught Dean's eye and marked a first for the show. 

KRIPKE: At the time, there was a young female fan named Jamie. She and her mother would write us letters and they were super fans, and we were still early enough that we’re like, “I can’t believe there’s fans.” Jamie had medical issues, so when the season was coming up, I wrote her a response and said, “If you concentrate on getting better, we’ll name a character after you.” And she responded and said, “That’s amazing, but can you just do me a favor? Can you make sure it’s a character that doesn’t die?” So the female lead in this one we named Jamie. That was one of the only times we ever named a character after a real person and a fan. The happy ending is she was thrilled and she grew up healthy and now tours around with a replica of the Impala. 

ACKLES: Jamie was one of my favorite Dean Girls. Melinda was so good and so fun.

From the instant the episode began, fans knew they were in for something special as the old black-and-white WB logo kicked off a very old-school credits sequence.

SINGER: Right from the opening of the Warner Brothers shield, you know where you’re going. It set the tone perfectly.

KRIPKE: That and “Changing Channels” are the only two episodes where I’ll sit down and just watch the credit sequence. The font, the way you list every crew member, and it just goes on forever. And [composer Christopher] Lennertz wrote real orchestral music for it. I just love the opening of that episode and the way we did that title sequence. But changing subjects, what that reminds me of is the singular genius of Ben Edlund to set this episode during Oktoberfest. Suddenly everyone looks like European villagers and everything becomes a real monster movie.

SINGER: And that location was a party site, but it worked perfect for us. 

PADALECKI: It was like an amusement park in the outskirts of Vancouver that we rented out. It ended up unfortunately getting torn down and turned into condos or something.

THE MIDDLE

With the setting and the cast locked, the brothers set out on their hunt, arriving at Oktoberfest to help solve a murder. And when the investigation made Dean late to his first date with Jamie, he found himself face-to-face with Dracula. So naturally, Dean punched the shapeshifter in the face. A fight ensued, one that ended with Dean holding an ear and Dracula ... riding a vespa?

ACKLES: I believe one of the many reasons this show lasted as long as it did is because it can be scary but then at the same time, you throw something like the scooter in and it layers in comedy with horror, with drama, with romance. It touches it all. Bob said it early on and it became a mantra of ours: “No joke is too cheap.” 

STASHWICK: That’s the infamous assault scene. I’m in full crazy mode and I’m supposed to clock Jensen in his beautiful face with my elbow, and for whatever reason in that moment — I perhaps leaned in, he perhaps leaned in — we closed that gap and I clocked him. So what you see on the DVD extras is me being all Dracula and then me being mortified that I just hit their billion dollar baby in the face.

ACKLES: He caught me with an elbow but he probably thought he hit me harder than he did. It was a mix between a good shot and a graze, but he immediately broke character. He was like, “Are you good?” And I was like, “Yeah, that one woke me up.” [Laughs]

Dean made it through that fight, but the shapeshifter had already planned its next move: While Sam checked out an eccentric local that they thought was the killer, Dean and Jamie shared a drink back at the bar where she worked. Her friend Lucy (Holly Elissa) then showed up just in time to spike their drinks. By the time Dean woke up, he was wearing Lederhosen while strapped to a table in a dungeon.

SINGER: Jensen was like, “Oh god do I have to wear this?” So to make him feel better, I put on the Lederhosen top. I didn’t go with the full shorts but I did direct that day in the Lederhosen top to take the edge off it a little bit for him.

ACKLES: I remember that! He directed in that shirt. [Laughs] Those were authentic leather Lederhosen from Bavaria. Only the best for Dean.

PADALECKI: When Jensen’s first getting strapped to the table, cause he’s a big guy, I remember them talking about how for the visual's sake, they wanted it to be like he’s a quote-unquote damsel in distress, so if they used a normal-sized platform, it would’ve looked comical, but not in a good way. So they had to make it a little bigger cause he’s kind of big.

Dean wasn’t in the dungeon long before Dracula left him to go answer the doorbell. It seemed the shapeshifter ordered a pizza … and he had a coupon.

KRIPKE: I just love how there’s the monster lab in the basement but then you go upstairs and it’s this mid-century ranch house. That’s almost a direct ripoff of the Steve Martin movie The Man with Two Brains.

SINGER: [Set designer] Jerry [Wanek] did a great job in building the dungeon set, and then when the doorbell rings, you realize it’s in the bottom of a suburban house with a pizza guy showing up at the door. 

KRIPKE: When Ben wrote the script, we talked about that scene more than any other scene in the episode. We were so specific about how we wanted the Dracula shapeshifter to react to the pizza guy and the way he’s scared when he says, “Is there garlic on the pizza?” And then the way the pizza guy’s so bored and over it: “Did you order garlic?” And then he says, “No!” It’s the way that he’s so bored of this Dracula at the door.

PADALECKI: I think Jensen and I must’ve watched this episode together in 2008 because I remember us looking at each other and going like, ”Oh my god, [the pizza guy] is way better than he needs to be!”

ACKLES: That line, because of the way that Todd delivered it, we used that line on set many, many times. Whenever somebody asked a question that had an obvious “no” to it, it’d be like, “Hey, did you want the big light on in the distance?” And Bob would be like, “Is there garlic on it?” So that became a little ism on set.

STASHWICK: I’m a Second City guy, so “yes, and” is drilled into my head and yet the two memes I’m most known for, I’m saying the word “no,” and that is Supernatural and Star Trek. I have the no's that are heard around the world. 

In the end, the brothers came out victorious and another monster was dead, but not before this one made you feel a little something (and gave one heck of a final monologue quoting King Kong). 

KRIPKE: Ben gets all the credit, and rightfully so, for writing the crazy episodes, but where I don’t think he gets enough credit is what a disciplined screenwriter he is in terms of character consistency and rule consistency and just the emotion and pathos he brings to every single story he does. No matter how crazy, he always has such a talent for capturing humanity. I wasn’t counting on the shapeshifter to have pathos but when he gives that speech at the end, it’s so sad. I give him all the credit in the world for that.

SINGER: Eric used to say, “Every villain is a hero of his own story,” so we always tried, as best we could, to give the villains something to do and learn more about them and give them full characters. So even with all this fun, we managed to give him something a little more to do. 

PADALECKI: He becomes an almost sympathetic character — I stress almost because he did kill a couple people — but what a great character arc all inside of one episode.

STASHWICK: Because this character wasn’t just a cartoon Dracula and he had that human moment, I think it made him stick in people’s minds more. This monster just really loved the movies. He was the ultimate cosplayer. It might be the thing I’m most known for outside of Star Trek, that one episode of TV.

THE END...?

Although Dracula didn’t make it out alive, the episode seemed to breathe new life into the series, marking perhaps its biggest risk yet, though not the biggest risk the show would ever take. 

SINGER: It kind of laid a template for other big swings that we took that were out of the ordinary, whether it was “Changing Channels” or “The French Mistake.” This was the first of our big swings of being totally different than what the show was generally week to week.

KRIPKE: I remember it getting a positive reception. I think people appreciated the swings we were starting to take. I just love that this small little supernatural show that’s arguably a Buffy ripoff on The CW got so experimental. I am really proud that we were doing legit avant-garde stuff, really experimental filmmaking, of which this was one, and then we just kept pushing it. 

PADALECKI: It’s such a great episode of television and I think we have a few in our 15 years that could stand alone as something fun to watch and out of the box, and it's certainly easy to argue "Monster Movie" is at the top.

ACKLES: This was really when we were hitting our stride. We were in the pocket with these characters, with the storytelling, with the writing. The first year was really finding our feet, the second was like, "Okay we somehow survived a network merge, let’s not mess this up." And then third season we started playing a little bit. So by the fourth season, we’re like, "Now we know where we need to be." This was the perfect time to do one of these outside-the-box episodes. This is definitely one of my top 10.

SINGER: I directed 48 episodes and if somebody asked me which is my favorite, I would probably say this one. I just had the best time doing it. 

Entertainment Weekly

[darkacademicvibes]

We Think Similar Thoughts

Lonely!fem!reader x Lonely!Remus Lupin

CW: Swearing, a little bit of mean!Remus but not to reader, mentions of The Prank.

This is just soft, lonely people making friends with each other. If it gets 20 Notes I'll make it a series, not the next post, but the one after will hopefully be a 'She's a drug' part 2. Hopefully being the key word.

Anyway! Enjoy :)

Edit: Made a soundtrack :D

☕︎

Remus has no where else to go.

The room of requirement is the only place he can think of that the others wouldn't bother him. He's hurt, and he has every right to be, so why was it bothering him so much? Sirius tried to make a monster out of him, Sirius tried to use him like some pawn in a game of chess, and then he labeled it a prank and called it a day, expecting Remus to forgive him. Remus feels like he has no one left. It's been two days and Peter has forgiven Sirius, and he can see James starting to miss his brother.

The door appears and Remus walks into the room, the door vanishing the second Remus' hand leaves the bronze knob. The familiar secret library smells more like home than the dorm has the past few days, but the sound of the piano in the back of the room has him on edge. Who else could be thinking the exact thought as him?

𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

He peers around the last bookshelf by the familiar grand piano and freezes, you sit there, playing so beautifully, and looking so sad. Your fingers seemingly float over the keys as you sing softly under your breath, he can barely recognize the song. To The Bone, by Sammy Copley. A song he's never particularly enjoyed, but hearing it so quietly compared to how Sirius plays the record, the loudest his record player can go, he doesn't mind it all that much. Though it's still far from being a favorite.

You finish the song and prepare yourself to play again before pausing, "you can sit down, you know, I don't bite" you murmur, and for a moment, he's surprised at just how sweet you sound.

He sits down in the window seat, grabbing his copy of 'The son of the wolf' by Jack London. Your eyes follow his movements before turning back to the black and white keys in front of you and beginning to play again, singing the only song you know by heart just a little louder than before, ignoring the way Remus Lupins eyes watch you instead of his book. After playing twice more, he seems to find the courage to ask the question that has been on the tip of his tongue for the last eight minutes. "Why are you only playing that song?" your fingers start up again, playing the same song as you think.

"It's the one I know best, I've played this song enough to be able to claim I know it like the back of my hand"

"What are you doing in this specific requirement room?"

"I'm lonely"

"How are you talking and playing at the same time?"

"I know this song like the back of my hand"

"Why are you lonely?"

You laugh softly, a gentle smile on your lips as he asks question after question. "Why are you?"

Remus Lupin pauses, thinking for a moment. He knows who you are, he has Alchemy with you every Thursday fourth period. And he saw you signing up for the same professor course he did last week at Hogsmeade, offering to teach music to the younger kids on your weekends. He teaches literature to kids just one year above your student group. It's a fun program, he likes teaching. He knows he wants to be a professor when he graduates, preferably one of the muggle studies professors. Historic literature is his favorite muggle studies class, it always has been.

"My friends aren't good people sometimes" He admits, picking at the sleeve of his favorite sweater. There's a small hole, right where he chews on the sleeve, he notices. "But I asked you first" your fingers dance over the keys as easily as if they were toying with a pencil.

"I don't know why I'm lonely, I think I just am" you admit, sadness twisting slightly in your heart. The room provides you a simple cinnamon roll, extra icing. Remus feels guilt prickle down his spine, and the room provides him with a beat up copy of Alice In Wonderland. You smile at it as he flushes red.

He's seventeen years old, for Merlin's sake!

He pushes the book away as you finish your song again, the more you play, the less he minds it. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was beginning to enjoy it.

"Maybe I'm lonely because I don't make friends easily" you continue, and it has him sitting up in his seat properly, legs crossed and using his finger as a bookmark. "All the friends I do have never write to me over holidays unless I write them first, and I'm always having to walk behind them unless I want to walk on the grass. I'm not a very good judge of character, so I stick with whoever has the mind to accept me; I tag along when I'm invited, and I hope they have a good time when I'm not" you shrug, pulling the cinnamon roll apart, piece by piece, eating the small chunks of sweet bread as you pull it to bits. Icing coats your fingers, but you don't mind, and it makes Remus smile.

"I could be your friend" he offers.

"Why?"

"Well, you're lonely, I'm lonely, why can't we be lonely together?"

You turn back to the piano, your brothers voice ringing in your ears.

𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘥? 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘨𝘰 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺.

"I like green, it's my favorite colour" Remus states, and for a moment, you're confused.

"What's yours?" he wonders, you hesitate. "I can never choose between brown, and Y/F/C" you wait for the judgement, for the laughter, for the familiar comment 'brown? like shit?'.

It never comes.

"I like brown but I wouldn't say it's a favourite" you stare at him for a long moment before a smile tugs at the corners of your lips and you can't help but smile as you look down at the half finished cinnamon roll in front of you, your hair falling to hide your face as you untuck it from behind your ear. A part of you wants to accept his offer of being friends, but another part calls it a temporary situation. He seems mad at his other friends, the other three boys that make up the marauders. Of course he'd be looking to spend some time with anyone else.

"y'know, I really don't like To The Bone, but you play it differently. It's nice your way. I prefer it" warmth spreads through your chest, the only compliments you ever got on your musical talents were from the kids you teach, but they're amazed by everything at their age. It's nice to be complimented by a peer, of course, you'd probably get more compliments if you bothered to play in front of people, other than twenty-four nine-year-olds.

"Thank you, is there a different song you like that I might know?"

He thinks for a moment before, seemingly nervous, he requests a song.

"Do you know 'Here comes the sun'?"

Instead of answering, you wipe your fingers on the small brown napkin that came with the cinnamon roll and begin playing. Singing quietly along. Sadly, you can't play Here Comes The Sun without singing it, otherwise you constantly lose your place and have to start again. A common issue for you. Thankfully, Remus doesn't seem to mind as he leans back against the window, watching you play.

It's definitely not the exact song, and it's certainly not as upbeat, but Remus finds himself enjoying that about your music. It's soft, almost like if hot chocolate on a snowy day was a genre.

He can't quite explain why, but he feels the need to watch you as you play.

He's always thought of you as pretty, your Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes, and the few freckles that dot over your nose and cheeks. One, higher than the rest, sits high on your cheekbone, not far from your eye.

He's even occasionally considered approaching you, but you always seemed to slip away from your shared classes unnoticed. And you almost never eat in the great hall, choosing to wander around as you eat instead.

He allows himself to admire the way the golden sunlight shines in fractured streaks of soft yellow over you and the piano, the light making the highlighter on your nose a bit more noticeable.

He likes your style, beat up pink converse and your uniform, little things added and taken away to make it more.. 𝘺𝘰𝘶, he supposes.

Your blue skirt is supposed to have silver plaid squares, but you've charmed it to stick to a simple plaid pattern of different shades of blue, your grey sweater isn't a school one, and he can see the way some of your hair sits underneath the fabric, like you hadn't bothered to pull your hair out of the sweater after putting it on; and you have a bracelet on, made out of brown, yellow, and white embroidery thread.

"I think dinner is starting soon" Remus announces. You press a wrong key and wince, frowning.

"Okay"

"Do you want to head down now?"

"I don't know"

"Okay"

It's silent for a moment before you stand up. "You mean it? You really want to be my friend?" he nods, gathering his things slowly as you return a book from your bag to a nearby shelf. "I do, why?" he asks. Did you think he was lying before? The thought makes his heart hurt a little. "No reason, do you want to sit with me for dinner?" You wait for his answer, but you don't get one. You turn to face him, and he's smiling at you sweetly, offering his hand.

You quickly pull your bag over your shoulder before hesitantly accepting his hand, he leads you out of the room and rolls his eyes at the sight of Sirius Black leaning against the wall, holding a folded piece of parchment and toying nervously with the corners. Sirius falls into step with the two of you, sending you a questioning glance before turning to Remus. "Moony, I know I fucked up bad, but-" Remus swaps hands with you, pulling you away from Sirius as he cuts the boy off. "But nothing, Sirius. I'm hanging out with a friend so if you don't mind, could you fuck off? Thanks." Remus snaps, and you raise an eyebrow as guilt flashes in his eyes and Sirius stops abruptly, watching the two of you walk away.

"Sorry, Y/N" you shrug, entirely unbothered.

"It's fine, if you're mad at him, I won't question you. I trust you have good judgement" you assure him.

He laughs and smiles at you teasingly. "You just complemented yourself y'know, so confidently, too" your face burns as you realize what he means. "Oh."

"Don't worry, I think I have good judgement too" he bumps your shoulder with his arm gently. "Yeah, makes up for how freakishly tall you are" you murmur jokingly, and he laughs.

You both slip into a seat at the Ravenclaw table as the rest of the marauders watch from the Gryffindor table, all missing their friend as guilt stings at them.

☕︎︎

[violetmuses]

Versus - A. Aretas (Part II) ❤️‍🩹

Title: Versus - A. Aretas (Part II) ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe

Character: Armando Aretas

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: Following the death of Isabel Aretas, Armando crosses paths with you again.

Versus - Part I 🖤

Tag List: @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @nobodygetsza @peaxhygirl @superstar-t20 @adoresmiles @klssngss @deja-r @hyper-trash-panda @amethyst-loves-bucky 🏷

=======

2024

Unexpected knocking rattled against the front door of your home this evening and you scrambled to cover up, not relaxing yet.

Your RING camera signaled two famous men who stood on the porch right now:

Your own comrade from the Miami Police Department, Detective Mike Lowrey, joined his longtime partner and best friend Marcus Burnett.

“What the hell, Mike?” Opening their entrance, you welcomed both friends inside and shut the front door. There's just no other choice.

“I'm really sorry for bothering you like this, but it's an emergency.” Mike hardly sat down.

Intelligence agencies whispered that late Miami Captain Conrad Howard muddled with the cartel for years.

Who knows what could happen if garbage ruined Cap’s legacy now?

“What happened? I've heard some things about Captain…” You trailed.

“Marcus and I can prove that Cap is innocent, but…” Mike paused when your RING Camera signaled again.

You didn't recognize the stranger who joined this doorstep, at least not yet.

Wearing this Bud Light shirt, the man chose one trucker hat which veiled his eyes. Jeans covered both legs and boots or sneakers walked along.

“Mike, do you know who's waiting at the door right now?” You questioned Lowrey just in case.

“Shit!” Mike cursed as an immediate response tonight.

Even Marcus stopped playing around and cringed silently for once.

“What's going on?” You arched your brow toward Mike, puzzled.

“That's Arman…” Mike hardly finished speaking before you exposed one of your firearms upon realization.

“We need Armando for the case, all right?” Mike wanted control. “Put your gun down.”

“Mike…” You wouldn't listen. “Bring him in here. I dare you!”

“We need him and he's my son.” Mike revealed brand-new info this time around.

“Your…” Your voice whispered as Mike disarmed you regardless.

“Let Armando through.” Mike eased. “We can't solve this case without his help.”

“Fine.” You accepted reality.

After closing both eyes, you walk back to this front door and view the presence of your enemy: Armando Aretas.

Tension burns in that living room when you shut the door again and silence nearly drowns all four of you.

_____

“AMMO couldn't help?” You offered that question to Mike while everyone looked through files.

“Dorn referred us near you.” Mike acknowledged one of the department's tech geniuses. “Armando can identify whoever framed Cap.”

“Just promise me something. ” You continued working.

"Yeah?" Mike asked you.

“When the team finds this monster, kill him.” You don't make eye contact with Lowrey. “No more dark headlines."

“Deal.” Mike nodded toward you just when Armando pulled another flash drive.

The silent trade is quick and you load material on this computer once more.

“It's him.” Armando observed this grayscale picture of one man with bright hair, confirming.

“You sure?” Mike glanced toward his son and checked.

“That's who ordered the hit.” Aretas spoke up again.

“James McGrath: Former Army Ranger turned DEA agent. Tortured before joining the cartel himself.” You detailed highlights of McGrath’s own criminal history.

“That's it. We got a name.” Mike took charge while speaking to Armando and Marcus. “Let's reconvene in the morning with a plan and get outta here.”

“Plenty of room.” You say, shutting down work for good.

______

“Thank you.” By morning, Mike, Marcus and Armando would leave your home while sporting tactical uniforms.

“Of course.” You nodded to Mike and Marcus, but Armando paused at the front door, looking in your direction.

“I'm sorr…” Both of you struggled with the much-needed apology.

This mutual grudge needed to fade out because life called so much more than pain.

Watching Armando leave, your heart shattered.

[azdoine]

Who Cares If It's Worth The Candle?

Three days ago I wrote an article on some recent rational stories. I had not read any fiction of this kind since the days of Harry James Potter-Evans-Verres, and, since I con­stantly heard animated discussions of the merits of the rational writers, I was curious to see what they were like today. The specimens I tried I found disappointing, and I made some rather derogatory remarks in connec­tion with my impressions of the genre in general. To my surprise, this brought me letters of protest in a volume and of a passionate earnestness which had hardly been elicited even by my occasional criticisms of Dath Ilan. Of the thirty-nine letters that have reached me, only seven approve my strictures. The writers of almost all the others seem deeply offended and shocked, and they all say almost exactly the same thing: that I had simply not read the right novels and that I would surely have a different opinion if I would only try this or that author recommended by the correspondent. In many of these letters there was a note of asperity, and one lady went so far as to declare that she would never read my articles again unless I were prepared to reconsider my position. In the meantime, furthermore, a number of other writers have published articles defending the rational story: Alexander Wales, Scott Alexander, Eneasz Brodski and Daystar Eld have all had something to say on the subject—nor has the um­brageous Eliezer Yudkowsky failed to raise his voice.

Overwhelmed by so much insistence, I at last wrote my correspondents that I would try to correct any in­justice by undertaking to read some of the authors that had received the most recommendations and taking the whole matter up again. The writer that my correspondents were most nearly unanimous in putting at the top was Mister Domagoj Kurmaić, who was pressed upon me by eighteen people, and the book of his that eight of them were sure I could not fail to enjoy was a time loop caper called Mother of Learning. Well, I set out to read Mother of Learning in the hope of tasting some novel excitement, and I declare that it seems to me one of the dullest books I have ever en­countered in any field. The first part of it is all about magic as it is practiced in university and contains a lot of information of the kind that you might expect to find in an encyclopedia article on tabletop role-playing-games. I skipped a good deal of this, and found myself skipping, also, a large section of the conversations between conventional scholastic characters: “Oh, here’s Xvim with the coursework. People may say what they like about coursework, but it does go on all through the quarter and make a backdrop,” etc. There was also a dreadful stock student of the undiagnosed autistic kind, with the embarrassing name of Zorian Kazinski, and, although he was the focal character of the novel, being Mister Domagoj Kurmaić’s version of the necessary Phil Connors prisoner, I had to skip a good deal of him too. In the meantime, I was losing the story, which had not got a firm grip on my attention, but I went back and picked it up and steadfastly pushed through to the end, and there I discovered that the whole point was that phenomenal arcane power can’t fix a broken family or mend estranged relationships. Not a bad idea for a character piece, and O. Henry would have known how to dramatize it in an entertaining tale of five thousand words, but Mister Kurmaić had not hesitated to pad it out to a book of seven hundred thousand, contriving one of those hackneyed cock-and-bull stories where the protagonist’s disability is a secret power, and larding the whole thing with details of training arcs, bits of quaint lore from OSR monster manuals, and the awful whimsical patter of worldbuilding.

I had often heard people say that Domagoj Kurmaić wrote well, and I felt that my correspondents had been playing him as their literary ace. But, really, he does not write very well: it is simply that he is more con­sciously literary than most of the other rational-story writers and that he thus attracts attention in a field which is mostly on a sub-literary level. In any serious department of fiction, his writing would not appear to have any distinction at all. Yet, commonplace in this re­spect though he is, he gives an impression of brilliant talent if we put him beside Mister Wertifloke, whose The Waves Arisen was also suggested by several corre­spondents. Mister Yudkowsky has put himself on record as be­lieving that Mister Wertifloke, as well as Mister Walker and Mister Solguard, writes his novels in "excellent prose," and this throws for me a good deal of light on Mr. Yudkowsky’s opinions as a critic. I hadn't quite realized before, though I had noted his own rather messy style, to what degree he was insensitive to writing. I do not see how it is possible for anyone with a feeling for words to describe the unap­petizing sawdust which Mister Wertifloke has poured into his pages as "excellent prose" or as prose at all except in the sense that distinguishes prose from verse. And here again the book is mostly padding. There is the notion that unregulated use of power would lead to climate disaster and the collapse of modern civilization, but this is embedded in the dialogue and doings of a lot of self-replicating warrior-magicians who are even more tedious than those of Mother of Learning.

The enthusiastic reader of rational stories will indig­nantly object at this point that I am reading for the wrong things: that I ought not to be expecting good writing, characterization, human interest or even atmos­phere. He is right, of course, though I was not fully aware of it till I attempted Project Lawful, con­sidered by connoisseurs one of the best books of two of the masters of this school. This tale I found completely unreadable. The story and the writing both showed a surface so wooden and dead that I could not keep my mind on the page. How can you care about liberating those damned who have never really been put in torment, because the writer hasn't any ability of even the most ordinary kind to persuade you to see them or feel them? How can you probe the the depths of the characters who surround the protagonist, because they are all simply fodder for dramatic irony? It was then that I understood that a true connoisseur of this fiction must be able to suspend the demands of his imagination and literary taste and take the thing as an intellectual widget. But how you arrive at that state of mind is what I do not understand.

In the light of this revelation, I feel that it is probably irrelevant to mention that I enjoyed The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, by Lurina, more than the novels of any of these luminaries. There is a tinge of black magic that gives it a little of the interest of a horror story, and the author has a virtuosity at playing with alternative hypotheses that makes this trick of rational fiction more amusing than it usually is. I want, however, to take up certain points made by some of the above-mentioned articles. Mr. Munchkin informs the non-expert that the rational novel is a kind of game in which the reader of a given story, in order to play properly his hand, should bring his full attention to the stage. Common sense, it seems, is insufficient: the reader must be versed with Bayesian statistics, game theory, artificial intelligence, theory of mind, and modal realism. This may be true, but I shall never qualify. I would rather read golden age detective fiction, which at least does not involve the consumption of hundreds of ill-written blog posts.

An argument leveled by my interlocutors is that contemporary genre fiction has become so vapid, so abstracted or mass-market, that the public have had to take to the rational story as the only department of fiction where verisimilitude survives. This seems to me to involve two fallacies. On the one hand, it is surely not true that “the common authors of today” - to quote Ms. Neocalico - “have often,” in contrast to the authors of the past, “little or no story to tell,” that “they have allowed themselves to be persuaded that continuity is no consideration.” It is true, of course, that urban fantasy and comics - which, I suppose, must be accounted the emptiest going - have their various modern ways of boring and playing tricks on the reader. But how about the dreadful fanon and reinterpretations that one has to get over in HPMOR? The soft-serve science in Worm? The Deus Ex Machina of Unsong, in which the villain surrenders his cause? Is there anything in first-rate popular fiction quite so gratuitous as these longueurs? Even Rowling and Gaiman do certainly have stories to tell, and they have organized their works with an intensity which has been relatively rare in genre fiction and which, to my mind, more than makes up for the occasional arbitrariness of their narratives.

On the other hand, it seems to me—for reasons sug­gested above—a fantastic misrepresentation to say that the average rational story is an example of good story-telling. The gift for telling stories is uncommon, like other artistic gifts, and the only one of this group of writers—the writers my correspondents have praised—who seems to me to possess it to any degree is Mr. Alexander Wales. Worth the Candle is the only one of these books that I have read all of and read with enjoyment. But Wales, though in the community he’s lauded as a master, does not really belong to this school of rationalist fiction. What he writes is a work of portal fantasy which has less in common with Yudkowsky than with Stephen Donaldson and Michael Ende - the highbrow isekai which has substituted the blue text of numbers going up for the invisible backdrop of psychodrama. It is not simply a question here of a puzzle which has been put together but of an experience conveyed to the reader, the wonder and terror of an otherworld that is continually revealed in all its varied and unlikely forms. To write such a novel successfully you must be able to invent character and incident and to generate atmosphere, and all this Mr. Wales can do. It was only when I got to the end that I felt my old rational-story depression descending upon me again - because here again, as is so often the case, the explanation of the ontological mystery, when it comes, isn’t interesting enough. It fails to justify the excitement produced by the elaborate buildup of picturesque and sinister happenings, and one cannot help feeling cheated.

My experience with this second batch of novels has, therefore, been even more disillusioning than my expe­rience with the first, and my final conclusion is that the reading of rational stories is simply a kind of vice that, for silliness and minor harmfulness, ranks somewhere be­tween LitRPG and xianxia. This conclusion seems borne out by the violence of the letters I have been receiving. Rational-story readers feel guilty, they are habitually on the defensive, and all their talk about "well-written" fanfics is simply an excuse for their vice, like the reasons that the alcoholic can always pro­duce for a drink. One of the letters I have had shows the addict in his frankest and most shameless phase. This lady begins by pretending, like the others, to guide me in my choice, but she breaks down and tells the whole dreadful truth. Though she has read, she says, hundreds of rational stories, "it is surprising," she finally con­fesses, "how few I would recommend to another. However, a poor rational story is better than none at all. Try again. With a little better luck, you'll find one you admire and enjoy. Then you, too, may be a rationalist."

This letter has made my blood run cold: so the opium smoker tells the novice not to mind if the first pipe makes him sick; and I fall back for reassurance on the valiant little band of my readers who sympathize with my views on the subject. One of these tells me that I have underestimated both the badness of rational stories themselves and the lax mental habits of those who en­joy them. The worst of it is, he says, that the true addict, half the time, never even learns how to be less wrong. The addict reads not to find anything out but merely to get the mild stimulation of a few shows of wits and of the suspense itself of waiting until the protagonist takes over the world. That this strategy of conquest is nothing at all and does not really explain how to systematically win does not matter to such a reader. He has learned from his long indulgence how to connive with the author in the swindle: he does not pay any real attention when the disappointment occurs, he does not think back and check the chain of reasoning, he simply closes the tab and starts another.

To rational-story addicts, then, I say: Please do not write me any more letters telling me that I have not read the right books. And to the seven correspondents who are with me and who in some cases have thanked me for helping them to liberate themselves from a habit which they recognized as wasteful of time and degrading to the intellect but into which they had been bullied by convention and the portentously performed hijacking of Greg Egan and Charles Stross—to these staunch and pure spirits I say: Friends, we represent a minority, but Literature is on our side. With so many fine web novels to be read, so much to be studied and known, there is no need to bore ourselves with this rubbish. And with the URL shortage pressing on all publication and many first-rate writers forced out of the top 100 on Royal Road, we shall do well to discourage the squandering of this wordcount that might be put to better use.

[xenobean]

I finished SH2. I got In Water becausd I thought that green on the pause screen was for wasted bonus health or something (don’t ask me why I thought that) so I ran around with less than full health throughout the game. I also inspected all items quite a bit to see if anything happened. I also talked with Maria to be nice. It felt like a good ending, in the sense that it makes sense for James. I had a great experience while playing and will definitely do it again. I also started playing Born From a Wish a bit. I must say that going directly from Mary’s letter and James driving directly into the lake to the credits song (Angel’s Thanatos) was quite jarring. I was thinking about how it almost made the whole thing sound badass. It’s both fitting and also not at the same time. I liked how Mary’s letter stopped existing. My main question afterwards was how Laura could have talked with Mary so recently. I then thought about the fact that nothing did confirm that she died 3 years ago, and then it hit me, perhaps Mary died 3 years ago to James, when she got sick and his life changed to have to think about Mary’s sickness all the time. I definitely don’t think it was justified, but I understand how a frustrated man like James could make himself do such a thing, and how the shock may have caused him to forget the whole thing when he did go to Silent Hill. The fact that it’s the same letter at the end, only very much expanded upon, is really touching to me. Backtracking a bit, I felt genuinely moved by the scene after Maria’s (first) death. The fact that the hospital kept the music from the elevator and the lack of monsters was great. It gave the scene time to breathe and soak into your psyche. I love symbolism. I love overthinking and psychoanalysing characters. I love this game. Such a rollercoaster. I adore the soundtrack definitelt one of the best parts of the game. I love the graphics and the way it looks a bit dated works in it’s favor. It would seem like the remake is pretty good so far. PH seems to be handled quite well (I LOVE how his weapon has sparks now) I do think the fog is a bit too realistic, not quite enveloping enough, and that the inside of buildings don’t look wet and rotten enough. Abandoned, sure, but nothing will beat sitting at the PS2 wondering what the hell the walls are covered in. I also agree with the people saying the Maria shouldn’t be desexualised the way she has been. Other than that it looks great, and in another post I will (less eloquently) convey my joy now that I have seen people get this game up to 30 FPS on a GTX 1050. (My only PC has that one, There is hope!!)

[xstrawberryshiftsx]

How I met my better cr s/o PT3

(This song represents our relationship so well omg)

PART ONE/PART TWO

Caster:

Cindy:

Min-jun

Jade:

James:

Bell:

that night they stayed outside for hours, laughing and talking-something changed between the two of them. They still hated each other and they where always at each others throats but something was different, the tension between the two became something different. It wasn’t very noticeable but it was there

Dove sipped her chai latte listening to Min-Jun speculated and people watch on the people outside the cafe going on their daily lives.

‘I think she’s secretly in love with her-‘ Min-Jun pointed to a girl who was walking alongside another girl, they where laughing and chatting and both had far away looks in their eyes.

humming in agreement Dove put down their coffee and added in.

‘who knows maybe they’re already together’

‘hmm…maybe? Or they secretly both hate each other’ he said reaching over and taking a sip of Doves latte.

the store bell jingled and Clay, Cindy and Jade walked in.

‘hello my loves’ Cindy cooed sliding in the booth next to Min-jun

‘hey mates’ Jade chimed in

‘you all look like shit’ Clay lovingly added.

they chatted for a while before the conversation was steered into the Halloween party Clay was holding.

‘so what are we wearing for Halloween?’ Jade asked as she fiddled with Doves hair

‘I’m going as Draculaura obviously’ Cindy was obsessed with monster high-it was how she and Dove became friends in the first place

‘Me and Clay are going as the Lorax and the o’hare’

‘Me and Jade are going as a white and black angels’ Jade had been planning the Halloween costumes for ages she adored Halloween and her parents where rich so good costumes where never an issue

Caster looked in the mirror and groaned

‘Jesus why are you making me wear this?’

it was a half open black shirt and black pants, he had on black horns and was carrying a-you guessed it-black trident.

‘ooh! It’s so cute omg!’ Bell squealed, she was wearing a hello kitty outfit-slightly diffrent aesthetics.

‘Mhm okay…remind me why again I’m doing this?’

Bell grinned and giggled

‘That’s a secret! But you do have TV rights for a week…so keep that in mind’

‘two weeks…?’

she paused

‘two weeks.’

To Jades credit the costume was cute-super cute.

Clays house was filled to the brim of people and everyone was somehow touching everyone. But it was fun and she was with her friends.

‘oh my god this is amazing’ Cindy laughed pointing to the kitchen, jade confused by her outburst looked over and gasped.

‘this is to bloody good’ Clay laughed nudging Min-Jun in the ribs.

‘no no no no omg please no’ Dove groaned because over by the kitchen next to the drinks was Caster…in a matching devils costume

‘Awww you guys are such a cute couple, literally goals’ Min-Jun grinned.

‘I will kill you.’

…

She was wearing a short white dress and white corset, they had matching wings and a halo. it was definitely…something, Caster felt his face redden and he looked away. so this was Bells plan…great

He took a swig of his beer and groaned running his hands through his hair, what was going on with him lately?

…

‘are you going over?’ Jade half whispered in Doves ear

‘what no of course not! That’s-that’s so-so stupid hah…’ Cindy raised an eyebrow and Jade giggled

‘mhm sure okay baby whatever you say’

An hour later and everyone was gone, Jade was passed out on the front lawn, Cindy was making out with some dude from year 12, Min-Jun was playing darts and Clay was…Clay was somewhere…alive hopefully

Dove was alone and a little tipsy but happy, alone but still happy. To be honest she didn’t really know but the music was good and she felt hot so all was well.

Caster had long abandoned the kitchen and was dancing with some girl he didn’t know, she was pretty and blonde, she almost looked like Dove, Which did not matter…at all.

‘this is so fun!!!’ She squealed

‘we should like *hic* do this like *hic* way often cassiepoo’

what was her name again? A part of him felt guilty but the music was loud and she was nice to look at and everyone seemed so free

‘so-sorry Cass I think I might be *hic* a bit drunk’ she giggled loudly and touched his hair

he smiled back at her and laughed, everything was so fun right now! So fun.

‘oh shit I think I’m about to vom-‘ and with that she ran away presumably to the bathroom leaving Caster alone.

he looked around feeling a bit like a fish out of water until he saw her…Dove she looked pretty, so pretty like a doll-that was wearing an Angel costume that was also like a teenage girl, that was also like so so pretty.

why was she alone? Pretty girls should never be alone-wait no Caster hated Dove and people that were hated aren’t pretty right?

‘Hey Dovie…why’re you alone? Have all you friends finally realised your just a big dumb…dumby?’ he snickered at his joke trying and missing at giving her a high five

‘are you drunk?’ She squinted her eyes at him and giggled

‘Nuh uh im the opposite of drunk-not drunk’

Dove raised her eyebrows and nodded, her cheeks flushed slightly, dove was so annoying why was she so annoying? If she wasn’t annoying he’d totally be into her,

‘I’m going outside see you later Cass’

she called him Cass, why did her voice sound so nice all of a sudden?

…

Dove breathed in the fresh air and sighed as she sat down on the patio couch taking out her vape

‘wow vaping should’ve guessed’

huh…Deja vu

they stared at each other for a second before Caster asked

‘do you wanna dance’

(A/N: real subtle Cass real subtle, bro wasted no time)

‘huh?’ Why did Caster wanna dance with her?

‘do you…wanna dance?’

the music was muffled from outside but it was still there… and apocalypse by cigarettes after sex was playing.

‘sure I guess’

she stood up at caster took her by the waist- she felt he heart jump as he mumbled in her ear

‘I think your right’ he sighed, his breath on her neck making hers hitch

‘about what?’

‘I am drunk’ he said matter of factly as he laid his head on her shoulder as they swayed, his hands wandered around her waist line never going above or under but they were definitely…there.

Finally they landed on her hips.

‘uh huh and what made you finally realise this?’

he didn’t answer but his fingers trailed down to the hem of her dress

‘this dress is so pretty’ he breathed in her ear sending chills down her spine

‘god…your so pretty’

her heart was beating fast-that couldn’t be normal right? Surely this was a safety hazard.

‘yeah-I must be drunk’ his hands slowly rose to cup her face

‘because I think this is a good idea’

and then he kissed her

PART THREE IS DONE

@gaiaexploreslife @zipperrants @starrihideshere @catschasingstars @creatorsmelody

THE BUTTERFLYS I GOT WHEN WRITING THIS

IVE NEVER BEEN MORE EXCITED FOR A DR